“You got it.”
***
Caleb got a break midafternoon. Rachel informed him two of his appointments had rescheduled, probably because of the street fair—a ten-block stretch of Whitman Street was closed to car traffic, and several patients had complained about the ripple effect that had on the rest of the area—so he had about an hour to kill.
He’d brought Hank with him to work that day since he knew he’d probably end up working late. He grabbed Hank’s leash from the coat hooks near the desk.
“You want to walk down to the grocery store that used to be a bank at the intersection with Court Street,” Rachel said as Caleb snapped Hank’s leash into place. “For some reason, the best food trucks park down there. The two best ones are the one with bison burgers and the one with empanadas. The empanadas are small, though, so order one of each kind to get the full experience.”
Caleb laughed. “Thanks for the tip. Is this whole street fair just an excuse to overeat?”
“Pretty much, yeah. And if you end up with any leftovers, your friendly neighborhood vet tech would be appreciative.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
When Caleb walked outside, Lauren was standing near the Cat Café table, looking at her phone. “You got a few minutes?” he asked her. “You promised to show me around. Hope you don’t mind if Hank comes along.”
“Oh. Yeah, sure.” She reached down and pet Hank’s head. He licked her hand as a reward. She looked up at Caleb. “Is it Take Your Dog to Work Day?”
“That’s every day at the clinic. Olivia gave me permission to bring Hank to work, so I have been when I work overnights. I did today, too, because my dogwalker wasn’t feeling well.”
“All right. Well, come on.”
As they walked through the center of the street, she said, “Have you ever been to a street fair in New York?”
“No, I can’t say I have.”
“They’re all kind of the same. This one is a little fancier because they get a bunch of really good food trucks and those have become kind of the draw, but every New York street fair is pretty similar. There are always a couple of trucks or booths with deep fryers, so you can get funnel cakes or falafel. There’s always a table with a guy selling packages of socks or bedsheets. I don’t know why. And then there are a bunch of random vendors, usually jewelry, dresses made to fit only very skinny women, and at least one table that’s just random New York tourist junk. Atthisstreet fair, most of the vendors are businesses on Whitman Street. So each of the restaurants has, like, one dish they’ll give you or samples of their popular dishes in little cups. And then all the stores are showing what they sell. Like here.”
Lauren walked over to the table in front of the yarn store and gestured toward it. There was a basket on one end of the table that held colorful balls of yarn. Hank gave it a sniff, but he wasn’t tall enough to do any damage. They also had stacks of knitting books and displays of knitting and sewing notions. A woman behind the table was having an intense conversation with a potential customer using a lot of jargon Caleb didn’t understand: roving, spinning, weight, and other terms he assumed did not mean to these women what they meant to him.
After Lauren made some small talk with the women at the table, they moved on. As they walked, Lauren said, “I’ve already had lunch, but if you see something you want to eat, let me know.”
“Rachel said something about a grocery store that used to be a bank.”
“Oh, yeah! At Court Street. That’s the biggest intersection on Whitman Street until you get to Flatbush, so it’s kind of prime real estate for the food trucks.”
“But…a grocery store that used to be a bank.”
“That’s Brooklyn. Some developer bought a bank building that has been here since the nineteenth century, and the building was landmarked, so they couldn’t tear it down or renovate it, but they could add aisles. It’s this really beautiful building with huge vaulted ceilings and these columns and arches that separate the space. So you go to buy meat in the area I think used to be the vault, and then you can admire the ceiling best from the frozen food aisle. There are cashiers where the tellers once sat.”
“This city, man. I bet most people don’t even notice the old parts of the building. Developers in New York never want to preserve, they just want to maximize profits.”
“The basis of this city’s economy has been commerce and money for four hundred years. What do you expect? Plus, shopping at this grocery store is kind of a novelty because the architecture is so unusual. I go there sometimes because they’re the only shop in the neighborhood that sells this obscure brand of yogurt I like, plus they have an amazing cheese counter.”
Caleb laughed. Lauren was never shy when talking about food. Kara had always acted in public like she never ate anything. Caleb liked trying new foods, though, and liked having someone who actually enjoyed eating to have elaborate meals with.
He wound up following Rachel’s suggestion and got one of each kind of mini-empanada from the offerings available at the truck: three meat, three vegetarian. Rachel would appreciate it if he shared.
As they walked back toward the Cat Café, Caleb admired Lauren, who seemed to be in fine form today, chatty without being too effusive. Her long hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail, which showed off her pretty face and the dusting of freckles across her nose. She wore a knee-length plaid dress and a baggy black cardigan that seemed to show she cared more about warmth and comfort than style. Still, she always looked put together, even if Caleb didn’t like how the baggy cardigan obscured her amazing body.
He sighed. It was nice of her to walk around with him, and he was enjoying talking with her and checking out the fair. It was a beautiful day, sunny but still too cool for short sleeves. Contentment washed over him as he followed Lauren down the street at a slow pace. He noticed that Hank gazed at her with adoration, and his patience was rewarded when Lauren snagged a dog treat from a table in front of a pet food store and offered it to him.
“I believe you just made a lifelong friend,” Caleb said.
“Aw. You’re a good dog, aren’t you, Hank?”
Hank barked happily.
