To find Love in Franklin County, head into the western part of Upper Arlington.

You will discover that Love is a two-way street, but also a dead end. That a few lucky people live on Love.

That to the deep embarrassment of Craig Hungler’s children, their father sometimes calls their house “The Love Shack.” Hungler, 48, has been married for 27 years.

“It doesn’t really work as a pickup line for the ladies, asking them to come back to ‘The Love Shack,’  ” said Hungler’s 20-year-old son, Zack.

Franklin County doesn’t have many romantic-sounding street names. Not a Valentine Road or a Cupid Avenue or a Be Mine Boulevard.

But in Upper Arlington, there is a Love Drive.

Don’t get any crazy ideas. None of the eight houses on Love is shaped like a heart or anything. There are no obvious make-out spots.

Perhaps its most notable feature is that the street sign used to get stolen all the time. City workers finally installed an extra high, reinforced version.

People have curious reactions when residents say where they live.

“It’s fun to say, but I wouldn’t say (the road) is particularly romantic,” said Pat Fulcher, 52, who has lived on Love Drive for years.

But then, the name doesn’t mean what it seems to. It comes from the man who used to own a plant nursery there, said Willemina van Egmond, 73, the longest-tenured Love Drive resident and a kind of neighborhood historian.

Melvin T. Love is listed in Franklin County property records as the original owner of two of the parcels on Love Drive, in 1952. The nursery’s onions still come up in van Egmond’s yard, she said.

Restaurant magnate Cameron Mitchell spent the first few years of his life on Love Drive. A spokeswoman confirmed that, but she said Mitchell doesn’t have memories of that time. No word on if Love Drive subconsciously inspired him to create so many intimate eating spots.

It seems unlikely. Fulcher, Hungler, van Egmond — no one called their road romantic. But every single one of them talked about what a nice place it was to raise a family.

Love Drive is, in fact, a dead end. Kids can play outside without their parents’ worrying too much. The people who drive up and down either live there or are visiting someone who does. Zack Hungler, now a junior at the University of Akron, remembers calling out on a few rare occasions, “Unidentified vehicle in the street!”

The Fulchers have a tire swing out front and signs supporting their daughter Kristyn, 18, a swimmer at Upper Arlington High School. Craig Hungler, a Dublin police officer and the owner of “The Love Shack,” talks about how much he loves his wife. Van Egmond said her children grew up playing outside, and now her grandchildren do the same when they come over.

The Hunglers have put their house up for sale. Zack said that made him a little sad, and he worried that his parents will move to a street with a weird-sounding name.

Kathy Hungler, 53, has a different take.

“The neighborhood is going to do another transition,” she said, the same way it did when she moved to Love Drive. “A younger family can come in. More love.”

jeb.phillips@dispatch.com