Page 23 of A Small Town Spring

Keep her out of my room, please.But yes.You are both my guests.

Of course.Thank you.

I go to pack.

Twelve

Beingin Kingston’s cottage without him is odd.I’ve stayed in strangers’ houses before, those furnished vacation rentals that make you feel like you can’t actually touch anything.But Kingston isn’t a stranger, even though we’ve only interacted a handful of times in person.We text often enough I probably could have asked him myself about staying here.But still—we’re a different kind of friends than me and Pete.I’m not quite sure how to define it, except to say Pete’s energy is firmly that of a friend who gets my challenges as an artist, whereas Kingston’s energy draws me in and makes me want to be a part of it, somehow.

And now I have that energy all around me.

I find the guest room easily.Clean sheets are already on the comfortable bed.I brought my clothes, toiletries, all of Luna’s stuff, but there wasn’t much else in our house that was mine besides art Ivy and I collected together.One of these days, we’ll have to split those pieces up, I suppose.Perhaps when I have a more permanent home to move to.

I make sure the door to Kingston’s room is closed securely before letting Luna out of her carrier to explore the rest of the place.She sniffs the furniture, then hides under the couch.As long as she doesn’t use it for a scratching post, I think we’re okay.

I wander into the kitchen and put on the kettle for tea.Everything Kingston owns is good quality, well designed, and with a hint of flamboyance.His tea kettle is clear glass, his mugs all match.I recognize them as coming from the Met museum gift shop.He clearly values the items he surrounds himself with, and I feel his presence wrapping around me, even though he’s three thousand miles away at his California conference by now.

Being here without him makes me miss him with a sudden, inexplicable ache.

And it’s not until I’m trying to fall asleep that night in the guest bed, Luna curled up in the parenthesis of my body, that I realize it’s odd that Kingston is the one I’m missing, not Ivy.

The next day,I screw up my courage and call Fernanda.She doesn’t pick up, but I leave a message with someone who says they are “one of her assistants.”How many assistants could the woman have?Then I’m back to waiting.

In the meantime, I go to the Art Center and inquire about renting studio space.I can’t afford it forever, but since I’m not paying rent to Kingston, I can swing it for a while, and it’s not fair to Ivy to keep taking up her space.

Unfortunately, they have a waiting list, so I put my name on it and ponder alternatives.Then I go to the grocery store because Luna needs food, and I forgot to buy it yesterday.

I get the usual assortment of produce and Luna’s food, then swing by the tinned foods—beans are a reliable staple.I fill my cart with them before wandering by the fancier foods.I like a particular brand of olive tapenade they carry, and I decide to splurge and get a couple of jars.I wonder if Kingston likes olives.Before I can talk myself out of it, I locate my phone in a pocket of my jeans and text him.

Do you like olives?

I’m deciding between boring healthy cereal and the sugary kind I still have a taste for when my phone rattles.

Yes.

The terseness of the reply disheartens me.If my aim was to engage him in a text conversation, he’s not leaving me much of an opening.I do the math—it’s midmorning in California.He’s probably working and I’m bothering him.I sigh.What am I even doing?

I put one of each kind of cereal in my cart and am on my way to the checkout when my phone buzzes again.

Green are my favorite, especially stuffed with garlic.But kalamata are delicious also and those mild green ones make a tasty sauce—Castelvetranos.But you can’t beat a good old-fashioned black olive.I used to put them on the tips of my fingers when I was small and pretend they were long nails like my aunties’.

Do you like olives?

I grin and smother a laugh, then pull my cart to the side of the aisle as a grocery store employee comes through restocking.

I consider how to respond, then type.

I love them.

Tapenades are my favorite but I agree you can’t go wrong with an old-fashioned black olive.Especially on pizza.

I bite my lip, then dare to send a follow-up.

Be honest—did the name Castelvetranos simply roll out of your impressive brain, or did you have to look it up?

I wait, but there’s no reply right away and I get nervous.Did I go too far with the impressive brain thing?Is that saying too much?

But when I’m in the checkout line, the phone buzz has me fumbling for it so fast I drop it.Thankfully, I’ve cracked enough phone screens in my life I now have the NASA-approved case and there’s no new damage.

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