“Yeah, me too.” And I mean it. I’m glad we didn’t stay in Oregon. Too many glaring memories that I didn’t necessarily want to forget, but didn’t want to be faced with every day. The aroma of cinnamon drifts under our noses then and I look over at Avery as she licks her lips. “Do you have time?”
She checks her watch then glances up at me. “Not to sit down. But we could get one to go,” she adds, and that’s all it takes. Neither of us hesitates before pulling open the door to Bellaricci’s Pastry Shop, the place we fortunately have to pass every day on our route to the subway. As always, it’s packed with people. Avery stares at her watch again. “This might be pushing it.” I can see the deliberation going on in her mind until she finally succumbs. “Shit. I can’t. I’m going to be late. Grab me one for home, will you?”
“Sure, Ave.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you tonight.” She blows me a kiss then disappears out the door, the crowd quickly swallowing her up.
Twenty minutes and three cinnamon rolls later, I’m out the door and heading to the subway. I tell myself I can refrain from eating one now, but the longer the smell floats under my nostrils, the more difficult it is to resist. Giving in, I dig my hand inside the bag and remove a sticky chunk, sliding it into my mouth. A blast of sweetness coats my tongue and while it is definitely delicious, nothing compares to Anna’s back home.
Anna’s. My mind floods with memories of Vance strutting behind the register that day at the shop. Long hair hanging over determined blue eyes that wouldn’t take no for an answer. That cocky swagger filling a space in a way that only he could. He was impossible not to notice. A heavy sigh pushes it all away. None of that matters because I’m happy with Grant.
One more big bite of pastry lands in my mouth as I casually make my way toward the subway. This is the great thing about working part-time at the gallery and going back to school. I never feel like I have to be in a hurry. Especially on days like this, when the sun is beaming over Manhattan and the air is crisp.
That all changes as I travel down the stairs leading to the subway platform. The foul odor of urine surrounds me and I wince, scrunching my face up as if that can somehow fight the disgusting smell. Taking the train on a regular basis, you would think I’d be used to it by now. But I’m not.
Fear of my sweets getting infected by the rancid climate, I seal up the bag and shove it into my purse. But all that is counteracted as I glance to my left. A young guy wearing a baseball hat and ripped jeans leans against the wall strumming a guitar. In front of him sits a beat up case, odd pieces of change scattered along the inner lining. I stare for a minute too long before crossing over to him and dropping a few dollars onto the red fabric.
When the train arrives, I follow the pack into the car and scan the long aisle for a seat. Being so crowded, I have to wedge myself between two people who don’t look happy. But I’ve learned on the subway that it’s every man for himself. Or in my case, woman.
A muffled announcement about a delay elicits subsequent groans all around me. I ignore them and pull out my notebook and a pen to review my checklist for the gallery. Most of what I do there is administrative in nature; checking on orders, paying bills, communicating with clients and buyers. But it doesn’t matter to me. What matters is that I’m surrounded by what I love and one step closer to my dream.
My cell rings and I fish it out of my purse, smiling wide as Troy’s number appears on the screen. I unlock it, pressing the phone to my ear. “Hey, you!”
“Hey, love. How are you?” His voice is broken up by sounds of screaming in the background.
I tuck my notebook and pen back into my purse. “I’m good. What are you doing up this early? You at the gym?”
“No, I’m over at the Griswold’s. I’m helping Mr. Griswold build a shed in the back. His kids don’t start school for a few hours so they’re trying to help.”
“You should really call my dad,” I suggest, and more screaming ensues. “I know he’s been missing us and you guys could hang out and build, I don’t know… things.”
Troy laughs and the sound makes my chest ache. I really miss having him close by. “Okay, maybe I will. So he and I can,” he chuckles, “build all the things.” The noise of a drill temporarily halts our conversation. “So nothing new since we talked the other day? How are things at the gallery?”
“They’re fantastic. I’m actually on my way there now.”
“Awesome.” A pause and then, “And… how’s Grant?”
“Good, good. He’s good.”
“Now that I know everything is good. I can breathe easy.”
“Ha, ha. Listen, I have to run,” I tell him as the train begins to move. “The train’s going and I’ll lose you in a sec, but I’ll call you later. Love you.”