The Meeting Point by Olivia Lara

Nine

Are you ready for one more tour?he texts.

Yes, I am. Where do we go now?

The moment I hit send, I realize what I just said. Where do we go. It’d make me laugh if it didn’t feel so true. Whoever he is and wherever he is, it’s as if we’re doing all these things together. Going from place to place, sharing these incredible experiences. And I’m loving it.

It’s been hours since I last thought about David and all thanks to Max. How funny life is.

Fairy Tale Houses, he texts.

Wait, are those the few houses I saw when I got off the bus?

Those are just the touristy ones. Just wait and see, he says.

I like that he seems to know when to push back on me, and he doesn’t do it aggressively but kind of in an attractive, taking-charge way.

Patience is not a virtue I possess,I send back with a grinning face.

Some things are worth waiting for, he texts together with a smiley wearing sunglasses.

I gulp. I think I read something else into that text. I don’t know why.

Head on to Carmel Plaza, across from Devendorf Park on Ocean Ave, between Junipero and Mission. Look for the Trumpeter bronze statue and fountain in front of Kate Spade.

I follow his directions and arrive in front of the Trumpeter ten minutes later.

Now cross Ocean Avenue at Junipero and walk through Devendorf Park. Exit on Sixth.

Where to now?

You’re a fast walker,he texts and sends me a running emoji.

I’m excited to get there, I text.

Cross Junipero to Surf and Sand Liquors. Right after is Torres Street. Turn left and walk up the hill. Across from the parking area of the Best Western you’ll see it.

Oh, wow! What is this?

It’s an amazing little house and it does truly look like it’s from a fairy tale. And I know exactly from which one the moment I see it. Hansel and Gretel. When I get closer to the entrance, I smile to myself. The plaque says ‘Hansel’. It looks like a real-life gingerbread house, with a cute light-green rounded door and matching window frames. So beautiful. It’s not perfect and seems a little skewed, which makes it even more charming.

It’s beautiful, isn’t it?he texts.

A couple of minutes later, he texts again.

Let’s walk back down the hill and turn left on Sixth Avenue. On the corner of Torres and Sixth is the historic Grant Wallace House, a Tudor Storybook style.

I love how he refers to all this as if we’re in it together. Just like I accidentally did.

It looks like an elf house.

I laugh and stare at it in awe and then, of course, I take photos and send him one.

It does.

Next door is The Woods, which I take a photo of.

I walk back on Torres to Sixth Avenue and turn right and I see a house with a large sign in front that says, ‘Hugh Comstock Residence’. Then ‘Comstock Studio’.

Who is Hugh Comstock?I ask. Is it the architect who made all these houses?

He is the one who made all the original cottages back in the 20s, but he was no architect. He was just a guy who came to Carmel, fell madly in love, got married, and when his new wife said she wanted a fairy house in the woods, he got to work. She was an artist I think; she was making dolls and wanted to showcase them. And then everyone loved the little house so much, they all wanted one.

That’s the cutest story ever. Almost, if not cuter than my own stories. See? So these things do happen. Not just in my imagination.

Did you notice how they’re not level?he texts. They’re quirky.

It’s like searching for ‘skewed’ in Google and seeing the page tilt to the side.

Ha! Exactly. That same feeling, he says.

I like them even more because of that and knowing he wasn’t trained to do this, and he made the first one out of love. It’s amazing!

I walk from cottage to cottage until I reach a dreamy one with a narrow arched three-light casement window with a heart shape cut out.

It’s like he built all of them for her dolls. They seem so tiny.

Yes. Some are incredibly small. That one is less than 400 square feet, he texts.

I hold my breath. That one? How would he even know what I’m looking at right now?

I have a strange feeling and turn and look around. There’s nobody on the street, except for a man and a woman talking at the corner of the intersecting road.

Which one?

A minute passes. No answer.