and here I am. I figured he at least deserved a nod, so I named the store playfully after his real love. The stock market.” Her laugh was light and unapologetic. “Get it? The Stalk Market? Now I’m livin’ the dream. End of story.”
I now officially know more about Diane than some people I’ve known for a number of years. How did that just happen? “And the ex?”
“He’s still doing what he always did. Alone. No hard feelings. I visit when I go up there, but I’m always ready to come right back.”
“It’s nice that you figured out exactly what you wanted.” Vanessa had no idea how someone made the leap from window dressings in bustling NYC to a tiny flower shop in Fraser Hills. She surely couldn’t picture herself here. It had taken her a long time to even picture herself living out of the city in a neighborhood. “I was going to find some lunch. Do you have a recommendation?”
“You may as well go straight down to the end of the street to the Blue Bicycle Bistro. It’s twice as far, but it’s twice as good.” She paused, pursing her lips. “Or maybe you just work up an appetite on the way, and it seems better because you’re hungrier.” She touched a finger to her lips. “I couldn’t really say for certain, but it’s my go-to. Best food in town.”
“Then that’s settled. Thanks. I’m going to head that way now. It was nice meeting you.”
“You too. Stop back by one day. We can grab a cup of coffee, and share some city talk, and argue who has the best pizza—Chicago or New York City.”
“I might take you up on that.”
Vanessa walked by a pizza shop that smelled pretty tempting after the mention of it by Diane, but then could anyone really do pizza like Chicago? Spoiled for life. Pass.
Diane was right, it was a much longer walk to the end of Main Street than it appeared, but finally a long wooden building came into view. Fat, chunky wooden letters rose from the building rooftop, spelling out BLUE BICYCLE BISTRO. An old turquoise-blue ladies’ bike perched atop the letters, with a shiny bell and streamers, along with a basket overflowing with bread, veggies, and fruits. Bright and whimsical, it looked like a fun place to eat.
An emphatic screech behind her caused her to nearly trip at the crosswalk. By the time she caught her balance, a giant theme-park-quality bird costume zipped by, flapping its huge furry wings and making the most awful squawk she’d ever heard.
The blue and gold falcon costume had to be every bit of seven feet tall. That daunting mascot ran around her, then crouched and flapped its wings.
“Squawk! Squawk! Falcons Rock!” the giant bird sounded off.
What the heck? She couldn’t help but laugh. Seriously?
A blur of giggling girls yelling “Go Falcons!” nearly knocked her off of her feet as they charged up the block toward the mascot.
Vanessa watched them all hightail it down the street ahead of her. Did I have that kind of energy when I was that age?
Memories of her own cheerleading days flooded back. Crisp autumn days like this, and jumping up and down to stay warm while sneaking sips of hot chocolate between cheers.
It was perfect football weather. A HELP WANTED sign was taped to the front door of the diner next to a poster about tonight’s game.
As soon as she opened the door, she was hit by an inviting mixture of aromas. Pots clanged beyond the dining area from the kitchen, but the place was cozy and inviting, with booths along the windows and blue wooden tables and chairs in the center. Seating assembled from reclaimed bike parts—leather bike seats mounted to poles on bicycle-wheel bases—made for a very interesting look at the counter, where bright blue pendant lights hung from old bicycle chains. She walked over to a booth next to the window and slid in.
A rapid tap-tap-tap on the glass startled her.
She yelped, then muttered under her breath. That darn Falcon is going to give me a heart attack! Shaking her finger in the big bird’s direction, she said, “Stop that!”
It flapped and squawked, then swished its tail feathers at her.
She shook her head and focused on the menu printed on the placemat, while trying to avoid eye contact with that bird, which was still in her peripheral.
A loud snort came from behind her.
“People take football serious around here.” The man’s voice was deep, gravelly even. “You going