He looked down at his coffee cup. “My mom died when I was in college—ovarian cancer,” he said. “And I remember getting so angry about people trying to comfort me. They’d say things like ‘she’s in a better place now,’ or ‘at least you had the time you did together,’ or ‘she wouldn’t want you to be sad.’ And I just wanted to scream at them. It was like they wanted me to get over my grief so they didn’t have to deal with it.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I think that’s why I ended up drinking so much alcohol back then—to numb myself because no one understood what I was experiencing.”
“I can understand that.” I paused. “Except my way of numbing myself is binge-watching romantic comedies.” It was the type of thing I never would have shared before, but Hugo’s vulnerability had inspired me.
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with a Sandra Bullock marathon.” Hugo nodded in the direction of the dog run. “I bet we’re missing some serious canine drama right now. Should we keep walking?”
“Definitely.” I already felt calmer—how did he do that?
When we reached the dog run, two golden retrievers were overwhelming a gray short-haired poodle with their boisterous play. The poodle stood perfectly still as the other two romped around her, like she was praying to blend into the landscape.
“I think someone needs to have a word with those two goldies about learning to play it cool,” Hugo said.
I twisted the cardboard collar on my coffee cup. “Or maybe it’s a good opportunity for the poodle to get outside her comfort zone.”
“I like the way you think,” Hugo said, leaning his forearms casually on the fence, at ease with himself and the world.
I suddenly became conscious of my coffee breath. “When are you headed back up to Maine?”
“Turns out I’m going to be here for a few more days,” he said. “I got a pretty sweet job offer—building rooftop gardens for some public schools here. I have a couple of meetings this week to talk through the details and see if I want to take it.”
“That sounds really interesting,” I said. “What’s holding you back?”
Hugo watched a tubby corgi waddling proudly with a stick twice the length of her body. “I guess it would mean committing to living here for at least six months to oversee the project. I’ve got to figure out if I want to venture out into the world again, so to speak. I’ve kind of been loving being a recluse living on a houseboat and not seeing anybody. It’s getting a little weird, actually.”
Each small detail he shared about himself felt like catching a firefly in a jar. “I don’t think that’s weird at all.”
He nodded at the poodle. “Yeah, but I think it’s time I pushed myself outside my comfort zone again. That’s where all the best things always are, right?”
“So I’ve heard,” I said. “Though I haven’t really done that in a while—I’m not much of a risk taker.”
“Then maybe it’s time for both of us to start?” He raised his eyebrows as if issuing a challenge. “What about you? What’s in the cards now that this job is done?”
The corgi waddled over to us to show off her stick. I bent down to pet her through the fence.
“Except for a mahjong game with my eighty-seven-year-old neighbor, Leo, and hanging out with my pets, I’ll probably be reading as many books as possible and hardly leaving the house for a few days.”
“Sounds perfect to me.” Hugo bent down to pet the corgi too. “I totally get how you’d need time to decompress after a job like yours—especially when it required a last-minute road trip to Maine.”
I looked over at the poodle. The timid pup had given in to the golden retrievers’ friendly persistence and was now playing with them—albeit very awkwardly.
I thought back to a few days earlier when I’d written Claudia’s final words in my ADVICE notebook.
Don’t let the best parts of life pass you by because you’re too scared of the unknown.
Maybe the biggest risk in life was taking no risks at all. I summoned Claudia’s fearless confidence and dared myself to leap.
“So, my grandpa’s favorite bookstore is right near here and it was kind of our tradition to go on Sundays.” I looked up at Hugo. “Would you like to come with me?”
He tossed his coffee cup into the nearby trash can with one clean shot, then grinned.
“I’d love to.”
* * *
The bookstore was surprisingly quiet for a Sunday—empty except for two middle-aged women chatting in Mandarin by the historical fiction. Based on their excited whispers and hand gestures, it sounded interesting.
I looked around for Bessie but couldn’t see her. I was a little relieved, since I’d been slightly dreading her reaction to the fact that I hadn’t come alone. She was always just so … exuberant. And I didn’t want to scare Hugo away.
“Clover, honey!” My pulse sped up as Bessie materialized from behind some shelves. “I figured I’d run out back to the powder room while there was a lull in customers.” When she registered Hugo standing next to me, she stopped so quickly that I could almost hear the cartoon-like skidding of her heels. “Well, hello there.”
Hugo gave his usual relaxed grin, apparently not sharing my embarrassment.
“You must be Bessie,” he said, reaching out his hand to shake hers. “Great to meet you—I’m Hugo. I’m looking forward to exploring your book selection.” He smiled down at me. “It comes very highly recommended.”
Bessie beamed. “Well, Clover has been shopping here since she was six!”
“So she said,” Hugo replied. “That’s good enough for me.”
I thought Bessie might strain a muscle, she was smiling so hard.
“Hugo is an urban landscape architect,” I said, hoping to move things along quickly. “I remembered you had a few good books on landscape architecture.” I may have looked into it after the Maine trip.
“Oh, yes, I definitely do,” Bessie said. “There’s a wonderful monograph of Roberto Burle Marx that I love.”
Hugo’s face lit up. “Burle Marx is one of my favorites—I love the joy and optimism of his work.” I made a mental note of the name to google later.
“I thought he might be.” Bessie looked pleased with herself—she did have a sixth sense for people’s reading taste. “Let me show you where it is.”
For a second I was worried she was going to embarrass me further and take Hugo by the hand. Fortunately, he just followed her lead toward the back of the bookstore.
“Don’t let me buy too many books, Clover,” he called to me over his shoulder. “Or there won’t be room for Gus in the car!”
The bell above the door jingled several times as more people filed into the space. In an instant, the tiny bookstore felt crowded.
In between reading various blurbs, I snuck glances over at Hugo who was happily paging through some of the books Bessie had recommended. It was almost as if I had to keep checking that he was really there and that this wasn’t all just a fantasy I’d concocted in my mind. The whole day had felt kind of surreal.
After about thirty minutes of browsing, I was lost in the first chapter of Fran?oise Sagan’s Bonjour Tristesse when I breathed in the familiar scent of cedar and cypress.
I looked up to see Hugo standing next to me, a book in his hand. He held it out to me.
“I think you’d like this one.” Although I knew he was keeping his voice quiet out of respect to the other browsers, it felt intimate, special. “It’s about Gertrude Bell, the archaeologist and travel writer from the early 1900s.”
“Oh, I haven’t read that,” I said. But it sounded perfect.
“My mom loved reading books about adventurous women in history too.” The pain had returned to his eyes. “Even though she’s been gone for a long time, sometimes I forget for a moment and go to buy her a book she’d love.”
“I get that.” I’d done the same, many times. “You know, in Samoa some people believe that the spirits of loved ones stay with you even after they die, so you can still chat with them whenever you like.”
Hugo’s smile returned. “I love that—and I do still tell her things sometimes,” he said. “I think she would have loved to meet you.”
I dared myself not to look away. “I wish I could have met her.” There was no use trying to hide the spilling of pink across my cheeks.
A throat cleared. Behind us, a balding man with a toddler in a stroller was trying to maneuver past in the narrow aisle.
As Hugo shuffled closer to me to let them through, I felt our pinkies lightly touch.
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