I may not have been confident in the whole arena of womanhood, but I could hold my own in the vision department. And my vision was telling me, like a Canadian Mountie, Elle was most certainly going to get her man.

That night, I was sitting in my bed, tossing around ideas for the Englishman and what I saw for his new restaurant. I was really starting to get a vibe about him and his sensibilities when my phone rang. It was Griffin. It made me wonder if he had ESP and suspected I was thinking about a man other than him.

“How are you?” he asked in a very serious tone.

“I think I’m supposed to ask you that.” A long silence seemed to stretch from Atlanta to New York and back. “I’m serious, Griffin. How are you doing with Henry?” Another pause stretched out between us like a contented yawn.

“To be honest, Bae, I’m relieved. I was always waiting for something to happen. Always on guard. Always worried what sort of trouble Henry would get into. I know it sounds horrible to say, but I just need to be out of the caretaking business.”

For a moment, I thought he was directing his comment at me. I wanted to say something. My voice faltered. Unspoken words hung between us like an expectant noose. It made me sad that the secrets Griffin had endured in his childhood, he was reliving with Henry. This was before I learned that many human beings live half their lives with secrets.

The next morning, I woke up refreshed, ready to do research for my upcoming interview with Elliott Graemmer. As if I had been struck by a mighty lightning bolt, I felt downright stupid. Grammar. The big question mark. I suddenly knew the title of his restaurant. I wondered if he knew he had done this or if it was just one of those magical things. The top line should be grawlixes—@%&#—and underneath it should be spelled out GRAEMMER. It seemed catchy. A winner.

I went to a new vintage store to see if I could find a knockoff of some of the modern art I had seen at the Guggenheim. I found another dress for Elle, and then I saw something else tucked behind a bunch of boxes. It was a painting. An abstract painting. I had the proprietor of the store pull it out for me so I could get a better look.

It almost looked like a 3-D painting of brightly colored ribbons waving gently in the breeze. One ribbon was the color of fresh shrimp, another ribbon sky blue, and several ribbons the color of cantaloupe. But the pièce de résistance was the celery color that bookended all the waving colors. I saw it almost immediately. A watery celery would be a perfect color for the walls in Elliott’s restaurant. This picture could hang on a wall going to the restrooms. The colors just peeping out to bid you closer. I tried to breathe before I bargained. I didn’t want the shopkeeper to see how badly I wanted it.