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  Fig bustled into the kitchen with the napkin in his mouth and dropped it at my feet. “I know,” I said. “I’m making the shortbread. See?” I took two sticks of butter from the fridge, then opened a cabinet and found the flour and sugar.

  It startled me when he barked, because again, that was something he just didn’t do. I crouched down, cupped his big head between my hands, and studied him closely as I asked, “Are you okay, Figlet? You’re not yourself this morning.”

  Fig stepped back, out of my grasp, and shoved the napkin toward me with his nose. “If you’re trying to tell me to drive back to the coffee house and buy you a cookie, that’s not happening.”

  The dog rolled his eyes, clear as day. Even though I’d seen him do that many times, it was still disconcerting, because it was just so human. I picked up the napkin and started to open the cabinet under the sink to throw it in the garbage, but Fig bumped me with his shoulder, and I lost my balance and landed on my ass.

  “You’re being really weird,” I said. “What is it with you and this—” Just then, I noticed blue ink inside the crumpled napkin. When I unfolded it, I discovered Ari’s name and phone number, and I exclaimed, “I thought he was trying to tell me I had food on my face, so I wiped my mouth and ran away from him! He must think I’m a lunatic.” I ran my thumb over Ari’s name and whispered, “That sweet, gorgeous guy actually gave me his number.”

  Fig sat down right in front of me, and I glanced at him and asked, “How did you know something was written in there?” But then, I answered the question myself. “You couldn’t have. I guess you just liked the way it smelled.” I held it to my nose and gave it a sniff. Of course, to me, it didn’t smell like anything at all.

  I got up off the floor and tried to smooth the wrinkles out of the napkin. Then I sealed it up in a gallon-size zip top baggie to keep it safe and stuck it to the purple refrigerator with a magnet in the shape of a banana. After a pause, I added ten more fruit-shaped magnets all around the perimeter of the bag, just to make sure it was secure.

  For a few moments, I was so happy. I stepped back and grinned as I studied that napkin. He’d written his information in bold strokes with a turquoise blue felt-tip pen, and it looked and felt like pure joy.

  But soon, self-doubt began to creep in, and I muttered, “He probably regrets giving me his number, since I acted like a total nut job when he handed it to me. Plus, I was a train wreck this morning, so why would he want to give it to me in the first place?”

  A thought occurred to me, and I turned to Fig and said, “Maybe he just wanted to continue helping me get my notes in order, after I dumped them all over the coffee house floor. That would make a lot more sense than actually wanting to go out with me.”

  The dog stared at me for a few seconds. Then he turned and left the kitchen, while I found a mixing bowl. Even if Fig didn’t want cookies after all, I sure did.

  The rest of the day was spent baking, failing to write, and debating whether I should call Ari. I must have picked up the phone fifty times. Even if he’d only given me his number with the intention of helping me get my notes in order, that was still pretty great. I loved the idea of getting to spend time with him, no matter the context. But fear of embarrassing myself even more than I already had kept making me hang up before placing the call.

  That night, I went upstairs and tried to lose myself in a book, so I could stop thinking about him. I regretted the fact that I hadn’t made that call, and now it was too late in the day. Aunt Roz had done her best to instill good manners in me, including the belief that, except in an emergency, it was never okay to call someone after nine p.m.

  A glance at the clock on my nightstand told me it was 8:59.

  I raced downstairs and grabbed the land line, which was mounted to the wall in the kitchen, and dialed the number I’d committed to memory. Of course, that meant I was totally winded when Ari answered on the second ring with a cheery, “Hello?”

  It took a few seconds to catch my breath, and during that time, he was treated to the sound of heavy breathing. It was a miracle that he didn’t hang up. Finally, I managed, “It’s Griffin Vale. We met this morning at Perk. Sorry, I just need to catch my breath.” I sandwiched the phone between my ear and shoulder, bent over, and rested my hands on my knees as I gasped for air. Man, I was really out of shape.

  “Hi Griffin, I’m so glad you called!”

  “You are?”

  “Definitely. I kept checking my phone all day, hoping to see a message from you.”

  I sat down on the floor and leaned against the refrigerator as I admitted, “I wanted to call sooner, but I kept talking myself out of it.”

  “Why?”

  “I was worried about embarrassing myself. As I’m sure you noticed this morning, I take being socially awkward to a whole new level.”

  “All I noticed was a cute guy having a rough start to his day.”

  Fortunately, I managed to stop myself from yelling he thinks I’m cute! Instead, I said, “I’m not calling too late, am I?”

  “No, not at all. I’m always up way past midnight. It’s a good thing I usually work closing at the coffee house, because I wouldn’t survive that morning shift for very long.” I could hear him shifting the phone around, and then he asked, “Were you able to get your notes back in order?”

  “I didn’t even try. It was too discouraging.”

  “I’d be happy to help if you want me to.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll figure it out.” After a moment, I asked, “Was that why you gave me your number?”

  “No, I did that because I want to get to know you.”

  That gave me the courage to ask, “Would you maybe like to meet for coffee this Friday?” I pressed my eyes shut and crossed my fingers.

  “How about dinner first, then coffee?”

  That was so much better than I’d hoped for. I opened my eyes and blurted, “Yes, absolutely. Should I pick you up?”

  “Sure. How about seven p.m.?” When I told him that was perfect, he recited his address. I leapt up and scribbled it onto the cover of one of my notebooks, and then he said, “I’m looking forward to it! See you soon, Griffin.”

  After we disconnected, I wrote the time and date above his address, as if I could possibly forget. I felt so many things at once, including excitement and something close to panic. It would be a miracle if I didn’t totally screw this up.

  Chapter Two

  The next day was Thursday. In the late afternoon, I showered and shaved, then got dressed in my only suit, which was dark purple. I’d bought it for Aunt Roz’s funeral, because it had seemed appropriate to wear her favorite color.

  It had been a year to the day since she’d died in her sleep, on what would have been her eighty-fifth birthday. Her best friends, a trio of women who’d been important to me all my life, had decided to host a dinner in her honor. I was in charge of bringing dessert, which was easy enough, and Aunt Roz’s portrait, which definitely presented some challenges. But Lilian, who was hosting the dinner party, thought it would be nice to include it in our celebration of Roz’s life, so who was I to argue?

  There were two portraits of my aunt in the formal living room. One had been painted when she was twenty-three. I’d never known that Roz, the one with dark, wavy hair to her shoulders, whose talent for song and dance had made her a star. I’d watched her musicals many times, but it was tough to connect that woman with the one who’d adopted me when she was sixty-four.

  Aunt Roz was more beautiful than ever later in life, with her thick, white hair that she wore in a long braid down her back, her warm, dark eyes, and her colorful caftans. All of that had been captured perfectly in her second portrait, which she’d commissioned when she was seventy-five.

  We’d displayed both paintings at her funeral. It had been attended by all sorts of celebrities who’d shown up to remember her in death, but who’d never bothered to be there for her when she was alive. No doubt most of them were just there for the camera crews, who’d
decided Roz’s passing was newsworthy, even though she’d been out of the spotlight for sixty years.

  I dragged a coffee table across the pastel living room and positioned it in front of the fireplace, and then I climbed up on it and grasped the more recent painting’s ornate gilt frame. It was every bit as heavy and unwieldy as I remembered it. With some effort, I raised it enough to unhook it from the wall, and I grunted as I swung the painting around and stepped off the table. Then I called, “Come on Fig, it’s time to go!”

  I’d dressed the dog in a little tuxedo for the occasion, which he’d allowed me to do with a kind of begrudging cooperation. He was already waiting for me by the front door and led the way to the convertible. Once I opened the passenger door for him, he heaved himself awkwardly into the car, then up onto the seat.

  Since the painting was nearly six feet tall, the only way to transport it was by leaving the Cadillac’s top down, standing the thing upright on the floor, and leaning it against the backseat. Once I got it situated, I climbed behind the wheel and put on my sunglasses, then found Fig’s driving goggles and slipped them over his head. Okay, yes, it seemed eccentric, but it was the only way he’d agree to ride in a convertible when the top was down.

  Because I wanted to be ready for my date with Ari the next day, I decided to drive past his address on my way to dinner, just to make sure I could find it. I’d located it on a map and was surprised to discover it was pretty close to the coffee house, though the street name wasn’t familiar.

  No wonder, because it turned out to be an odd little side street that dead-ended into a vacant lot. On my right were a few boarded up businesses, including a garage that looked like it had shut down in the 1950s, and on the left were a former nursery and two abandoned warehouses. The gentrification working its way through the neighborhood had missed that block in its entirety.

  None of the buildings had their addresses on display, and I didn’t see anything that looked like a house or apartment, so I started to worry that I’d somehow written down the wrong information. When I reached the dead end, I realized the street was too narrow to turn the huge car around, so I put it in reverse and started backing out. I had to creep along and use my side mirrors, since the painting was blocking my view.

  After a moment, I heard a cheerful, “Hi there, Griffin.”

  Ari had stepped out of a warehouse to my left, and he grinned as I stopped right beside him. Okay, so the suit that matched the car, the huge portrait in the back seat, and the dog with goggles and a tux were probably a bit much. But this was a pretty accurate representation of what my life was like on most days, so I really just had to own it.

  The bulldog started wagging his entire body. He clambered onto my lap and put his front feet on the driver’s side door, and Ari came up to us and said, “Hey, buddy.” Then he gave the dog a hug, which I thought was very cute.

  “That’s Fig,” I said. “Sorry if this seems weird and stalkery. I wanted to make sure I could find your address before our date tomorrow.” It was a date, wasn’t it? Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.

  Ari straightened up and smiled at me. “It’s a nice surprise. You look great, too. I like your suit.”

  “Thanks. I’m actually on my way to a memorial dinner for my Aunt Roz.”

  His expression instantly became serious. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. She actually passed away a year ago, and today’s her birthday.” After a pause, I admitted, “It’s been a big adjustment, but I’m getting through it. She raised me and was always there for me, from the time I was three years old. Even now, a year later, I still find myself turning to tell her something, and that’s when I remember…”

  Ari rested his hand on mine as he said, “If you ever want someone to talk to, please call me, Griffin. Day or night. I’m serious about that.”

  The touch was tender and unexpected, and I was surprised at the emotions it stirred up in me. “Thanks,” I murmured. “I’d better go, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He nodded and stepped back from the car, and Fig climbed off me and returned to the passenger seat. I started rolling backwards, so slowly that Ari fell into step with me. After an awkward pause, I asked, “Can I give you a ride somewhere?”

  “Thanks for the offer, but it’s a nice day for a walk. I’m on my way to work, and here’s my shortcut. See you soon, Griffin.” He flashed me a dimpled smile before ducking down an alley between the warehouses. I watched him until he disappeared into the shadows, and then I resumed my slow-motion backwards roll down his street.

  Lilian Walker-Shapiro shared a house with her best friend, Nancy Bailey, in swanky Bel Air. The two women had decided to combine households twenty years ago, after they both became widowed within a year of each other. They drove each other crazy, but it was impossible to imagine Lil without Nancy, and vice versa.

  Lil’s third husband had been a successful Hollywood producer in the 1970s, which was how she afforded her lavish home. It had been built in the French provincial style with its symmetrical façade, elegant lines, and tidy, formal landscaping. From the outside, it was dignified and refined. Inside was another story.

  Lilian liked to think she was an interior designer, and every two or three years, she completely redecorated her home. The current style was inexplicably Polynesian and featured bright, tropical colors, enough potted plants to make Tarzan feel at home, and lots of rattan. Nancy called it ‘Tiki Room tragic’, but I thought this latest theme was a lot of fun.

  Lil’s cute, young assistant let me in and said, “Hi there, Griffin. The ladies are on the veranda, and they’re well on their way to getting shitfaced. Can I grab that from you?”

  Fig bustled ahead of me across the foyer while I juggled the large bakery box I’d picked up on the way, and I said, “Hi Keith, that’d be great. Is there room for this cake in the fridge?”

  The redhead said, “I’ll make it fit,” and took it from me, then headed to the kitchen while I went back out for the portrait.

  After I retrieved the canvas, I carried it to the back of the house, which opened onto a covered porch. Now that the house was distinctly Hawaiian, we were supposed to call it a lanai, and it really did feel tropical with its bright, floral print furniture and exotic plants. I said, “Hi everyone,” as I set up the portrait on an easel, then draped it with a waiting garland of lavender orchids.

  As soon as I turned around, I was enveloped in a perfumed hug by Glynnis Heywood, Roz’s oldest friend. “There’s my boy,” she said. “How are you holding up, Griff?”

  “I’m okay, thanks. How about you?”

  Glyn let go of me and dabbed a corner of her eye with a lace handkerchief, which made the gold bangles on her arm rattle. “I have good days and bad,” she said. “Today’s not so easy, what with it being both Roz’s birthday and the anniversary of her passing.” She was tall and thin with dyed red hair, a former actress who carried herself like a queen. I’d always thought she was the most glamorous woman in the world.

  “We all know what day it is. You don’t have to be such a drama queen,” Lilian muttered, as she elbowed her friend aside and pulled me down to her height. She was five-foot-one and full-figured, and I was convinced Aunt Lil gave the best hugs on the planet. She always squeezed so hard that my spine cracked, but I loved the fact that she put her all into it.

  Once she finished realigning my vertebrae, Lilian held me at arm’s length and said, “Let me take a look at you.” She was in her late seventies and wore her gray hair in a pixie cut, which she always tried to change up, even though it was really short. That night, she’d somehow managed to spike all of it up, and she was wearing a Hawaiian print muumuu, to match the style of her house. Lil proclaimed, “You look skinny. Have you been eating?”

  “Yeah, way too much,” I told her. “And I’m not skinny. In fact, I’m twenty pounds heavier than I should be, and since I ate nothing but cookies yesterday, that’s really no surprise.”

  She patted my cheek and sa
id, “You’re perfect just the way you are. Now, let me fix you a cocktail. I’m having a Mai Tai, would you like one?”

  “You don’t have to say yes to that,” Nancy said, as she took her turn hugging me. “I’m having wine, because this is Bel Air, not Maui.”

  “She bought six boxes of the stuff on sale,” Lil told me with an eye roll. “Boxes! I keep trying to tell her that’s tacky, but she won’t listen.”

  “You’re just being a snob,” Nancy told her friend. “I read an article in my women’s magazine that said nobody could tell the difference between boxed wine and the expensive stuff in a blind taste test.”

  While they argued, Glyn handed me a martini, and she and I raised a toast to Roz’s portrait. “I still can’t believe she’s gone,” Glyn said, after we both took a sip of our drinks. “I know it’s been a year, but every once in a while, I forget and pick up the phone to call her. Isn’t that silly?”

  “Sometimes I forget, too.”

  She turned to me and rested a perfectly manicured hand on my arm. “Have you thought about selling that house, Griff? It must be tough living there, because Roz is everywhere you look in that place.”

  “That’s why I’d never sell it. I couldn’t do that to her memory.”

  “But is that really the right house for a boy your age? I know it’s been your home for as long as you can remember, but you might be better suited to someplace modern and low maintenance, where you could throw parties and have fun.”

  “That’s not me, Aunt Glyn,” I said. “The only people I’d have to invite to a party were you three and my dog.” I gestured at Fig, who’d made himself comfortable on a loveseat and was taking a nap.

  “It could be, though. You’re still so young, and—”

  She cut herself off, so I asked, “And what?”