Page 17 of Meet Me on Love Street
“What are you studying?”
“Planning.”
I raise one eyebrow. “How can you be planning to study something when you’re already done with your first year? You changing your major or something?”
He shakes his head. “No. I mean that’s what I’m studying.Planning. I’m doing a bachelor’s in urban and regional planning.”
“Oh. What’s…planningabout?”
“It’s like, guiding land use and infrastructure to maximize quality of life and economic development while protecting natural resources.”
I snort a laugh at his tone. “Okay, thank you, Mr. Textbook.” I have heard of planning, now that I think about it. I remember reading a romance about urban planners.
After putting some glue on the tube, I tell him it needs to set up for a few minutes. “What are you planning to plan?” I ask. He looks confused, and it makes me laugh again. “I mean, what’s your career goal? What do you want to do with your degree?”
“I want to be able to, you know, affect change in communities. Work in transit, housing, or government to make places livable and fair for all the people who want to live in them.”
Huh. That’s actually really cool. I respect people who knowexactlywhat they want to do with their lives. Like me. I always knew I wanted to work in art. Even though my father convinced me to choose a practical major instead of fine art, it’s still art. “Is that why you’re so into the Love guy? What did you say, he pushed for mixed-use neighborhoods, right?”
Miles nods. “Yeah. Like Love Street. It’s a good example of a vertical mixed-use neighborhood. Buildings have commercial on the street level and residential above. There should be more residential than only one level, though.”
“That’s only on this side of the street,” I say. “There are four floors of condos above the stores across the street.” The building that Cosmic and LoveBug are in is a condominium about fifteen years old. Jenn and her partner,Mark, have a unit on the top floor. I’m happy this Love guy would have approved of the neighborhood named after him. “Why are mixed-use neighborhoods better?”
“They encourage walking and biking, which leads to healthier lifestyles. And they help foster diverse, close-knit communities and more engaged residents.”
“That’s why I love Love Street so much,” I say. “Everyone knows everyone. It’s like… a Hallmark romance movie small town but in the middle of a big city.”
He chuckles. Probably because I said the word “romance.” “Yeah, I’m learning how close-knit this street is. I mean, you don’t even like me, and you’re helping me because you say I’m part of your community.”
I flash a mischievous smile and put my hand to my chest. “Who said I don’t like you? Anyway, aren’t you from the land of suburban sprawl…? Why do you care about these mixed-use communities?”
One of his eyebrows shoots up, and there’s a small smirk on his lips. Turns out that Miles Desaiiscapable of amused expressions. They’re hard-won, though. “You’ll notice I’m notthereanymore?”
I chuckle. No, I guess he isn’t. I assume that if he’s been biking to work, he’s living somewhere nearby for the summer. “So, is that why you came to the BOA meeting and joined the rebranding meeting? You want to help Love Street thrive for this guy, Lionel Love?”
He turns away, looking at the alley behind the building, then looks back at me. “Yeah. Well, I mean, no. I didn’t volunteer for the committeejustfor Lionel Osmond Love. I…” He runs his hand over his hair, which manages to look shiny in the dimming sun even after getting caught inthe rain. I’m sure my hair is a frizzy rat’s nest. “I moved to the city for school and because things were crappy at home. And I never really liked living in the suburbs. When I got the summer job on Love Street, I thought it was a sign. I wrote a paper about Love—the guy—in school, and I thought it was cool to be able to work on the street named after him. Also, I figured a bookstore in the city would look better on my résumé than the chain bookstore I worked at back home. I’m supposed to get an internship for next year, and I don’t really have relevant experience. Or connections.”
“Why are things crappy at home?” I ask. He doesn’t say anything. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” I add.
“It’s fine. My parents are separating. It’s… messy.”
I cringe. “Sorry. I know what it’s like to be in the middle of a messy divorce. My parents split when I was nine.”
He nods. “And it was… tumultuous?”
“Yeah, it wasn’t pretty.” I don’t talk much about my parents’ divorce or about how it felt to have the world torn out from under me with little warning. It was a long time ago, so I’m over it.
I show Miles how to attach the patch to the inner tube, pressing it down with the back of a screwdriver to make sure it’s sealed. Then we put the inner tube back into the wheel, and I show him how to tuck the edge of the tire back into the rim.
“Thanks a lot,” he says as I pump air into the tire. It’s actually inflating now, so the patch worked.
“No problem. You’re probably shocked that a naive child knows some life skills,” I say.
He exhales. “I don’t think you’re a naivechild.” He runs his hand through his hair again. Guy’s going to be bald before he’s twenty-five if he keeps doing that. “I’m sorry I… implied I do. I haven’t been very nice to you. I don’t have great people skills. My mother says I havefoot-in-mouth-itis. I’m sorry.”
I laugh at that. I sometimes blurt out my thoughts without thinking too. “I’ve got a pretty thick skin. I know people think I’m shallow and twee because I wear pink and read romances and stuff. I’m well aware that I’m an acquired taste for many.” I give him a sultry look, batting my eyelashes. “It’s a taste people usuallydoacquire once they get to know me, though.”
He laughs. And it’s very cute. He looks… looser. I wonder if his crabbiness is just stress.
