Davis felt at ease and was hopeful following his tour of the apartment above The Mandarin. He'd been a planner, taking every precaution, but he allowed himself to get his hopes up with the apartment. So much so, that he pushed other apartment viewings off for a few days. He told the managers it was due to some work commitments. He took this opportunity to work and explore his new city.

The rare influx of optimism suited him well. He fell into a nice routine with shorter, but more productive writing sessions. The ghost-written thriller seemed to write itself. The 3-4 dedicated days he anticipated needing to finish turned out to be two. His editor, Jason, was happy to get the draft and Davis was happy to turn his sights to his own manuscript.

Outside of writing, he spent his days exploring the area on foot. The walking replaced his usual running routine as he covered 5-6 miles per day. The first two days were dedicated to the walking area around his potential new apartment. He investigated every storefront and every eatery with window shopping and menu collecting. He needed to furnish an apartment for the first time, so he carved out time for a decent amount of online shopping.

It was a spree he'd never experienced before and he kind of liked it.

Davis had never cared much for buying furniture and other home items. He generally lacked the motivation to do so. He also dreaded the thought of having to drag all kinds of unnecessary shit to a new apartment. This approach made this last move refreshingly easy. Scanning shops online, he found well-reviewed and functional furnishings. He had a couch, bed, recliner, desk and desk chair all set to order as soon as he had an address to send them to. He even purchased his first television and found a reclaimed kitchen set on a tip from Kevin and Andie.

The issue of a new address was resolved on day three. Paul Lee called Davis in the early morning with the good news. He got the apartment. His credit check cleared. His lone reference, Jason, also vouched that Davis was hardworking and steadily employed. He'd be able to move into the space in seven days. Meanwhile, his hosts were more than happy to extend his stay with them until he could move in.

Davis channeled his excitement once again into his writing. He opted to forgo his daily exploration for several marathon sessions. After all, he had almost completely explored the surrounding area. This allowed him to plow through the last six chapters of his new book with a day to spare before move-in.

As usual, Dr. Kane had no trouble fending off grave robbers and human traffickers. He once again saved the treasure and a young local woman. In a but of atypical whimsy, Davis had his protagonist save the life of his loyal camel. Dr. Kane utilized several ancient techniques to perform an early form of CPR on the animal. He then nursed him back to full health.

Davis emailed the draft to Jason. He hit 'send' on the message performatively and with a self-satisfied smile. He then set a calendar reminder for two days after move-in to start the script and closed his laptop. He stowed the computer in his bag with the intention of not reopening it for three days. This was his longest planned hiatus from writing, as well as the first vacation of his adult life.

His last days in Kevin and Andie's guesthouse meandered at a pleasant pace. He finally accepted his hosts' offer to join them for dinner. This led to an enjoyable evening cooking out in the backyard. It was more vegan than Davis had anticipated, but it was surprisingly good. Andie even offered to email a few recipes.

The dinner was Davis' first real encounter with Kevin's partner. He'd spoken to Kevin several times, but his communication with her came via text and notes on his door. Her appearance was a sharp contrast to Kevin in her style. Kevin was business casual most days. Andie, meanwhile, fit his stereotype of someone who'd say "Keep Portland weird" unironically. She had mocha skin she had explained came from Dominican, Black and white ancestry. Her lithe figure was betrayed by a loose-fitting flannel and baggy capri jeans. There was a noticeable collarbone tattoo, which he could not fully make out, and a pierced septum. Her hairstyle was shaved on one side and parted on the other.

Andie and Kevin could not look any different. Their personalities were a perfect complement, though. Both were warm, easy-going and interesting people. He was assured if he'd met Kevin during his "bike messenger" phase, the style difference would make more sense.

They were a joy to spend the evening with and he was happy that they offered to be his first "Portland friends."

The dinner came ahead of his final full day in the guesthouse. That day passed by in a blur of activity and he returned to the house exhausted with more than he'd anticipated.

After breakfast, Davis followed up Kevin's suggestion of getting a bike. Kevin had referred him to the shop near his new apartment. The trip was fruitful. He got a reasonably priced cycle with a wealth of tips, tricks and insider knowledge of the city. The owner, Erich, also pointed him to the "best fish tacos in Portland," which happened to be nearby. He took his new bike for a test ride and got lunch.

Locking up the bike outside, he entered a hole-in-the-wall cantina and saddled up to the bar. He then proceeded to eat his first fish tacos ever. They were good enough that he doubted he could dispute their title as "Best in Portland." It was a slow time, so he had nearly undivided attention from Trevor and Lyle-the bartender and server. Each was tattooed and pierced. They noticed Davis' sleeve of tattoos sticking out from Davis' t-shirt. During his time in Portland his tattoos didn't seem to stick out. He was less self-conscious about sticking out and forgot about them. Trevor asked him about the sleeve and Lyle recommended "a wicked tattoo shop with some top up-and-coming artists."

After he left the restaurant, he almost felt dizzy. Bouncing from one recommendation to another felt almost like a local business hustle. Feeling an uncharacteristic adventurous streak, he leaned into it, continuing on the journey. It helped that, at the insistence that Lyle-an aspiring tattoo artist himself-would tag along. The next stop paid off again. He got a small train tucked into an open area of skin near his armpit to represent the journey to Portland. He also made an appointment to get some touch-up work done.

The day seem to fly by. When he walked out of the tattoo shop, Davis saw it was nearing 6 p.m. and he had no idea where exactly he was. Pulling out his phone, he entered Kevin and Andie's address and realized he'd gone four miles in a new direction.

He gave a quick stretch and turned his attention to the direction he'd be heading. After a deep breath, he boarded his bike and started back.

It was a quick ride back to familiar surroundings. During the ride, he came to the realization he could get used to the speed that biking offered over walking. He slowed down as he approached Arturo's Diner. He'd walked by several times and was intrigued, but it was never at the right time to stop in for a meal.

Now was the time.

He locked up his bike and entered tentatively. The interior was that of a typical diner but seemed "nicer" in a way he could not put his finger on. There was a long horse-shoe-shaped counter and booths lining the exterior walls. He slid into an empty booth along the front window and grabbed a menu from the condiment station.

Before opening the menu, he examined the interior once more. He saw the restaurant was moderately busy with a Sunday night dinner crowd. He then started to piece together what stuck out. The tables and counter appeared to be reclaimed wood. They weren't cheap laminate that he'd been accustomed to seeing.

The menu was also similar, but a little more trendy. The staples of every diner he'd visited in the past were there. He noticed, though, many vegan alternatives and a special section for dietary restrictions. He smiled to think that greasy spoons were "evolving."

After his recent foray into vegan food, he considered one of the vegan options. Last night's dinner opened his eyes to new possibilities, but, in the end, he just wanted a hamburger and fries. He closed the menu and looked out the window. He became entranced by pedestrians on the street. He'd found himself staring at some birds in a tree visible over an adjacent storefront when he heard a voice.

"Hello?" came the voice again.

Davis flinched and turned to the speaker, apologizing.

The man was shorter with dark hair covered by a black baseball cap. He was Hispanic and in his mid-to-late 40's and had black glasses and a light goatee on his vertical rectangle face. He didn't look like a server. He was wearing a chef's jacket under a black and white striped apron. His name tag said "Arturo."

"Sorry for the wait," Arturo offered. "We're down a server and I just noticed you'd walked in," the man offered.

"No problem, I'm in no rush," Davis countered politely with a smile.

"What can we get you?" Arturo asked, holding up a notepad with a short pencil.

"Just a hamburger and an order of fries."

"Anything to drink?"

"Water is good, thanks."

"No problem," he said, putting his pencil in the band of his hat. "I'll get started on that."

Davis nodded "thank you" and he watched Arturo return to the kitchen. He stopped to pass off the table to a female server. She was wearing a modernized version of a classic diner waitress uniform in sky blue. The conversation was inaudible but finished with a smile and pat on the arm from Arturo. The chef then disappeared into the kitchen. He re-emerged in a window that exposed the inner workings of the cooking area to the customers.

Davis turned his attention back out the window. He basked in how ordinary this felt. It was rare that he had a day that seemed normal by other peoples' standards. He'd started feeling like this a few days earlier. He'd made friends, engaged with strangers and lived a life that he figured other adults had. It gave him quiet contentment. The accompanying look gave a server pause as she approached the table with his food. She was reluctant to interrupt. Rather, she allowed him a few more moments of his trance before politely interjecting.

"Hamburger and fries?" asked the young woman with a smile. She looked to be in her late teens with dark brown hair styled up and a small stud in her nose.

"Oh, yes, sorry. I'm miles away today," he said, clearing a pace for the plate. It was then that he realized he'd been brought a glass of water at some point. The ice was almost gone.

"Looks like a good place for you," she countered, lowering the plate in front of him, holding a grin. "If you need anything else, let me know. I'm Sara."

"Thanks. I should be all set," he said, and she left.

The meal hit the spot. As he cleaned the last bit of ketchup from his plat with the last of his fries, he saw a case of pies for the first time. On the counter sat a glass case with two rows of about six pies total in various stages of completeness. When Sara returned to check on Davis, he inquired about the pies.

"We have apple, blueberry, banana cream, cinnamon, cherry and lemon meringue. I've tried them all and you can't go wrong with any of them," she said.

"I'm intrigued by cinnamon, but I'll stick with the apple."

"Good choice. I'm not sure when we'll have cinnamon again, though. That was a new one today."

"Really?" Davis asked, intrigued.

Sara paused with expectation.

"I think I'll get the cinnamon, after all," he said.

"I had a piece at lunch, and it was great. I'll get that for you"

The pie lived up to its billing. He'd never had a cinnamon pie before and had no idea what to expect. He enjoyed every bite, savoring the bursting cinnamon flavor and rich texture. As he finished his last forkful Sara reappeared. By this time, the diner had emptied out a bit. He'd noticed he was likely her final table. He asked for his bill ruefully, thinking he'd overstayed his welcome.

The server completed the transaction without losing a hint of pleasantness. She settled his bill at the register, Davis saw her remove her apron. She then exited through the door near the kitchen. She walked right past Arturo, who was looking over some paperwork while leaning on the end of the counter.

Davis approached him, getting his attention with a polite, "excuse me."

"How was everything?" Arturo asked.

"Great. Thanks," he replied.

"I see you got the last slice of cinnamon. I was hoping it would last to the end of the day," the chef offered playfully.

"It was great, and I regret nothing," Davis replied with mock defiance.

The two men smiled.

"I'll be sure to let my niece know," he offered. "She's the baker and likes to try out new recipes. Selling the pies is one thing, but she appreciates the feedback. Thanks."

Arturo started to turn back to his paperwork. He noticed that Davis was still standing there awkwardly. "Is there something else I can help you with?"

Davis shifted in his feet and asked if Arturo was the manager.

"Owner," he offered in a terse, but still polite, manner.

"Even better," Davis countered. "I, uh, how do you feel about people who work from your diner? Like setting up with a laptop."

Arturo sat up and considered the question.

"I don't have a problem with it," he started. "If a paying customer," he paused and looked at Davis over his glass and continued. "If a paying customer were to work on a laptop at a booth for a few hours, I don't see the harm. That's what you're asking about, right? I don't want any 'transactions' happening in my diner."

"Oh, no no no," Davis sputtered. "I work from home. A lot of writing on my computer. I like to mix things up where I work. I just moved to the area and didn't want to presume anything. I imagine I'll be coming back often and I might bring my laptop."

"I don't think that will be an issue," Arturo responded, softening with a half-smile. "I'll let you know if it becomes one."

"Great. Thanks," Davis said, backing away. "I guess I'll see you later then."

He turned and left the diner. After unlocking his bike, he was off. He returned to the guesthouse a short while later for his final night away from home.