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“Understood. It’s very unique and charming. I’ve never had an urban picnic, but it makes me want to try one.”
“Where would you have it?”
“A rooftop. The rooftop of the firm where I work. We have a garden up there as part of a sustainability initiative. It’s beautiful and not to sound cliché, but when they proposed it, the designer kept calling it an oasis and I think I rolled my eyes at that, but it is one. It refreshes the eyes to see the green space and the slender green stems pushing up through the soil, the scent of the lemongrass.”
“Exactly. I love the city. But we need something different and interesting for our senses from time to time. This would be that place that feels like a treat just to visit it. The thing you promise yourself for going to the dentist for a checkup or finishing your taxes on time or something. A reward for being responsible. I would want to have a little bar with toppings for the oatmeal and a couple of quiches or an egg bake in the mornings. Around eleven, I’d switch to a soup of the day like a tomato basil with crostini or a really hearty bean soup with cornbread. A selection of hot teas, only have them in a tea chest like a gorgeous, spice-smelling treasure chest you can explore so it feels like you’re not just ordering water with a bag in it. I love tea—and that means you need shortbread. I make fantastic shortbread, but people seldom order it because it doesn’t read as a treat the way it looks. I’d do a ginger shortbread or a cardamom cinnamon, something to make it more exotic, I guess. A beige square that’s ninety-percent butter isn’t the kind of thing most people are going to choose on sight. But once they taste it, I mean, you would practically sell your mother for this shortbread the way I make it. It’s so tender but not extremely crumbly.”
“That sounds amazing,” I said.
The appetizer arrived, and I offered it to her. She grinned, “Shrimp cocktail!” she said. I knew the retro touch would make her smile with her vintage dress and her sensibilities about old Hollywood glamour. She took a shrimp and dipped it, ate it, and smiled. “So good,” she said approvingly, and I felt like I’d accomplished something.
“I’d do a lobster salad and chicken salad in summer, where you can get a half sandwich on toasted sourdough with some berries or a green salad with feta and walnuts because we never really stop for a good lunch. But we deserve to, you know.”
“Exactly,” I agreed.
Our dinner arrived, and she exclaimed over the presentation, the sauce's richness paired with the crisp texture of the pear slices. Her discernment delighted me, and it was different than I’d expected. I wanted to spoil her a little by bringing her here and introducing her to some of the finer things when she’d had years of struggle without much indulgence. She was showing it to me instead with fresh eyes. She pointed out details I’d become blind to from familiarity, not from the restaurant itself but of every experience. She was less jaded than I figured, though it didn’t make her seem younger or inexperienced. Just fresher, more perceptive and alert.
I nearly forgot to tell her the good news my lawyer friend had delivered. I stopped a story I was telling and cleared my throat.
“Let me tell you this before it slips my mind again. I was enjoying myself too much and forgot to tell you the reason I asked you here apart from the pleasure of your company. I had a call today and your landlord will absorb all the repair costs for the electrical upgrades. He offered a settlement sum to assist with paying for the replacement oven if you agree not to report him to the city, which would cost him a great deal more. My friend had given him an estimate of what a new oven costs, leaving out the possibility of a salvage or used oven. He’s prepared to offer you five thousand dollars to pay for what he thinks is half.”
“Wait, what?” she said, her voice high and eyes wide.
“You will be reimbursed for what you paid Leo, and the rest of his costs will be paid for by the landlord. You’re getting five thousand dollars. In cash. There is no record of it, so it’s tax-free. You can pay for your oven.”
“Are you kidding?” she looked alarmed.
“Not at all. I’m serious.”
“What do I owe this lawyer?”
“She might like one of your muffins. It was a favor from a friend. It’s an excellent deal for the landlord, considering you could sue him and get twice that plus legal fees.”
“I don’t want to sue anyone. I want my shop to reopen full-time with lights and an oven that works.”
“That’s what I thought. It’s perfectly fine to take the deal or refuse the deal. Your call.”
“I’m taking the deal! I thought I’d be lucky to get a slapdash electrical job paid for.”
“He’s over a barrel, Madison. He’s leasing units in a building that’s not up to code and potentially a danger to the tenants and their customers. The damages this man could be sued for on top of the fines he’d owe the city and charges he’d face, he’s the lucky one if you’ll take the money. If it were me, I’d push for more.”
“No, no way. I don’t want more. I just want what’s right. Can you call her? Should I call her?” she asked.
“I can message her right now if you like,” I said and I fired off a message immediately.
“Thank you,” she said. “I don’t know how the three of you have managed this, but I’m going to be better off than when I started, before I met Noah.”
“I’d like to think that we all want to improve things for the people around us and not leave them worse off. Not that I want to leave…” I halted suddenly and thought how awkward, how fumbling I sounded. It was out of character for me to be hesitant this way. I was flustered because of her.
By the time we shared a bread pudding for dessert, we were seated closer together in the curving booth. Her arm brushed my sleeve when she lifted her fork, and when she crossed her legs, I felt the movement. The contact along my side was alive with sparks, and I was aware of her in some inescapable way. I’d told her three times she was beautiful, and she had finally stopped rolling her eyes or trying to deflect the compliment. The third time she just murmured a self-conscious thank you. That was not all I saw in her, but I couldn’t stop myself from remarking on it.
When we left, I offered to take her home. She shook her head a little and then glanced at me.
“I don’t think I want to go home,” she said softly, a mischievous look in her eye.
“Is there somewhere else you’d rather I drop you off?” I offered, a little puzzled.
“You could invite me up to see your apartment,” she suggested.
