Look at me now, a year later. The mere thought of standing in front of him makes my heart gallop, my hands sweaty, and my stomach do somersaults. I still can’t believe I’m so close to meeting him.

It’s too late in the evening to start my search now, though, so I ask the same woman who gave me the room—who introduces herself as Susan—if I can have something to eat at the inn. “Even if it’s just a sandwich or a soup that’ll be fine,” I say and she tells me there are a couple of options I could choose from if I move quickly. “The kitchen closes in thirty minutes,” she says.

I sit alone in a small dining room with a pretty view of the inn’s garden and ten minutes later, Susan brings me a Cobb salad, which I finish in a hurry.

Tomorrow’s a big day and I need to take a shower and get some sleep.

I text my mother to let her know I arrived safely and that I’ll call her on Saturday, as usual. It’s around eleven at night when I call Alisa, right before going to bed.

“All good. Got here, have a room at an inn,” I say.

“Great. I was about to call you. How was the flight? You sound tired.”

“I am beat. Any news?”

“No, It’s only 7 AM,” she says. “The day is just starting.”

True. I always forget about the time difference. “Let me know, OK?”

“Of course. You let me know too, promise?”

“Promise.”

Twenty-Five

June 4

“Good morning,” says Susan with a big smile and I can’t help but smile too. It’s Carmel, what can I say? Even if you don’t want to smile, you smile. It’s like a reflex.

She’s a woman in her fifties, wearing a pair of shorts, a sleeveless shirt with gold sequins and flip-flops. I wonder if everyone in Carmel is as bohemian, and based on what I remember, I think they are. I wouldn’t mind living here. What am I saying? I’m only here for a few days.

“Will you have breakfast today?” asks Susan.

“Maybe just a coffee. I have to be somewhere soon,” I say.

“Do you need me to call you a cab or are you using that phone thing? My son is on it.”

“Lift?” I ask, gulping.

“Yes! That’s the one. Funny name.”

The idea of taking a Lift is making my heart beat faster. It did even in New York, which didn’t make any sense. I hope my agony will end soon, so I won’t feel this anxious every time I see a rideshare driver or someone simply brings up the topic.

“No, it’s fine, thank you. I’ll walk,” I say.

“Alright then. Let me bring you that coffee,” she says, again smiling.

Susan not only brings me a cup of coffee—a good, strong one—but also a large plate of mini sandwiches with melted cheese and ham and fruit. I must look like I need all this food. The truth is I’ve been losing weight lately and I didn’t have that much to lose in the first place.