Chapter 20
TWENTY
Zach pulls up in front of my apartment, and the second I lay eyes on his face, I realize just how much I’ve missed him. A surge of energy shoots through me, and I hurry toward the passenger side like I can’t get there fast enough.
“How’ve you been?” he asks, turning to me with that killer smile that brings me back to our hot encounter in the woods—his body, his touch, the way he made me feel. It takes me a few seconds to collect myself. I swear I almost melt before I manage to answer, “Good. How about you?”
Zach fills me in on a new campaign he’s working on—an ad for a musical instrument company at an apparently amazing location—and we drive along Braedale, stopping right in front of Marvin’s. The scents of freshly baked bread and cinnamon rolls fill the air.
“I’d go and mow down on a whole loaf of bread if I didn’t have a plan for lunch today,” Zach says.
“Where are you thinking?” I ask, because my mouth is already watering and I don’t know if I can handle waiting too much longer.
“You’ll see,” Zach says with a wink. “Very soon. I have a reservation for us in forty-five minutes. Let’s just say it’s one of Driftwood Cove’s hidden gems.”
He takes my hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and we walk toward Chrissy’s, the place where it all went down with Mom less than a month ago.
We stop in for some pricey-but-delicious lattes and keep walking through town until Zach steps away from me and toward the window of Willow and Worn Thrift Store, his eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning.
“Check out this castle,” he says, pointing through the window at the intricately carved wooden castle displayed on a table, twinkling under a string of fairy lights, complete with a moat and a tiny drawbridge. “Can you believe someone carved that out of wood? It’s pretty incredible.”
He presses his face up to the glass, clearly captivated.
I smile. “Want to go inside? There’s probably loads of other cool stuff in there.”
Zach lights up like I just asked if he wanted pizza. “Thought you’d never ask.” He swings open the glass door, and we step inside, greeted by the warm glow of antique lamps and that unmistakable thrift-store scent—old books, a bit of mustiness, a hint of mothball.
“Hey there,” a man with curly white hair calls out from behind an ancient-looking cash register. “Need a hand finding anything?”
“We’re going to check out what you have,” I say, glancing at a pair of beady-eyed squirrel-shaped salt and pepper shakers that I’d totally buy as conversation pieces—for conversations that begin with, Why the hell did you buy such creepy knickknacks? “Not looking for anything in particular.”
He gestures around the store proudly. “Well then, you’re in the right place. Take your time. There are enough treasures here to keep you entertained for hours. And everything’s ten percent off today.”
Zach follows me down the first aisle, and we examine rows of old books, their scent a combination of dust and worn leather.
We pass a rack of eclectic clothing containing a fuzzy neon green sweater, bowling shoes, and a yellow fedora.
“I have an idea,” Zach says with a grin playing on his lips.
“We both pick three items for each other, and we have to wear them to lunch.”
“Oh, you are so on,” I say, extending my hand for him to shake. “You’re going to love what I pick, I already know.”
“You’re going to love what I pick more,” Zach says teasingly. “You’ll probably make it a permanent part of your outfit rotation.”
He clearly doesn’t know who he’s competing against. Challenge accepted.
I step away from him and head toward the blazer rack.
Nestled between a navy pinstripe jacket and a brown tweed coat is a fuzzy zebra-print cardigan.
It feels like a stuffed animal, and I can’t stop petting it.
Perfect. That’s the first piece of Zach’s lunch outfit officially selected and it’s better than I could have imagined.
I turn down the accessories aisle and spot a hot-pink cowboy hat, its brim encrusted with purple and orange rhinestones.
Bingo. Next, I snag a purple boa that sheds feathers with every step.
That was fast. The guy at the cash register’s right about this place being full of treasures.
“Okay, I found my items,” I call. “You’re going to look amazing. ”
“What a coincidence. I just finished finding yours. You’re going to adore them.” Zach appears in front of me, his hands behind his back, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
I show him each of my selections like they’re Gucci pieces.
“Oh my god, the owner of the restaurant is going to think I’m a total weirdo,” Zach says. “The last time he saw me, I had just found out about my dad and your mom, and I was a massive grump. And now I’ll be back dressed like a . . . a crazy disco safari man.”
“A deal’s a deal,” I say. “You’ll look great.”
“Okay,” Zach says, “but you need to fully commit to my choices for you.”
He swings his hands out from behind his back with a flourish, revealing the treasures he’s been hiding: a pair of enormous magenta sunglasses with bubblegum-pink lenses, a hat made entirely of blue feathers that looks like it might take flight, and a dress patterned with cat heads—one of which bears an uncanny resemblance to my old buddy Hairball—complete with tiny felt ears sprouting from the shoulders.
“Oh no,” I breathe.
“Oh yes,” Zach says. “Like you said, missy, a deal is a deal.” He extends his arm. “Shall we?”
I laugh as I link arms with him and we pay, then step outside and put our new outfits on over our clothes.
It’s even more ridiculous than I imagined.
Zach looks like a seventies porn star who moonlights as a children’s party entertainer.
I reluctantly wriggle into the cat dress and balance the feathery hat on my head, already imagining a family of sparrows moving in before we reach the restaurant.
The sunglasses make the world look strange and a little psychedelic.
“You look ravishing,” Zach says, with an amused smile. “You really suit cat print.”
“And you,” I tell him, “look like the prettiest zebra at the zoo.”
“That’s what I was aiming for,” Zach replies proudly. We walk along the street, people giving us bemused glances. A few of them even take not-very-subtle pictures of us.
We walk about a mile from the busy section to Pavaro, a restaurant I’ve passed a bunch of times but never felt enticed to try; It’s small and there are always tons of cars out front, its tiny sign instructing customers to enter from the back of the building.
Zach and I head around back, and he pulls open the door. We step inside the small space, where there are only ten tables, all of them occupied.
A tall man in his late fifties approaches us, his mouth gaping open. “Zachary?” he says. “Is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” Zach says, doing a slow spin so the man can appreciate his outfit in all its glory.
“You look like you’re going trick-or-treating, but you also look a lot happier than the last time I saw you.” The man gestures at me. “And who do we have here?”
“I’m Lexi,” I say.
“Love the cat print,” he says with a laugh. “We have a table on the patio for you two. Maybe your bold outfits will attract some more customers.”
“It looks like you’ve got your fair share of regulars, Danny,” Zach says, gesturing at the people sitting at the tables.
“Yes, I agree, but it’s always nice to meet someone new,” Danny says, giving me a friendly smile.
He leads us to our table on the small patio beside the entrance. Overlooking the parking lot, it’s not exactly scenic, but it’s clean and has small floral arrangements in all four corners.
“This place is a hidden gem,” Zach says. “I promise you’re going to love the food. Danny used to be a chef for a popular chain but quit because it got too stressful. Now he’s his own boss, making food he feels like making, at a pace he feels like working at.”
“He seems really nice.”
“He is. And super talented. He had the chance to move to a bigger space where he’d make more money, but decided against it. He likes a slower pace. He’s got his regulars and they’re loyal customers. And as soon as you taste the food, you’ll see why.”
It seems like there’s a common thread in Zach’s attitude. He deeply respects when people do jobs they’re passionate about. Hopefully in a few weeks, I can find one I love.
Danny returns with two glasses of water and laminated black-and-white menus.
My eyes rove over the lunch selections—mini lobster and filet mignon sliders, surf and turf tacos, beef tenderloin with garlic butter lobster tail, barbecued pulled pork with Cajun shrimp sandwich, seared scallops with creamy risotto.
How the heck am I going to be able to choose with options like these?
Thank goodness I wore a romper instead of jeans today—more room for a hearty meal without buttons popping open involuntarily.
“I’m getting the tacos,” Zach says without as much as a glance at the menu. “But if I’m being honest, I’ve been thinking about what I was going to get since I texted you last night. And I keep going back and forth between that and the risotto. What are you thinking?”
I take off my pink glasses and set them on the table—they’re hilarious but they’re also not the best for reading small print. “I am a sucker for scallops,” I say. “And it’s been years since I had them.”
“Years?” Zach repeats. “Really?”
“Lately I’ve mostly been ordering in from Nova.”
Zach jaw drops in exaggerated shock. “Nova’s good but there’s a whole world of cuisine out there waiting to be discovered. For a small town, Driftwood Cove’s got a good selection.”
We order, and when Danny comes back with our meals, I take a bite of my dish, and the caramelized buttery crust of the scallop sends me into culinary heaven.