“About anything you’ve lost.”

The woman laughed—a soft, crumbling sound like dry leaves. “You don’t. Notting Hill Drive only appears once per person. But that’s the secret: you won’t need to come back. Because you’ll carry it inside you. The courage, the knowing, the scent of lavender and old maps. You’ll build your own Notting Hill Drive wherever you go.”

The woman smiled. “Courage. Not the loud kind. The quiet kind that lets you leave the table when love is no longer being served.”