The Meeting Point by Olivia Lara

Sixty-Three

“Where are we going?” I ask as we leave Café Azure at four. Celine basically had to force us out, after I told her about some afternoon plans, but then kept finding things to do.

I’m a bit nervous; not sure why. As much as I’m trying not to think about it, the last time we went somewhere alone, it didn’t go as planned at all.

“Not telling you,” he says.

He looks at me, as if he’s sizing me up. “Good, you’re dressed properly,” he says.

I’m in jeans, a regular, boring white T-shirt—which miraculously doesn’t have coffee stains—and blue Converse. At least I know it can’t be anything fancy. Good!

“I thought for the first outing we’d start somewhere close. Just in case you want to leave again,” he says, a hint of bitterness in his voice. “It’s only twenty-five miles from here.”

“If it doesn’t involve me being on the front page of a newspaper, you’re safe,” I say.

“Touché,” he says.

The convertible Mustang is parked in front. I didn’t even see it.

“Jump in,” he says.

Alisa texts and I realize I forgot to call her last night. I promise myself I’ll call her tonight. She doesn’t know anything about what happened. She doesn’t know Aaron is not Max and she definitely doesn’t suspect where I am now.

We head east on Ocean Avenue toward San Carlos Street and then California 1 South.

At first, all I see is the highway, but all that changes quickly. On the right side, I see the ocean below and a sprawling beach with beautiful, perfectly white sand. I let out an excited squeak.

“I thought you might like it,” he says.

“How?” I want to ask how he knew about my fascination with beaches—aka obsession.

“You only mentioned the Pacific and the ‘dreamy beaches’ five times in the first five pages of your manuscript,” he says, turning to me before focusing back on the road.

And what an amazing road. It follows the ocean, and the views are breathtaking.

“You work every day at the café, so I assume you haven’t done much sightseeing.”

Now that he mentions it, I realize he’s right. I haven’t. How many times I dreamed of being back on the beach, my toes in the warm sand, feeling that incredible sense of freedom? Reliving that day from a year ago? Why didn’t I go back? Why did I only limit myself to the café and back to the cottage? I don’t know. I don’t have an answer to that question, just like I don’t have an answer to many questions lately. Mostly when it comes to my behavior and my feelings. Is it too late to discover yourself when you’re almost thirty? Is it normal to be this confused about what you want and who you are? I hope I’m not the only one.

The sun is on my face, the wind in my hair, making a mess of it, but I don’t care.

Ethan is singing along with the radio, ‘You make me a believer’. I turn the volume up and then we look at each other and we belt out at the same time, ‘believeeeeeer,’ and laugh.

I close my eyes and take it all in—every single second of it. And when I open them, the reality is even better. Who would’ve thought?

If it wasn’t for the occasional cars from the opposite direction, I’d swear we’re the only people on this coastline; it feels cut off from civilization but in a good way. The landscape is wild. The deep blue ocean is truly magnificent seen from up here, and the narrow winding road bordered by the mountains on one side and the ocean on the other is spectacular. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen something so awe-inspiring.

When we get to an uncovered bridge above the ocean, Ethan slows the car.

“What’s this called?” I ask. It’s amazing.

“Bixby Canyon.”

I stare with my mouth open. I think I must’ve seen it on a postcard, but a postcard can’t do it justice. I’ve taken a hundred photos at least by the time we got here, and now I’m snapping shots of the bridge from all angles as Ethan’s car picks up speed again.

“You know, you don’t have to use up all your battery. We can always—” He stops. “You can always come back. It’s not far.”

“There’s no day like today. Who knows where life will take me?”

“Wherever you want it to take you,” he says. “You’re not a feather in the wind.”

It’s funny he would say that. I’ve felt like a feather in the wind most of my life. Almost like a character in a story. Just not one I’d write because obviously, I would’ve only given myself great experiences. The only two times I broke out and changed the pre-written storyline was one day last year and two weeks ago when I packed my bags, quit my job, and returned here. I might not be doing an excellent job at writing this story of mine, but you know what? With all the ups and downs, and everything I’ve gone through since I arrived in Carmel, I feel more in charge of my destiny than I’ve ever felt. I’m taking the reins, albeit awkwardly, but I am. Truth be told, I’ve never wanted anything that strongly or passionately to fight for it. Coming back to Carmel is the first time. And now that I’m here, I feel this is where I belong. It’s strange.

“I guess we’ll see what happens,” I say.

“Whatever happens, the decision should be yours. Stay, if you want to stay and go if you want to go. But don’t stay and definitely don’t go because of someone else,” he says, and I suspect we’re both thinking about the same thing. What happens if Max got over his feelings for me? Old me wouldn’t hesitate to pack and go back to the East Coast if that’s the case. The new me, I hope will at least hesitate. Which would be huge progress.

I smile, but don’t say anything. It would be too much to explain, and I don’t want to overthink now. I just want to enjoy myself and the views, the music, the weather, this afternoon. Everything is too perfect for me to spoil it with my overanalyzing!

“We’re almost there,” he says.

“I thought the drive was the whole thing,” I say. “It’s incredible, by the way!”

“It is the whole thing,” he says. “We just have a couple of stops along the way.”

I don’t ask for details; he won’t tell me anyway. I’m just excited to see what’s next.

A few minutes later we stop on the side of the road, Ethan gets out and I follow. “Here it is,” he says, leading the way to where the pavement ends on the right side.

“Look,” he says, pointing down.

My jaw drops. Below us is an idyllic cove with turquoise waters and perfectly white sand and the tiniest of waterfalls, as thin as a thread.

“Wow! This is beautiful.”

He looks at me for a moment, as if wanting to say something, then turns to the waterfall.

“Yes, yes, it is,” he finally says.

I feel a fluttering in my stomach, and I have the strangest of sensations for a moment.

Ethan brings a blanket from the car, puts it on the ground and we sit, nobody around, watching the waves crashing on the shore and that dreamlike waterfall. So peaceful.

“Alright,” he says after a while. “We should get going or else we’re going to be late.”

“Let’s go,” I say, not without feeling a small regret we have to leave this place.

He turns the car around and I feel disappointed. I thought we had one more stop. I don’t want this to be over; I’m enjoying this unexpected adventure too much. But I don’t want to say anything because I don’t want to seem ungrateful. He said he doesn’t want to be late, so maybe he has plans back in Carmel. Why not, right? It’s totally possible.

We drive for about fifteen minutes when Ethan turns left on a country road, then right and then takes a sharp left, pulls over and tells me we’ve reached the last stop.

“I thought we’re going back to Carmel,” I say, this time admitting what I’d been feeling.

“That’s why you were so quiet?” he asks, smiling.

I shrug. How easy I am to read.

He opens the car door for me and we take a set of stairs until we’re on what looks like a terrace. To my left, the mountains and to my right, the ocean.

“This has got to be the coolest restaurant I’ve ever seen,” I say excited. “Let’s take photos quickly before they throw us out.”

He chuckles. “Aren’t you hungry?” he asks.

“I am, but judging by this long line, we’ll never get a table.”

The restaurant, with sun umbrellas on the patio and three levels inside, is packed. There are dozens of people waiting—patiently or not—for their turn to sit and eat and gawk.

“That’s where a little planning comes in handy,” he says and after he chats for a minute with a waiter, he tells me to follow him. Not only do we have a table, but we have a table on the outer edge of the patio, with almost a 360-degree view. A breathtaking view.

“This place might not look like much and it’s far from being fancy, but you can’t beat the views,” says Ethan. “The food is not bad either. I know you said you’re a picky eater.”

“I changed my mind,” I say and laugh.

We enjoy a super-tasty meal with wine for me and sparkling water for Ethan. The sun is setting. “You are right. You can’t beat this.”

“Happy you like it.”

We continue looking at the sunset and from time to time, I glance at him. He is one good-looking man. As much as I try not to think about it, it’s hard not to. Very hard.

“Today was very—” I think of a word that could sum it up. “Unexpected.”

The lopsided smile. “I got to know you when you were mad at me, so I know that side. Thought I’d try your happy, sunny side for a change.”

And what a spectacular try it is. Don’t know if anything can beat this day.

“Hmmph,” he says and, turning from the ocean, looks straight into my eyes. “And you know what? I can’t decide.”

“Decide what?”

“Which side of you is more attractive.”