HARRY STYLES
"I think it's it right here on the left," I speak up to the Uber driver, and he reacts quickly by swerving the car over.
I step out and lift my hand to wave at the realtor standing outside. She's wearing white linen pants with a black tank top, most likely to aid her in this pre-summer heat. Her smile is wide as she removes her sunglasses and steps out of the shade to greet me.
"Nice to meet you in person, Mr. Styles," she says. "Or do you prefer Chef?"
I laugh. "I prefer Harry, please."
"Gotcha," she chuckles. "Alright, well, what's your first impression?"
With slightly pursed lips, I nod slowly and take in the glass exterior. It looks a lot like the restaurant I'm in now, only smaller. "It's nice."
"The glass is definitely inviting," she agrees. "Let's take a look inside and see what you think about the interior."
I wait for her to unlock the front door so we can head in and out of the sun, but the inside isn't cool at all without any A/C. It's stuffy and humid, and I'm having a difficult time envisioning what I want here. I don't like it and I haven't even seen the kitchen yet.
"I'm not sure this is it," I speak my honest thought aloud rather than dragging this out.
"Oh, are you sure?" She frowns at me. "You don't want to see the kitchen?"
My nose scrunches up. "No, this is a little too close to the restaurant I'm already in and I'm sort of going for the opposite feeling. I don't really want concrete floors and the modern industrial look. I was thinking something more rustic might be a nice change. Something warmer and earthier with more character."
She starts to smile, which is a great sign. "Well, we can skip the next two places I was going to show you and go right to the fourth, then. Do you want to come in my car with me or meet me there?"
"I'll come with you," I happily follow her out of the musty space, waiting for her to lock up before she directs us to her white Range Rover parked just a ways up the street.
"How attached are you to the East and West Village?"
"Not super," I buckle up in the passenger seat while she cranks the air conditioning for us. "Where is this place?"
"Well, it's pretty far up on the west side," she sort of winces. "Right up on 103rd street."
My brows tick upward. "Not sure I've ever been that far up, or at least I've never had a reason to."
"Yeah," she chuckles faintly, mapping the destination. "But it really is a great location. It's a bit on the quieter side, but I don't think you have to worry about that, what with your reputation and all. People will be happy to head up there to eat at your restaurant, so it's not like you're just starting out and desperately need the foot traffic that the Villages can offer you."
"Mm," I vaguely agree, trying not to toot my own horn and confirm that she's right about that. Maybe I shouldn't be so cocky and assume people would want to travel that far up west for me.
It takes us quite a while to get to the destination with traffic all along the way, but the further we go, the more I start to actually like the idea of being away from all the hustle and bustle of main city hubs. This area is significantly more residential and well-groomed. There aren't any piles of trash anywhere, which I can certainly appreciate.
"I'll just park right here and then it's a couple blocks up the street," Nancy explains, shutting her car off so we can get out. "The Park is right there so you'll at least have that foot traffic, but I'm afraid not too many people are just going to stumble upon it."
