“Oh, that’s right,” said Nina. “I’ll draw you a map.”

Polly had been pulled away by a customer, and Laura hoped she’d let the car conversation go. The thought of driving in Los Angeles, with the traffic and unfamiliar roads, was genuinely making her break out in a sweat. She hadn’t been able to get behind the wheel in New York, but she’d been hoping it would be a different story here. And hopefully it would be, she just needed to work up to it. This, she told herself, is a problem for future Laura. For now she was going to go hide in the library.

•   •   •

Laura left the store with directions to the closest library, along with far too much information about it. (It was built in 1927, was of architectural significance, and had a fireplace, which Nina considered daring for a place filled with paper. Nina had then started telling Laura about a terrible fire at the Los Angeles Central Library, but fortunately a rush of customers—three at once—had come in, and Laura headed off to get an early lunch, not having had any breakfast.)

Now she was waiting in a strangely long line for a sandwich, farther up the boulevard. Surely the sandwiches couldn’t be that good? Suddenly three people ahead of her wimped out and went to Chipotle instead, and she vaulted forward in an instant, realizing once she was inside the store and could smell the bread that it was 100 percent going to be worth it.

Nina had told her about a little park a few blocks farther east, close to one of the libraries. She’d seemed incredulous that someone would willingly walk that far in August, but Laura was used to walking hot streets to reach cool parks. Maybe the heat would keep people indoors, and she’d have the park to herself.

She could not have been more wrong. Dozens of kids ran around joyfully on the sandy surface of a fenced-in playground, with giant shades like kites above and nannies and parents alongside. The sounds of glee mingled with horns and engines from Beverly to create a level of ambient noise that made Laura glad she was headed to the library later. For now, though, she pulled out her notebook to give herself a flat surface for her sandwich, and unwrapped it. Prosciutto, Brie, tomatoes, aioli . . . luckily the sounds of the playground hid her gluttonous moan of pleasure.

A shadow fell across her book, and Laura looked up to see Bob, who also carried a sandwich in the now-familiar white paper. She held her hand over her eyes and he stepped to the side, putting her face in shade.

“Larchmont Wine and Cheese and Robert Burns Park in the first week?” he asked. “That’s hard-core local knowledge.” He paused. “Can I join you?”