Page 13

Thankfully, it’s not raining at all by the time we step outside. Not that it would be a problem if it were since the metal roof would keep us dry, but the roof only covers part of the balcony, and I don’t love the idea of being squished next to Miles while repairing his tire.

After he unlocks his bike, I use my tools to start removing the back wheel. It’s clearly a new bike… and April was right—it looks expensive. “You should get a better lock for a bike this nice,” I say. “It’s a wonder it hasn’t been stolen yet.”

“Yeah, it’s on my list. Next paycheck. That’s the first time I locked it up in the park, though. I used to lock it behind the bookstore, but the accountant upstairs got a car, so there isn’t room anymore.”

Expensive bike, short of money. I suspect he’s living on his own for the first time. Lord knows rent in this city isn’t fair to anyone’s budget.

After showing Miles how to get the wheel free of the chain and gears, I lean the bike up against the railing. “My mom taught me basic bike maintenance when I was a kid,” I say. “My grandfather actually used to work in his father’s bike shop back home before he immigrated to Canada.”

“Where’s back home?” Miles asks. I’m surprised he wants to make small talk.

“Tanzania,” I say. “My grandparents moved here in the seventies.” I hold the tire in front of us.

“Next we need to get the inner tube out.” I squeeze around the tire to loosen some slack to make it a bit easier, then use two tire levers to pry the tire out from the rim.

“It’s easier if you have three levers. I don’t know where the third lever is.

” When one side of the tire is free from the rim, I show Miles how to get the inner tube out.

He’s not saying much, just watching and listening intently while I’m working.

When I get the tube out, I hand it to him and then get a bucket from the other side of the balcony.

Thanks to all the rain, it’s full of water.

After showing him how to use the water to find the hole in the inner tube, I dry the tube and mark the hole with a piece of chalk from the repair kit.

“So, how’d you end up here?” I ask. His silence is starting to get to me.

His eyebrows furrow. “Like, on your balcony?”

“No. I mean how did you end up on Love Street? Reggie told me you’re a university student.”

He nods. “At Toronto Metropolitan. Finished my first year.”

“What are you studying?”

“Planning.”

I raise one eyebrow. “How can you be planning to study something when you’re already done with your first year? You changing your major or something?”

He shakes his head. “No. I mean that’s what I’m studying. Planning . I’m doing a bachelor’s in urban and regional planning.”

“Oh. What’s… planning about?”

“It’s like, guiding land use and infrastructure to maximize quality of life and economic development while protecting natural resources.”

I snort a laugh at his tone. “Okay, thank you, Mr. Textbook.” I have heard of planning, now that I think about it. I remember reading a romance about urban planners.

After putting some glue on the tube, I tell him it needs to set up for a few minutes. “What are you planning to plan?” I ask. He looks confused, and it makes me laugh again. “I mean, what’s your career goal? What do you want to do with your degree?”

“I want to be able to, you know, affect change in communities. Work in transit, housing, or government to make places livable and fair for all the people who want to live in them.”

Huh. That’s actually really cool. I respect people who know exactly what they want to do with their lives.

Like me. I always knew I wanted to work in art.

Even though my father convinced me to choose a practical major instead of fine art, it’s still art.

“Is that why you’re so into the Love guy?

What did you say, he pushed for mixed-use neighborhoods, right? ”

Miles nods. “Yeah. Like Love Street. It’s a good example of a vertical mixed-use neighborhood. Buildings have commercial on the street level and residential above. There should be more residential than only one level, though.”

“That’s only on this side of the street,” I say.

“There are four floors of condos above the stores across the street.” The building that Cosmic and LoveBug are in is a condominium about fifteen years old.

Jenn and her partner, Mark, have a unit on the top floor.

I’m happy this Love guy would have approved of the neighborhood named after him.

“Why are mixed-use neighborhoods better?”

“They encourage walking and biking, which leads to healthier lifestyles. And they help foster diverse, close-knit communities and more engaged residents.”

“That’s why I love Love Street so much,” I say. “Everyone knows everyone. It’s like… a Hallmark romance movie small town but in the middle of a big city.”

He chuckles. Probably because I said the word “romance.” “Yeah, I’m learning how close-knit this street is. I mean, you don’t even like me, and you’re helping me because you say I’m part of your community.”

I flash a mischievous smile and put my hand to my chest. “Who said I don’t like you? Anyway, aren’t you from the land of suburban sprawl…? Why do you care about these mixed-use communities?”

One of his eyebrows shoots up, and there’s a small smirk on his lips. Turns out that Miles Desai is capable of amused expressions. They’re hard-won, though. “You’ll notice I’m not there anymore?”

I chuckle. No, I guess he isn’t. I assume that if he’s been biking to work, he’s living somewhere nearby for the summer. “So, is that why you came to the BOA meeting and joined the rebranding meeting? You want to help Love Street thrive for this guy, Lionel Love?”

He turns away, looking at the alley behind the building, then looks back at me.

“Yeah. Well, I mean, no. I didn’t volunteer for the committee just for Lionel Osmond Love.

I…” He runs his hand over his hair, which manages to look shiny in the dimming sun even after getting caught in the rain.

I’m sure my hair is a frizzy rat’s nest. “I moved to the city for school and because things were crappy at home. And I never really liked living in the suburbs. When I got the summer job on Love Street, I thought it was a sign. I wrote a paper about Love—the guy—in school, and I thought it was cool to be able to work on the street named after him. Also, I figured a bookstore in the city would look better on my résumé than the chain bookstore I worked at back home. I’m supposed to get an internship for next year, and I don’t really have relevant experience. Or connections.”

“Why are things crappy at home?” I ask. He doesn’t say anything. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” I add.

“It’s fine. My parents are separating. It’s… messy.”

I cringe. “Sorry. I know what it’s like to be in the middle of a messy divorce. My parents split when I was nine.”

He nods. “And it was… tumultuous?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t pretty.” I don’t talk much about my parents’ divorce or about how it felt to have the world torn out from under me with little warning. It was a long time ago, so I’m over it.

I show Miles how to attach the patch to the inner tube, pressing it down with the back of a screwdriver to make sure it’s sealed. Then we put the inner tube back into the wheel, and I show him how to tuck the edge of the tire back into the rim.

“Thanks a lot,” he says as I pump air into the tire. It’s actually inflating now, so the patch worked.

“No problem. You’re probably shocked that a naive child knows some life skills,” I say.

He exhales. “I don’t think you’re a naive child .

” He runs his hand through his hair again.

Guy’s going to be bald before he’s twenty-five if he keeps doing that.

“I’m sorry I… implied I do. I haven’t been very nice to you.

I don’t have great people skills. My mother says I have foot-in-mouth-itis . I’m sorry.”

I laugh at that. I sometimes blurt out my thoughts without thinking too.

“I’ve got a pretty thick skin. I know people think I’m shallow and twee because I wear pink and read romances and stuff.

I’m well aware that I’m an acquired taste for many.

” I give him a sultry look, batting my eyelashes.

“It’s a taste people usually do acquire once they get to know me, though. ”

He laughs. And it’s very cute. He looks… looser. I wonder if his crabbiness is just stress.

“I think I misjudged you too,” I add. “I don’t really like that guy you were sitting with at the BOA meeting, and I thought you were like him. You guys friends?”

He cringes, shaking his head. “No. That was the first time I met him, and I agree he’s a jerk. Maybe you and I can start over?”

“Maybe. One question first. Do you really hate my idea of a festival? I thought you wanted Love Street to succeed.”

He moves to the edge of my balcony, sitting with his back against the railing. “I do want Love Street to succeed. But grandiose plans will fail if you don’t follow processes and procedures. People spend years planning a festival. To do it in only a few months is nearly impossible.”

I grin as I sit across from him, my back against the brick wall. “You said nearly . Which means it might be possible.”

He shakes his head. “You’re impossible.” He’s smiling, so I know he doesn’t mean impossible in a bad way. I like Miles so much better when he’s smiling.

“No, I’m determined . And optimistic. I used to go to neighborhood festivals with my dad every weekend. They were always so busy, and everyone was so happy. Love Street needs that. So, tell me, how would you tackle it, Planner Boy?”

“Tackle what?”

I stretch my legs in front of me. “Planning a festival in only a few months.”