Chapter Two The Meet-Not-Cute #3
Or even better—maybe he’ll ask if he can join me.
Maybe make a comment about our matching drinks.
And I’ll say something about how pretty the color is on such a gray day.
Then he’ll ask about the flowers, and I’ll show him the bouquet that matches the café and the tea we’re drinking, and he’ll laugh and ask whether I planned that and if I like gardening, and I’ll tell him that my mother is a florist and I grew up above a flower shop, and he’ll ask where, and I’ll tell him right across the street. …
My perfect meet-cute on Love Street.
My skin is buzzing with excitement, but the guy doesn’t seem to take my psychic hints. He doesn’t even look at me as he takes his chai to a table on the far side of the café. Nowhere near close enough to strike up a conversation.
No problem—maybe I need to work harder to make it happen. I touch the locket containing the fortune on my neck and take the flowers over to the cute guy’s table. His head is down as he reads his book.
“How do you like the pink chai?” I ask.
Startled, he looks up at me. And yeah, he’s even cuter up close. Deep brown eyes and curly, dark lashes. “What?” he asks.
I give him my best smile. “The pink Kashmiri chai, how do you like it? I don’t work here or anything… I’m curious. It’s my favorite drink at LoveBug, and I don’t see people drinking it much.”
He looks at me with no expression for several seconds. Finally, he glances at his drink as if he just figured out what I’m talking about. “Oh… yeah, it’s fine. A little sweet, but tasty.” I like his voice. It’s deeper than I expected it to be. And very smooth.
“Good thing I have such a sweet tooth!” I say, shooting him another winsome smile while he… continues to stare at me looking vaguely confused. “Hey, can you do me a favor? Can you take a picture of me holding these flowers in front of that wallpaper?”
The wall closest to us has pale blue wallpaper dotted with pink roses.
And I happen to be wearing one of my favorite outfits from Cosmic, wide-legged dusty-rose trousers and a pale cream blouse with pink buttons.
I know I look fabulous and match the flowers perfectly.
I’ll post the picture on Mom’s Instagram, tagging both Cosmic and LoveBug, helping three Love Street businesses at once, and I’ll have photographic evidence of my perfect meet-cute by having this cute guy take my picture.
“Just a couple of quick shots,” I say. “It’ll only take a second.”
The guy still has that confused expression. Then he looks back down at his book. “Um, I’m busy,” he says without looking at me.
Okaaay … I mean, if he doesn’t want to take my picture or even stop reading his book, that’s totally fine. But that was a little rude. I guess this wasn’t the meet-cute I wanted.
The door to LoveBug opens then, and Cara comes in. Excellent. She can take the pictures. I don’t say anything to the guy and go ask Cara for her help instead.
After Cara and I have a little photo shoot of me with the flowers, she sits at my table while I look over the pictures. “Who’s that?” she asks, indicating the pink chai guy at the other end of the café. I had no idea he was still here. I shrug.
“He must work on the street,” Cara says. No one would know it from her cool and aloof demeanor, but Cara is a total neighborhood gossip just like everyone else on Love Street. “Maybe at the bistro? Or Kozlaks’?”
I shrug again. I’m still irritated that he brushed me off so curtly, and I really don’t want to waste any more mental energy on the guy.
“Maybe he’s your future prom date?” Cara asks.
I roll my eyes. I wonder how long Cara is going to continue this one-sided conversation.
“He’s exactly your type,” she adds.
Now that, I have to respond to. I tilt my head. “Why, because we’re both Brown? Priya’s Brown, and she’s nothing like that guy.” Priya is the designer purse and shoes type. She hates messenger bags.
Cara gives me a smug look. “They are both exactly your type. You always notice high-maintenance girls and nerdy boys.”
I laugh at that. I mean, my eyes were drawn to him the moment he walked in. “Okay fine. He’s cute. But he doesn’t seem interested in anything other than his book.” I shouldn’t judge. Maybe he’s having a bad day and not looking to make friends today.
Jenn and my mom show up for the BOA meeting and Jenn sets up a folding whiteboard at the front of the café.
Mom joins Cara and me at our table. I show Mom the pictures Cara took, and we pick one to post to the flower shop’s Insta, tagging the other two businesses.
Alain, the bistro owner, comes to our table to talk to Mom about flowers for his restaurant, while several people line up to get coffee from the carafe Ajit placed on the counter.
I look over to the cute pink chai guy. He’s still there, reading his textbook.
Maybe he does work on the street. Ugh . It will be annoying to see him on Love Street all the time.
Jenn asks everyone to take a seat, and I notice that one of the rude waiters from the bistro sits next to the guy, so maybe Cara’s right and he works there. It would explain his attitude—everyone at the bistro, especially that waiter, has that French snobby attitude perfected.
The café is pretty crowded—since the meeting is open to everyone who works on the street, not only the actual business owners.
A lot of people love working here, so the meetings become a social thing.
After going over regular business, like dues owed and Mrs. Kotch’s butter problem, Jenn starts talking about the sales decline on the street.
She explains that Cosmic Vintage, as well as other shops like Second Story Books and the empanada shop, have all reported a noticeable drop in sales since the newer trendy stores opened on Gerrard.
Other business owners pipe in to agree. Ina Kozlak from the Eastern European grocer says she had sausages go bad because they sat unsold for too long.
Mrs. Kotch complains no one is buying her lovingly made authentic German cakes since they can now buy a grocery store one from a display case around the corner.
I wonder if Mom is going to mention the decrease in walk-ins at the flower shop, but she doesn’t say anything.
When Jenn opens the floor to ideas for what can be done to get customers buying again, people start talking over one another.
“Can we make a petition to force the Rossi’s store to close?” Mrs. Kotch asks first.
Someone scoffs behind me, and I recognize the deep voice.
Pink Chai Guy. I do agree that Mrs. Kotch’s petition idea would never work because the grocery store is already open and has every right to exist, but Mrs. Kotch has run that bakery for over thirty years.
Her livelihood is being threatened, so of course she’s a little irrational.
I turn to glare at the guy. He’s still at the same table with that waiter. “You can’t force a store to close because you don’t like it,” he says.
I don’t like that patronizing tone he used on poor Mrs. Kotch.
I lean into Cara. “Why does Alain hire such tools at the bistro?”
She shrugs, a sour look on her face. “Who knows, but I think you were right about him not being your type.”
Mrs. Kotch and Alain both start talking at the same time. I’m pretty sure Alain’s suggestion of how to take care of the grocery store is highly illegal, so Jenn shuts it down. “Serious ideas that we can actually implement only.”
“We can actually implement that,” Alain says. “I know a guy.”
Everyone starts shouting out ideas again.
The empanada shop’s owner suggests putting tables on the sidewalks to make the street look busier.
But Pink Chai Guy says they’d need a city permit for that.
Someone else suggests closing to car traffic, like they do on Kensington Avenue once a month.
But, of course, Pink Chai Guy tells everyone that the application process for that could take years.
This guy is getting on my nerves. I raise my hand to suggest cross-promotions on social media, like my post of Mom’s flowers with Jenn’s vintage clothes, taken here at the café.
Julie pipes in agreeing that it’s a great idea and that LoveBug’s success is mostly driven by social media.
Pink Chai Guy, of course, makes a comment that not everyone is tethered to their socials.
I turn to glare at him again. I don’t know why I thought he was cute when I first saw him. It was probably the pink drink that made him look good. That chai has magical properties—it makes just about anyone look appealing. “Are you going to shoot down every suggestion anyone has?” I ask the guy.
He raises a brow at me. “Only the ones I know won’t work. Honestly, I think you guys should do more research before jumping on an idea.”
The guy from the bistro next to him snorts a laugh at that.
Ugh . That’s it. I turn away from them. I should be focusing on how I can save Mom’s store, not on this smug grump. New goal: banish Pink Chai Guy from my brain permanently.
I lean over to Cara. “ Well-Actually-Man is getting on my nerves.”
Cara giggles at my nickname for him.
“Why don’t we highlight the history of the street,” Reggie, the used bookstore owner, who’s sitting in the front row, suggests. I’m not surprised. Judging by the number of historical books Reggie sells, he’s a history nut. “Love Street was named after Lionel Osmond Love.”
“Who’s that?” someone asks.
That question makes Pink Chai Guy pipe in again. “You all work here. Shouldn’t you know something about the street’s history?”
Jenn, who finally seems annoyed by Pink Chai Guy, sighs. “Why don’t you tell us?”