“I do. We should probably pull over somewhere, but I like having you wrapped around me like a koala bear,” he says and I smack his chest with the flat of my hand and suppress a giggle.
“I am not a koala,” I reply. “Turn right at Crescent Heights. I know a place we can talk.”
“You got it, Fireball.”
The light changes and Crew takes off. He follows my directions and as Crescent Heights turns into Laurel Canyon I take my hand off him long enough to point to the low, squat orange and teal building pressed into the foot of the hills. He signals and gently glides the bike around the side of the iconic little bodega to the parking lot.
As soon as he cuts the engine, I peel myself off the bike and Crew. I fumble with the tie but finally manage to get it undone and yank off the helmet. He’s watching me with amused eyes. I try to smooth my hair and hand him the helmet.
He locks both helmets on the bike and looks around. "What is this place?"
“Are you serious?” Does he really not know? “The Laurel Canyon store.”
“Okay. Cool. We’re shopping.” He shrugs. “Like a grocery store? Is my Fireball out of sugar?”
He usedme. That feels unfair. Actually, it feels good and that's why it's unfair. I bite my lip and start toward the store. "Follow me. It's a literal tragedy that you don't know what this place is. Consider this a gift. I'm about to introduce you to a piece of music history and the best millionaire’s shortbread you’ve ever tasted.”
“What now?”
As we enter the store, I explain to him everything I know about this little piece of Los Angeles history. How the store was a haven for the Southern California Rockers in the seventies. How David Crosby used to spend days wandering the porch, and Jim Morrison lived behind the place. How the Eagles would roll down from the hills and pick up beers or smokes to head back up the hill and jam some more at whatever house they were squatting in while they struggled to get gigs. How Joni Mitchell would shop and flirt here.
“Wow. I think you were born in the wrong decade,” Crew says with a soft smile as we wander the cramped aisles of the tiny store, browsing all the wonderful and sometimes ridiculous items that are crammed onto the shelves. There’s Cheerios next to Jesus candles. Brightly colored containers of Cuban coffee next to pastel mugs that say ‘Give Peace a Chance’. “I can tell by the way your whole face is lit up like a Christmas tree that this place really speaks to you.”
“I’m an Art Education major, remember?” I touch a pile of Teddy Bears wearing sunglasses. They’re soft and velvety. “Music is art. In fact, I’m currently teaching a music and music history class at a middle school as part of my internship.”
“Do you love it?”
“I do.” I smile. Crew smiles back. It’s not sexy or sarcastic or sly. It’s just a smile. Simple, pure, and gorgeous.
“I can tell you love it because you look like I feel when I’m talking about hockey.”
God, this is a good moment. I am in love with this moment. This connection… this… but wait. We’re not here to connect. We’re here to disconnect. He likes Shelby. I inhale sharply and step around him—no easy task in the cramped space. “Let’s grab some chai and that shortbread I was mentioning.”
I march up to the counter in the deli department, where they also have all the fancy coffee equipment of a Starbucks and a healthy baked goods section. The girl behind the counter gives me a warm smile because she’s seen my face before. I used to come in here a few evenings a week to study. “Hi Rosie, can I get a chai tea, two millionaire’s shortbread squares, and… what do you want to drink?"
I glance over at Crew. He shrugs. “Surprise me.”
I turn back to Rosie. “Two chais please.”
Rosie punches it in grabs two of the pre-wrapped shortbread squares and hands them to me as I dig out my money. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Thought maybe you moved away.”
“Nope. Still here.”
"No late-night study sessions anymore?” Rosie asks. “I liked having you here until close. Kept me company. Now it’s just me and Bobby McGee and he doesn’t curl up on me like he does to you. Just keeps trying to scratch me, the rat bastard.”
“One day I’ll be back,” I promise. “Give Bobby my love.”
She finishes making the teas and slides them across the counter. Crew reaches over me and picks them up and then follows me to the little porch on the front. There are rickety old sets of tables and chairs out there. I pick a bright green set in the corner.
“Wait!” I command as he sits his giant self down in the teeny chair across from me. I take a sip of the chai and then start unwrapping the shortbread. “If we are going to have this painfully awkward conversation, I am going to at least have some of this deliciousness in my belly to distract me.”
“What painfully awkward conversation are we having?” Crew wants to know as he blows on his tea. It’s totally unmanly and absolutely adorable at the same time.
“The one where you ask me if it’s a problem if you date my cousin,” I say, and already I want to die of humiliation. I bite into the shortbread. It's not helping the way I want it to but it is delicious. "And I say it is a problem for me and then you remind me how a one-night stand works and that I don't have a right to any feelings because one-night stands don't matter. And as you said before, I was the one who wanted to keep this private. I don't get to change the rules now. And I need?—"
“You need to stop talking.”
My mouth is frozen, half open, but silent as requested. Crew sips his tea. “This is weird. It’s like someone heated up wheat grass. I don’t think it’s my thing.”