Page 13 of Finders Keepers

The café where Quentin and I are supposed to meet is located in one of the historic buildings on Main Street, about four blocks away from our houses.

If I remember correctly, it used to be a RadioShack.

While there are a few longtime businesses on this strip, including the toy store next door and the menswear shop across the street, most of the storefronts around here were either empty or occupied by some sort of unsexy retail chain back when I was growing up.

But there’s been a downtown renaissance in Catoctin over the last decade or so, and now there are bubble tea places and hip vintage stores and microbreweries and bougie restaurants called, like, Fate/Happenstance.

(How do you even pronounce that? Fate Slash Happenstance?

Fate Divided by Happenstance?) Apparently they have vintage bicycles on the walls and give you an origami crane with your check.

This place is cute, cozy. There’s lots of exposed brick, and the sun streaming in through the large windows reflects the café’s name—Best That You Can Brew—backward in shadow on the hardwood floor.

Yacht rock plays just loud enough to get my brain humming along with it.

It’s the kind of place where I might come to grade research papers, if that was something I still did.

“Can you imagine Catoctin having a place like this when we were kids?” The combination of Quentin’s sudden appearance and the relevance of his question to my inner thoughts makes me turn around so fast that I nearly knock my drink off the table.

Once I’ve ensured the cup isn’t going to topple, I take in his hair, still a bit damp from showering, and his new outfit of mauve chino shorts, black T-shirt, and Converse high-tops.

Those were the shoes he always wore when we were kids too.

Has he been wearing them steadily over the last seventeen years, or are they another thing he left and came back to later?

“You’re late,” I point out. He’s only about five minutes past our agreed-upon time, but I’m feeling petulant.

“Blame your dad,” he says. “Ran into him on my way out the door and he wouldn’t stop chatting.”

“ My dad? Chatting ?” If ever there was a man of few words, it would be Dave Hunnicutt. His best man speech at my uncle’s wedding famously clocked in at a cool ten seconds.

“Surprised me too. But I asked him a question and it turns out he has a lot to say about electrical wiring fill capacity.” He nods toward my sweating glass of iced tea and the overflowing plate of greens in front of me. “I see you already got your desired large salad.”

Really, why did I say that? I must’ve sounded like some sort of strange, prim, lettuce-loving monarch, issuing a formal declaration from my window.

Of course Quentin wasn’t going to let that go unacknowledged.

What I would give to be able to control my bodily response to his teasing so that he didn’t get the satisfaction of seeing this hot blush overtake my face.

“Want me to grab you anything else while I’m up there?” he asks, drumming his fingers on the table.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Mkay. Be right back.” Quentin makes his way to the counter, where he stands with his hands on his hips, head craned to read the chalkboard menu positioned high on the wall.

I find my gaze once again drawn to the new shape of him, because frankly I still haven’t fully processed it.

As a kid, he had this awkwardness he seemed to carry around like a physical burden.

Now Quentin Bell exudes nothing but confidence.

Paired with that stupid charming smile that he keeps wielding like a weapon, I have to admit he’s a real presence in a room.

And there’s definite strength there, his forearms and biceps hinting at it, even at rest. Plus his butt—

“Nina? Nina Hunnicutt?”

My shoulders jump and my mouth produces a swift, panicked, “No!” as I whip my head around.

The woman who said my name narrows her dark eyes at my bizarre response. “Oh. I thought—”

“I mean, yes. I’m Nina Hunnicutt. That is me and I am…sorry?”

She smiles, and my brain calms down enough to actually take in the person standing in front of me.

Her previously long black hair is now short and streaked with light pink, and she has a septum piercing that wasn’t there before, but she’s unmistakably the same girl I sat beside in countless homerooms, at graduation, and whenever else our grade was arranged alphabetically by last name.

“Oh my goodness, Hanako Hughes! How are you?”

“I’m well! And also sorry too, since I seem to have interrupted you…” Hanako trails off as she glances in Quentin’s direction with a knowing smile.

“You weren’t interrupting anything,” I insist. “I was just…checking out the menu.” My peripheral vision catches on the salad in front of me, and I quickly add, “For next time I’m here.”

“Ah, can’t go wrong, to be honest. I’m a big fan of the potato leek soup. And the apple fritters, but those are Sundays only and they sell out within, like, the first hour of opening.”

I sneak a heavy exhale of relief, grateful that she’s either believed my lie or is polite enough to go along with it. “I’ll have to set my alarm early this weekend and try to make it in time.”

“It’s worth it, I promise.” She grins at me like I’m a long-lost favorite purse she’s found in the recesses of her closet. “It’s really so nice to run into you. And unexpected! I didn’t even know you were in town.”

“Oh, I’m not. Not really.” I shake my head a little too vehemently, and my glasses slide down my nose.

After pushing them back up, I force a chuckle.

“I mean, I am. Obviously. But not for too long. Just like, apple fritter long, I guess.” Does that even mean anything?

I don’t know. Might as well keep going. “I came down to help my mom with some, uh, reorganization projects. As soon as we finish those, I’m headed home.

” This second lie spills from my mouth before I have any hope of catching it.

I generally don’t make a habit of telling untruths, but I’m finding it a lot easier than honesty these days.

Hanako adjusts the neon-green yoga mat tucked under her arm. “Things are good, though? My aunt took some pottery class with your mom this past winter, and she said she heard you were doing really well.”

At the time my mother and Hanako’s aunt chatted, I probably was. That was back when everything was coming up Nina. But I’m not about to confide in a random high school acquaintance that my life sucks now. “Yeah,” I say. “Everything’s good. Great, really.”

“You’ve been living in…New England somewhere?”

“Boston.”

“Oh, nice. How do you like it there?” she asks, probably just as a courtesy.

“Bit cold,” I say. I have genuinely been a resident of that city for ten years, yet suddenly I remember absolutely nothing else about it. “But it’s really nice. Good, um, parks. And…beans.”

Hanako laughs as if I’ve made a joke, which I appreciate. “You’re a…” She searches her memory. “A history professor, right?”

“Sure am!” I respond too enthusiastically, then quickly switch over to “And what are you up to these days?” to avoid having to talk about my currently stalled-out career.

“A surprising amount, actually. My partner and I opened up a cocktail bar just up the street from here last fall, right on the river. It’s called Flow State.”

“Wow, that’s awesome,” I say. “And business is good?”

“Good enough.” Her smile seems more forced this time.

“One of our bartenders was in a car accident last week—” The concern must plainly show on my face, because she hurriedly explains, “No fatalities, thank god. But he has a broken pelvis and will be out for a while, so we’ve been scrambling to cover his upcoming shifts, and he can’t really afford to be out for five months, so we’re organizing a fundraiser night to benefit his family.

” She shifts her yoga mat as she exclaims, “Oh, you should totally come if you’re still around!

It’s on Saturday the twenty-first, and it’s going to be a ton of fun. Drink specials, DJ, the works.”

“Absolutely, yeah. I’d love to.” I’m not sure how much I mean this.

This is my first real venture outside of the house since I arrived in town and I managed to run into someone I know within half an hour.

A local bar owned by a former classmate is probably a prime stomping ground for all of the people who stuck around here after graduation.

The ones who will douse me in either pity or smugness if they find out the circumstances under which I’ve returned to Catoctin.

Poor Nina , I can hear them whispering. I always assumed she’d amount to more.

Or, Serves her right, leaving, thinking she was better than us.

Then again, as my therapist used to say, people aren’t thinking about me nearly as much as I imagine they are. A hurtful yet reassuring truth whenever I remember it.

Hanako looks up, her eyes settling somewhere right behind and above me. “Maybe you can bring your friend?” Her voice makes it sound like she’s winking, even though she isn’t.

“I’m in. Where are we going?” The unanticipated nearness of Quentin’s voice sends a shiver up my spine.

“To my bar,” Hanako says, and holds out a hand. “Hi, I’m—”

“I know who you are, Hanako Hughes.” I look over my shoulder to find Quentin smiling that practiced smile again, a hand laid over his heart. “And I’m absolutely crushed that you don’t remember me.”

She makes a show of squinting, examining him from a few more angles. I’m tempted to address Quentin by name and put an end to this unnecessary playfulness, but he speaks before I get a chance to ruin their fun.

“Tyler McMaster’s pool party, summer after sophomore year?” He says it like a question, and I spot a twinkle in his light blue eyes.