Now that I’ve pinned down a location where I can routinely find Kasey, and one where I can find Aiden (at least during business hours), my last target is Jamie. During one of our long late-night talks, Kasey mentioned that he works with plants. Nothing specific, but the lead is actually quite helpful. Spend enough decades walking circles around the same town, and you develop an extensive catalog of locations in your mind. I spend a few days putting together a plan, thinking over places where he might be.

There’s a landscape architecture firm in an unassuming building near the edge of town. A flower shop more towards the center. A place called Lowe’s that has neat rows of potted flowers available just outside the store entrance. There’s also a van I’ve seen driving around stamped with the words KETTERBRIDGE GARDENING PROS, a slogan beneath it reading: Don’t Overpay!

The list goes on. Given that I need to get everywhere on foot, I've surmised that the best strategy is to start with the centermost businesses and move outwards.

I locate the van parked near one of the more expensive, oversized houses away from downtown. It unloads a cluster of men and women in shiny reflective vests. They get to work on the sidewalks with roaring, handheld machines, the purpose of which I’m not sure of. They appear to do nothing but spray leaves and dust wildly into the air, like a backwards vacuum cleaner. I check each member of the little team, confirm that there are no redheads in the bunch, and make my exit, a little relieved. The sound can’t physically hurt my ears, but it’s still extremely unpleasant. I’ll have to ask Kasey what those machines are for, if I’m ever made corporeal.

On day two, I head to the store called Lowe’s and explore the area with the plants. There are a lot of people wearing flannels here, and I have noticed Jamie’s fondness for them, so this feels closer to correct. I decide to wait until nightfall, in case his shift begins later.

Another full day without finding him, but not a waste. Now I’ve eliminated a few possibilities, narrowed down my list.

I wait until the next morning to start looking again, because while I may be searching for Jamie, I am unwilling to give up my nightly meetings with Kasey. I’m thinking anxiously about what’s going to happen if I have to walk to the landscape design place, all the way out on the fringe of Ketterbridge. It’ll be a long way there and back, and I don’t want to miss one minute that Kasey is willing to spend with me on Benton Street.

Today, I think I’ll try the flower shop. Fresh Flowers, it’s called. I’ve walked past it before: a single-story brick building with a logo of an unfolding blossom painted in white on the windows.

I stop outside, looking in. The windows are oversized and populated with lush, verdant plant life, dotted here and there with colorful blossoms that break up the greenery. The effect is that of a small jungle, contained to the interior of the store. It’s quite nice, clearly arranged by someone with an eye. Despite the urgency of my mission, I pause for a moment, admiring the pretty display.

I move through the closed door and stop just inside. Strangely enough, the store is completely empty. The lights are on, the sign flipped to open. Where is everyone?

I wander deeper into the shop, taking a few minutes to appreciate the way things are set up in here. The store I went to yesterday had neatly-arranged rows of plants in homogenous terra-cotta flower pots. There doesn’t appear to be such a system at Fresh Flowers: every surface is crammed with different plants in all different pots, some of which look hand-painted. The resulting effect makes the place feel more like a sprawling garden than a store. In some strange way, it reminds me of the Ketterbridge I knew a long time ago, when nature was so much thicker and wilder.

There’s an entrance to what must be a staff or storage room in the back. I drift through the closed door and find my guess to be correct. There are shelves of empty, stacked pots back here, along with piles of boxes and a work table sprinkled with loose soil. An open cabinet in the far corner is filled with rows of binders and business records.

A long, slender counter against one wall is covered with tissue paper and ribbons and small paper tags - all of which have been moved aside to make room for the woman sitting on top of it.

With a jolt of surprise, I recognize her as Gabby, who I first came across with Aiden at City Hall. The man leaning his hip against the counter right next to her, I don’t know, but I have seen him before, through the windows of this very shop.

They appear to be splitting a chocolate croissant.

“How did you know about my weakness for croissants?” Gabby asks. “Did Aiden give you intel?”

“No, I remembered from high school," the man answers. "You always ate one in homeroom. First thing in the morning, every day.”

“What?” Gabby has a low laugh, much like her voice: full of warmth, and something like intimacy, despite the fact that they’re not even touching each other. “Your memory is ridiculous, Kent. It’s staggering.”

“It actually is pretty good, normally, so you can see why it was killing me that I couldn’t remember you.” He pinches a piece of croissant free and takes a bite.

“Here I was thinking maybe you hadn’t figured it out because you never noticed that I existed in the first place,” Gabby says.

“No!” Kent insists, at once.

“Not that I blamed you,” she adds hastily. “I was like the phantom in the very back of the classroom.”

“No, come on, I knew you existed.”

“Oh, really.”

“Yes. In fact, now that I know who to think of, I remember a lot of stuff.”

“Like what?” she asks, affectionately tapping his nose with her fingertip.

“Like… you were in my AP English class. You did a presentation on A Passage to India that made everybody else’s look absolutely terrible.”

Gabby stops with a piece of croissant halfway up to her lips.

“Oh, my god.”

“Told you I remembered.”

“How. The hell.”

“Hah! I was right. You remember that too, don’t you?”

“God, yes.” She shudders. “If only because it was so horrible to be forced to stand up in front of the whole class and have everyone looking at me at once. I maintain that making high school kids do that is cruel.” She shakes her head at Kent. “I spent the whole time telling myself that I'd be okay because nobody was going to remember it, or even think about it once it was over. And here we are, how many years later, and you, of all people, remember.”

“Of course I do. You were the only one who laid out an entire argument that was the complete opposite of what Mr. Lansky had taught us about the book." Kent smiles, like he can still see it. "You know, for a shy kid, it's pretty surprising that you got up there, looked a teacher right in the eye, and basically said: wrong, wrong, and wrong, and I’ve got citations to back it up.”

“I would have argued with him a lot more often, if I hadn’t been avoiding drawing attention to myself. That man had some theories on John Donne’s poetry that were completely absurd. And his take on A Passage to India still makes me cringe, for the record. We never even evaluated any of E. M. Forster’s other works, and context changes things!”

“Is that why you referenced two other books of his besides A Passage to India? Like, books that we weren’t even assigned?”

“Yes, damnit!”

“I remember you seemed almost mad about it.”

“Yeah, well, I was!” she laughs, and Kent laughs, too.

“Nerd,” he says, grinning, and she smacks his chest, but then leaves her hand there. He leans in a little closer to her, and she stills, her dark eyes fixed on his with pinpoint focus.

“Is this okay?” he asks, pausing an inch or so away from her face.

“So you’re going to taste like a croissant the first time you kiss me?” she murmurs, tracing her hand down his close-cropped beard. “What, are you trying to help me live out all of my high school fantasies at once?”

“I want to hear more about these fantasies,” Kent answers, and she laughs again until his mouth over hers cuts it off. She smiles happily against his lips, and I swivel around immediately, making for the door. I’m not trying to intrude on what’s clearly a private moment. I was sort of hoping one of them might say something about Jamie and give me a hint as to whether or not I'm in the right place.

I just have a feeling that he works here.

There’s a scent that’s always clinging to him, I’ve noticed, from the few times Kasey has brought him around. Something green and fresh and bright, which I’m now realizing is the scent of this shop.

I’ll return tomorrow. I have a good feeling about this place. I step out from the backroom and head for the exit. I move to leave right as the front door opens, the bell jingling overhead.

Jamie walks right through me, pulling a set of headphones from his ears and winding them up around his phone. He pauses just inside the door, staring around the empty shop.

“Um. Hello?” he calls.

There's a brief moment of silence, and then Kent and Gabby both step out of the back room, slightly rumpled. Gabby is smoothing out the fabric of the fitted black work dress she’s wearing. Kent is clearing his glasses on his shirt.

“Hey, Jamie,” he says, a little out of breath. “Thought I heard the bell.”

“Hey,” Jamie answers, a giant grin crawling across his face. “What were you two doing back there?”

Kent opens his mouth to answer, but Gabby does, first.

“I was making full use of my lunch break,” she says, “And nibbling on a croissant.”

“Cool, which part of Kent is the croissant?” Jamie asks, and Gabby laughs, pressing her hands over her mouth.

“Do we need to have a chat about which jokes are not appropriate for the workplace?” Kent asks warningly.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm happy to save them up for later."

“Enough, I have to get back to work, anyways,” Gabby says, plucking Kent’s glasses out of his hands and sliding them onto his face for him. “I just found out that the city is paying tens of thousands of dollars every year just to keep those little strips of grass in the middle of the roads groomed. I know they make the streets look prettier, but still, that feels like too much.”

“You should have them plant wildflowers,” Jamie suggests. “They’re pretty, and they take way less maintenance. No mowing, definitely.”

“That’s actually true,” Kent says, glancing at Gabby. “It would make a nice passageway for bees, too.”

“What? I’ve spent all morning trying to come up with a solution for this. Where were you guys a few hours ago?” Gabby pauses, tapping her phone against her lip. “Any chance one of you could send me a list of which flowers would work?”

“I’ll do it right now,” Kent answers, and she smiles.

“You’re a peach.” She leans up to place a quick kiss onto his mouth, then turns and plants one on Jamie’s cheek. “You both are. Kent, I’ll call you later.”

“What, no call for me?” Jamie complains, but Gabby is already on her way out. Jamie waits until she’s gone and turns back to Kent. “Kent and Gabby, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-I- wait, no, K-I-S-S-I”

“I will fire you,” Kent threatens, but he’s grinning.

“Holy shit, the look on your face! Aww. You seem a little winded. Need to borrow my inhaler?”

“Would you shut up and get clocked in? Good job on the new window displays, by the way.”

Neither of them see it, but I break into a little happy dance next to the door, because Kent has confirmed it: I’ve found Jamie’s work. Now I know where to find Aiden, Jamie, and Kasey. All three of them. People I’m starting to think of as friends, which is funny, because we’ve never officially met.

With everyone’s location pinned down, I can turn to my next goal: doing anything and everything it takes to get them to see me.