“That’s a good dream,” I say. “I’d love to see it sometime.”
She nods, fingering her glass of water. She seems anxious somehow and it’s flattering, not to mention adorable.
“So the Victorian Village…I heard most of the houses are gone?”
“Yeah, unfortunately. Only a few are left. A massive lightning fire took out a lot of what was on that street before I was born.”
“It was one street full of Victorian houses?”
“Yep! There are photos at the Finnegan House. The Florablanca Inn was the star of the street, though. I’m so glad it’s still there.”
“I went to Finnegan House. They gave me an album of hotel photos.”
“Nice!” An awkward silence settles over us for a few moments, and I take the opportunity to notice how nervous she is. It’s endearing.
“So,” she finally asks, “you went to Auburn? Kendall went there too.”
“Yeah, I loved it. It’s a great town. Did you go to college?”
“Just one semester at Savannah College of Art and Design.”
“Wow! I love Savannah. The GC I’m wanting to use for the hotel is out of Savannah.”
“GC?”
“General contractor.”
“Ah,” she says with a nod. “Yes, I absolutely adored Savannah. I could’ve stayed there forever if things had been different.”
“What happened?”
“Nana was already starting to go downhill when I left, but during my first semester she had a heart attack while she was driving. She veered off the road and hit a tree. She’s lucky she even survived. When I came home, I realized her blood sugar was out of control. She really wasn’t taking care of herself, so I decided to quit college and stay.”
“That’s a very selfless thing to do.”
“Quite the opposite. Sometimes I think I’m forcing her to live for me. She dropped everything to take care of me when she didn’t have to, so I’m returning the favor.”
I smile and resist the urge to take her hand. I want to, but it feels like too much.
Our food comes, and it smells amazing.
“This is the best sandwich you’ll ever put in your mouth,” says Micah. She takes a bite and somehow manages to not mess up her bright red lipstick.
I try it and my taste buds are immediately overwhelmed. The spice from the aioli, the salt from the bacon, the bitter of the green tomato, and the sweet bread meld together into an explosion of Southern fried goodness on my tongue.
“I may never go back to Birmingham,” I say after swallowing. “You weren’t kidding. This is wonderful!”
She laughs. “Told you! I love this place.”
We each take another bite, and it’s all I can do not to roll my eyes back in my head. I grew up on Southern food, yet this is the most delicious fried green tomato I’ve ever had in my life.
“What do you do in Birmingham?” she asks after downing a gulp of water.
“Work, mostly. I know that’s boring, but it’s true.”
“What kind of projects do you normally do?”
“Well, at my old job we were doing a lot of commercial buildings, office spaces, things like that. It was good money, but I wasn’t passionate about it. I started moonlighting to help a firm out of Nashville on some historic restorations and fell in love with architecture all over again. After my divorce, I figured it was now or never, so I opened my own firm. I’ve worked on a few houses in north Alabama, but the Florablanca Inn is my biggest and most challenging job. The lady who owns it is kinda crazy, but I’m pretty ecstatic about the project overall. It’ll probably consume the next year of my life, but there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing.”
