Chapter Three - Charlotte
My new apartment is beautiful. It’s bigger than anything I’ve ever been able to afford before, with bright, open lighting and windows I can see boats dance in the water from. There’s a sparkling kitchen, cozy living room, pastel-painted bedroom, and bathroom with amazing water pressure in the shower. It’s perfect, and it makes me so glad to be home. For a while, I push one of my chairs over by the windows and watch the boats, bright colors and sharp shapes on the open water. It’s comforting, relaxing – like it’s pulling the tension right from my shoulders and stomach that I didn’t even know I was carrying around with me.
I think I’ll have to buy a bench for this exact spot, so I can sit here and read, drink tea, and think. The movers have placed all my furniture in the appropriate rooms for me, so I don’t have to do any lifting. I unpack all the important things from my boxes, leaving decorations and out-of-season clothes for a later time. I’m meeting Dad at the restaurant in an hour, and I want to walk through town first to get myself reacquainted.
I’m delighted with how close I am to town with this apartment. There’s a quaint coffee shop down the block from me that I can’t wait to try, and a little market next to it selling food and housewares. A few blocks past that – not even a five-minute walk – puts me in the heart of the downtown business district. I’m suddenly surrounded by a lively crowd of people, talking happily, many with bags filled with holiday shopping in their hands. There are restaurants older than I am, and bars that are brand new. There are antique stores and shops displaying cell phones and electronics; there are boutiques with brand names and locally-produced clothes on the racks right next to each other.
The boutique where I bought all my favorite clothes in high school is still open, and I smile, remembering hours spent in its racks, convinced everything they sold was the coolest, the prettiest, the trendiest. It has a Christmas display in its windows now: mannequins in dresses and scarfs or jeans and sweaters pass wrapped gifts to each other, surrounded by large red and green glitter pieces. Three teenage girls push through the boutique’s doors, giggling and whispering as they do, making me think maybe not much has changed around here at all.
The whole town feels like that—new teenagers, some new stores, but the atmosphere holds the same easy content feeling it always has. I keep walking, passing three different families with ice cream, a new music store, and the small diner where I had my first kiss. Then I reach Dad’s restaurant and gasp. I’ve seen pictures, but I’m blown away by how great the space is. The navy and gold lettering stands against the brick front of the building, making the words, Dock’s End Bistro, popping in a dramatic way. The front windows are wide and inviting, with glimpses of tables and patrons visible from the street. I’m so excited to see the rest of the space that I almost run through the front door.
The inside is just as stunning as the outside had been: tables that seem intimate even though space is huge, high ceilings and dramatic lighting, splashes of color from curated photographs taken around town on the walls. It’s perfect. I can see touches I know must have been my Dad’s—the colors of the table linens, the font on the specials cards, the light, upbeat music piping throughout the space. I’ve seen it all before, in videos taken on Dad’s phone and in dozens of newspaper pictures, but none of them did it justice.
“Wow,” I breathe, shaking my head slowly.
“Charlotte?” a deep, surprised-sounding voice says. I turn my head and—
“Danny?” I ask, sure the surprise in my own voice is obvious. I’d be embarrassed if I could stop staring at him to notice it. Danny looks so different. He’s tall and his shoulders are broad, his features are sharp and his eyes are bright, his hair is carefully styled, and the shirt he’s wearing clings to his well-defined muscles. He looks so good. I’ve never thought about Danny looking good or bad or like anything but Dad’s friend Danny even once before in my life. I’ve always thought of Danny as so much older since he’s my Dad’s best friend – my Dad’s peer, not mine. Except now, seeing him again after so much time, he doesn’t look old at all. Maybe it’s that I’m a lot older myself, not a kid anymore, but I can’t help but let myself think that he looks better than anyone I’ve dated lately. It’s odd to think, but he’s hot in a head-turning way. In a way where if he’d been a stranger I’d seen across a room, I still would have noticed him – remembered him long after.
“Your Dad said you were back today,” Danny says, stepping in toward me, smiling broadly.
“Well, here I am,” I say, and then regret the awkward turn of words. Danny doesn’t seem to notice much as he pulls me into a quick, friendly hug. He smells good, like a combination of whatever he’s been cooking in the kitchen and a musky sort of smell that’s probably soap or cologne. I try to put it together in my mind, how to reconcile that this handsome man is the same Danny who once wore a constant scowl and a new girl on his arm every week. The same Danny who had always smelled of cigarettes and motorcycle exhaust fumes close up.
“What do you think?” Danny says, letting me go and gesturing around the restaurant. “This is your first time at the Dock’s End, right?”
“It looks incredible,” I say, “so much better than all the pictures I’ve seen. I hear your food is the real star here, though.”
“You should try some,” Danny says, smiling at me again, looking like my comment about his food pleased him. I smile back, thinking about changes—to Danny, to this town, to my life as a whole of late—and can’t help but feel optimistic about all the good vibes in the air.