Chapter Eight
Keeley
Andrew and Lisa can take my sleep, but they cannot take my breakfast sandwiches.
I’m going to have to take the risk of running into them this morning. I introduced Andrew to Serendipi-Tea, and we came here often together. But Sunday mornings? Those were always my domain. And I need a Serendipi-Tea breakfast sandwich in my life. Stat.
Because nothing is a better cure-all for a bad night’s sleep than a bagel with eggs, cheese, bacon, ketchup, and extra bacon.
Serendipi-Tea is beloved by the residents of Serendipity Springs for very good reason. It’s in an old two-story converted Victorian home about two miles from The Serendipity, and though there are cafes closer to my apartment, I particularly love this one.
The second you step inside, you’re accosted by the delicious smells of sugar, coffee, and chai. Its decor is cool and quirky, and there are plants everywhere. I’m utterly charmed by the place.
And Andrew and Lisa can’t—and won’t—take it from me.
Or so I tell myself staunchly as I walk down the street towards the cafe, my Converse smacking the sidewalk as I go.
It’s a beautiful morning, early enough that it’s not deathly hot out yet, and the world is just starting to come alive. A trickle of people walk down the street in search of much-needed caffeine. Cafe owners put out sandwich boards advertising their daily specials. Mavis Pinkman is rolling up the shutters on her trinket store, Persnicketies.
I wave at her as I duck into Serendipi-Tea.
“Morning,” I greet Nori, my friend and the cafe’s new owner. She also happens to live on the third floor of my building, a few doors down from Andrew.
“Morning, Keeley.” Nori’s kind eyes move over me. “You look?—”
“Tired,” I finish for her, and she nods, her cheeks pinkening.
“I didn’t know whether to say that or not,” she admits, and I laugh. After finally falling asleep at 3am following the most bizarre and embarrassing middle-of-the-night encounter with Beckett McCarthy (AKA my new neighbor, horror of horrors), I was woken up at 8am by said new-neighbor’s guitar playing (which, admittedly, was a more preferable way to be soothed awake than my “WAKE UP!” alarm clock).
But I know I must look a little worse for wear today. Again.
“Hey, you’re way more tactful than Sissy was. She tried to sell me under-eye cream when she saw me yesterday.”
“Typical.” Nori laughs as she rings up my usual order on the till. Perks of being friends with the owner of your favorite cafe—she knows your Sunday order by heart.
I lean against the counter and do a quick scan of the cafe, but I don’t see Andrew and Lisa anywhere, thank goodness.
“So, why so tired?” Nori asks in her usual, gentle way.
“Did you happen to see Andrew come in here with another girl yesterday?”
“No, I was off yesterday.” Nori’s mouth falls open. “You’re not saying?—?”
And I don’t know if it’s the fatigue or the need to talk to someone who’s first reaction isn’t “Why not date the Irish dude instead" (AKA my brother), but as Nori hands me my coffee with two pumps of caramel syrup and a splash of heavy cream, I find myself pouring out yesterday’s saga from start to finish.
The only detail I leave out is the one where Beckett was shirtless and looking oh-so-sexy when I tapped on his window in the middle of night.
That particular little morsel I keep stuffed in my pocket. For me to think about, and me only.
Or, you know, not think about. Ever.
Because the way my cheeks heat every time I remember the skim of his gaze on my bare legs is not ideal. Not ideal at all. The man is clearly a terrible flirt, and I am clearly terribly stupid for letting his flirting work on me.
Plus, the smug look on his face when my window easily slid open will haunt me ’til the day I die.
I swear it was stuck before he tried it.
By the time I’m done with my story, Nori looks stunned. Her brow furrows as she pushes a stray lock of dark brown hair behind her ear. “That’s unbelievable, Keeley. I’m sorry about Andrew.”
“Thanks,” I say appreciatively, smiling across the counter at her.
Nori and I have been friends for a while, and the usually warm feeling I have towards her only compounds as she adds, “You could have texted me when you got stuck on the fire escape. I would’ve come and helped you.” Her eyes crinkle mischievously. “No wait, I take that back because then the hot Irishman wouldn’t have come to your rescue.”
“Hot insufferable Irishman,” I correct her, glowering at the memory of his comment about me losing my pants. “The man’s been here all of five minutes, and he’s a rogue and… and… an incorrigible flirt!”
“Incorrigible, huh?” Nori descends into giggles.
“Yes,” I say, pointing a finger at my friend. “In fact, you’d better warn Cash about him. I’m sure Beckett will flirt his face off with you too, and Cash won’t be best pleased.”
Cash is Nori’s boyfriend, a retired baseball player who also lives on the third floor of my building. They started dating a couple months back, and they seem blissfully happy together.
“Cash has nothing to worry about.” Nori waves a dismissive hand. “Chris Hemsworth could move into the building, but I’d still only have eyes for him.”
“You guys are gross,” I tell her, but I’m grinning. Cash looks at Nori like she hung the moon.
Andrew never looked at me like that.
Not even close.
I flinch away from the thought just as Nori hands me a large, warm brown paper bag. “One regular, two with extra bacon, one with tomatoes,” she says, then winks. “And a chocolate chip muffin, of course.”
“Thanks, girl!” I tell her as I tap my card on the reader, making sure to tip well. “You all set for the first Indie Music Night? It’s coming up soon here.”
When Nori bought Serendipi-Tea after the previous owner retired, Indie Music Night was one of her ideas to bring more business to the cafe. I’m excited to see that she’s already putting her initiatives in motion, and I can’t wait to support her when the first one kicks off.
Nori flushes with pleasure. “Yes! We have quite a few sign-ups and just need one or two more to have a complete roster. It’s mostly thanks to your brother—his posters in Blue Notes advertising it have really helped spread the word.”
“It’s going to be a huge hit,” I say with confidence.
“Thanks, Keels.” She smiles. “Tell your Grandpa I say hi.”
“Will do.” I give her a wave, and then, bag of sandwiches in hand, I make my way down the street to Silver Springs retirement community. Ahead, Ezra and Mae are already parked and getting Everett out of his car seat.
“Keeley!” Mae presses me into a big hug, and I squeeze my petite sister-in-law back—she always makes me feel tall even though I’m barely five-foot-four. Then, I set down the sandwich bag and swoop to pick up three-year-old Everett from the sidewalk.
“Hey, li’l man. What’s happening?”
Everett shrieks with laughter and lovingly places a chubby (sticky) hand on each of my cheeks. “Kiwi!” he greets me, which makes me grin. My nephew not being able to say his “l’s” has earned me a very cute nickname.
“You ready to visit Grandpa Great and eat a chocolate chip muffin?” I ask, scooting him around so he’s on my hip.
My parents are Grandma and Grandpa to him, so my Grandpa—my father’s father—has the moniker “Grandpa Great” for Everett.
“Yay!” he cheers.
“You spoil him.” Mae smiles as she hitches her backpack onto her back and picks up the sandwich bag. “I’ll carry the food if you carry the child?”
“Deal,” I say readily.
Ezra grabs a grocery bag of Gramps’s favorite snack foods from the trunk and slams it shut. “Morning, li’l sister. You have a good Saturday night?”
“It was perfect. Just me, my book, an entire sausage and mushroom pizza from Domino’s, and a Korean face mask.”
“Sounds like a wild night,” Ez says, practically dripping sarcasm.
Little does he know how accurate his summary is, thanks to shirtless-middle-of-the-night Beckett on the fire escape. I’m not exactly an expert in bare-chested men, but Beckett’s body seemed to be comprised of a pretty wowing combination of broad shoulders and long, lean, ropy muscle.
Which I’m absolutely not going to tell Ezra about, for obvious reasons.
“An absolute rager,” I reply as we walk into Silver Springs together. We say hi to Lainey at reception, and she waves us right in. My dad and his wife usually visit on Saturday mornings, while Ezra, Mae, and I keep Gramps company on Sundays.
This has been our tradition ever since Grandpa moved into Silver Springs. And when I (fingers crossed) manage to score this job at Evoke in Boston—which I emailed Freya about first thing this morning—I’ll be sure to drive down here as many Sundays as I possibly can to keep this tradition going. Just like I talked about with Ezra yesterday when he encouraged me to apply.
We head straight to the sunny back porch that overlooks a beautifully maintained garden with beds full of black-eyed Susans, petunias, and asters. This space serves as a visiting area on the weekends for friends and family to spend time with the residents.
Gramps is already settled in a rocking chair, looking almost comical in his over-the-ear Beats by Dre headphones that Ezra and I gifted him for his birthday. In order to hear his audiobooks better, of course.
When he sees us, he smiles, and his wrinkled face lights up.
Everett squirms out of my arms and runs over to him, arms outstretched. “Grandpa Great!”
“Try not to break the old man, my dude,” Ez mutters as Everett practically leaps onto his great-grandfather.
But Gramps just laughs good-naturedly and ruffles Everett’s hair before he slips off his headphones.
We all take it in turns to greet him, and Grandpa smiles at each of us before turning adoring eyes back on Everett, who is now on the floor, playing with Grandpa’s shoelaces.
“Very nice boy you’ve got there,” he tells Ezra, his eyes going a little misty. “I once knew a boy like that, a long time ago.”
I smile gently. Everett has a similar aura to Ezra’s when he was a little boy, and I wonder if Gramps means Ezra—or even my dad, his only son—when he says this.
“Thanks. We’re super proud of him.” Ezra beams at his boy.
“As you should be. He’s going to be a strapping young man, Ben.”
Ezra and I both stiffen slightly and exchange a look. Then, Ez gently pats Grandpa’s shoulder. “I’m Ezra, Gramps. Ben’s your son, my dad.”
“Oh.” He blinks up at Ezra, his eyes unfocused for a moment. “That’s right.”
My brother pastes on a smile. “Are you hungry? Keeley brought us breakfast sandwiches.”
Gramps nods. “I haven’t eaten since last night. Pork chops and green beans.”
“Sounds delicious,” I say with my very own pasted-on smile. I know for a fact that Grandpa would have been served coffee and oatmeal this morning, as well as a post-dinner snack of muffins and fruit last night.
Gramps has dementia. He was diagnosed a couple of years ago, and his forgetfulness has been growing slowly but steadily worse. And while he’s still his wonderful old self in so many ways, I miss the relationship we had in my younger years, when he just got me.
During the early stages of the illness, my dad worked with him to get his affairs in order while he could still clearly dictate what he wanted. He updated his will and picked out Silver Springs as the place he wanted to eventually live.
And then, one day, Gramps took me for a walk in Oldford Park. On this walk, he slipped a little black velvet bag out of his pocket and placed it into my hand with a squeeze.
“This is for you, Keeley,” he said, eyes shining with what looked like tears. “Remember, my sweet girl, a light heart gives a long life, and in order to keep your heart light and free of burdens and baggage, remember to listen to it when it speaks. Don’t let circumstances dictate what your heart wants, but rather, let your heart shape your circumstances.”
I had no idea what any of this meant, but I hugged him tight, and when I got home, I opened the pouch to find a ring that featured a heart and a crown, with strange engraved writing in a foreign language inside.
It was a woman’s ring, and it fit me perfectly.
The obvious explanation was that it had once belonged to my grandmother, who had passed away before I was born. But for some reason, I didn’t think that was the case.
The ring felt like a secret Gramps was somehow sharing with me. A secret written in code that he hoped I would one day decipher.
I’d never met anyone else who had one like it… until last night.
I look down at it now, glinting on my middle finger, and spin it around.
Claddagh rings, Beckett called them. I vaguely knew the name of my ring, but never really thought about it, or the fact that it would’ve come from Ireland.
I make a mental note to look them up at some point and turn my attention back to the table, where Mae is telling Grandpa about the trip they took to Korea a few months ago.
I’m about to take a bite of my bagel when my phone rings, buzzing on the table in front of me.
Freya , the display reads.
Of course she’s working on a Sunday.
“’Scuse me a second,” I say as I stand from the table, bagel in one hand and my phone in the other.
“Hello?” I answer, pacing away from the table and walking towards the garden.
“Eek!” comes the squeal in response.
I grin. “Got my text, then?”
“Sure did! I already texted Nisha to let her know that you’ll be applying. She’s super excited to get your article submission. You should start looking at rentals on Zillow; I recommend Malden Center or Oak Grove as starting points.”
“I haven’t gotten the job yet, Freya,” I remind her.
“You’re a shoo-in.”
“I’m glad one of us is so confident,” I say with a laugh, but my heart is beating fast. “This means I can start coming up with article topics for my interview…” I start listing off a couple ideas I’ve had already, none of which have anything to do with The Serendipity or my town’s lore.
Nope. These article ideas are all interesting, of the moment, and based in fact .
“Actually,” Freya interrupts me gently, and I can practically hear her huge smile. “I know exactly what she wants.”
Phew. Probably safe from the article topic that can’t be named, at least.
“Oh, yeah?” I ask, a tad distracted because a glob of cheese has escaped my breakfast sandwich and is trickling down my hand.
I clumsily attempt to lick it off.
“The Serendipity!” Freya announces.
My stomach drops. “What about it?” I say feebly, grasping at straws. As though we didn’t talk about this just yesterday .
“You remember.” Freya tuts. “We spoke about that supposed ‘urban legend’ about the building bringing people together, making them lucky in love?”
“Oh, yes. That one.”
Freya goes on excitedly. “When I told Nisha this morning that you were going to apply for the staff writer position—and that you live in that building—she specifically requested that you write about the whole legend surrounding the place.”
My stomach churns, and I laugh as casually as possible. AKA, not casually at all. “I figured I could write something factual, something based in reality. And as I mentioned, it’s just some daft old story that holds no truth. Small town lore.”
I’m flailing.
“That’s exactly what she loves about this idea!” Freya croons in delight. “She wants whimsy. Stars aligning. Something that winks at bending the rules of science we so often use in today’s swipe-happy dating world, with all the algorithms matching people up. She wants a fresh story with a fresh angle. Around three thousand words. Make it fun. Playful. Sexy.”
My hand involuntarily tightens around my breakfast sandwich like it’s a stress ball, which sends a river of ketchup and hot cheese squirting down my arm and splattering over my shirt.
Sexy, indeed.
From the table on the porch, Ezra is shooting me weird looks.
“Is there any way I could possibly write something—anything—else for her?” I panic-hiss into the phone. “Because I really do have a whole slew of other ideas…”
“Nope,” Freya says cheerfully. “This is your best shot for landing this job, Keeley. And you're perfectly positioned, right on the ground there, to do the research and really hit it home with this article. I have full faith in you. And remember, my reputation is on the line too, because I recommended you. So do me proud, Keels.”
With that, she hangs up.
I wipe my arm on my already fully ketchup-ed shirt, and I sigh as I launch my breakfast sandwich into the nearest trash can.
Suddenly, I’m no longer hungry.