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“That sounds great.” Mickey’s smile was genuine and encouraging.

It was surreal how easy this was going. It was a special sort of divine fuckery that the first guy I’d genuinely enjoyed spending time around with our clothes on was literally the one guy I couldn’t want.

I scooted closer to Mickey to better reach the mixed nuts on the tray. Keep telling yourself that’s why, pal.

After angling toward him, I leaned against the back of the couch and picked an almond from my handful of nuts. “It might make sense to try and minimize the number of ingredients across the menu so it’s easier to group dishes for the various restaurants to cook.”

“I was thinking the same thing. We should be as efficient as possible and focus on volume instead of variety. Who knows how many people will show up to this thing.”

I frowned. “Actually, that’s a good point. Do we know how much food will be needed?”

Mickey stilled. “Shit. I know how much food to order to feed our diner, but that’s at max capacity. This could be dozens or hundreds of people. Who do you think knows?”

“Bo,” we said simultaneously, then shared a smile.

Mickey put his phone down. “You text him.”

I took it as a gesture of goodwill that he supported me in rekindling my friendship with Bo.

After shooting off a text to Bo with our question, I set my phone on the table.

Over the next hour and the rest of the cheese, Mickey and I worked through ideas for appetizers, side dishes, main courses, desserts, and drinks.

It was surprisingly easy. Stripping away the diners and the identities they assigned us, we were two guys who got along well and flirted a little while debating the pros and cons of messing with vanilla ice cream for apple pie.

“There’s a lot more overlap with our ideas than I’d expected,” I admitted.

“Well, the recipes originated with two former best friends who ran a food stand together.”

I laughed. “Good point.” I propped my elbow on the back of the couch and pulled my knee onto the cushion between us. “I’ve got to ask, what are your thoughts on this whole rivalry thing?”

Mickey’s eyes widened. “Are we really going there?”

I blew out a breath. “I think we should. I’ve been giving it some thought, and we’re the only people who really get it, maybe even each other, you know?”

Mickey studied me for a long moment. I couldn’t blame him for his skepticism, but I had to put it out there.

He’d been so easy to talk to on Halloween and tonight.

I wanted this conversation with him. The diner had only been a background player in my life after I’d moved away, but since I’d come back, I craved having someone to talk to about it.

Sage was too invested, but Mickey would understand and not judge.

He nodded once. “You’re right. Honestly? I’m so fucking tired of it.”

MICKEY

Decades of weight fell from my shoulders as frantic laughter bubbled out of me. I waited for Amos to judge me, but his expression held nothing but understanding.

“I’ve never said that to anyone before.” I scrubbed my hand over my face. “Wow.”

A warm hand settled on my thigh, bringing comfort. “I get it. I’m tired of it too, and I don’t have to deal with it every day like you and Sage.”

“I mean, I get it. People love rivalries, especially ones that have lasted for generations. But sometimes it feels like it makes life more difficult than it needs to be.” I couldn’t believe the blasphemous words spilling from my mouth. Dad would be so hurt.

Amos leaned close and lowered his voice. “Hey, if you want to eat at Sparky’s, let me know and I’ll sneak you some takeout at the back door. No big deal.”

A loud laugh escaped. Amos stared at me with wonder in his eyes and a soft smile on his lips that was more intimate than I was used to seeing on him.

“Eh, thanks, but the Yelp reviews are kinda sketchy.”

He pushed my thigh. “Rude.” Laughter brightened his words.

Before he pulled his hand back, I covered it with mine and squeezed. “Amos? Thanks. I’ve never had anyone I could say that to. I appreciate it.” I was more grateful than I could express.

It was hard to stop myself from spilling more and confessing that I didn’t want to take over the diner.

The life I wanted for myself was passing out cheese samples at the farmers’ market and seeing my creations in local markets before stopping in at Red’s a couple of times a week to enjoy a meal as a customer.

I didn’t want to be the one serving food, making small talk with dozens of people each day, and having to keep a classic Americana diner afloat in a world of food trucks and food delivery.

“You’re welcome. I felt the same when I was still living here, but I never said anything to Sage. They’ve always been so excited to take over.”

I squashed my envy. I wished I could feel the same as Sage. It would make everything so much easier.

Amos glanced at our hands, then back at me. He wet his lips. “We have more in common than I would’ve expected.”

I swayed toward him like my body was reacting to a gravitational pull.

“You’re telling me. Can you keep what I said a secret?”

Amos almost looked offended. “Of course. I’m not about to submit a hot tip to Maplewood Matters .” His voice was comically haughty.

I chuckled. “Thanks.”

“But if you could send me home with some of that cheese, it would guarantee my discretion.”

“Cheese slut.” My cheeks pulled taut with a wide smile.

“Blasphemy.” Amos leaned toward me and glanced at my lips.

Every molecule in my body wanted to taste him again and continue what we’d started.

Only inches separated us when a loud buzz startled us apart. Amos’s phone buzzed again between his wine glass and the snack tray.

“It’s Bo.”

Cockblock.

“What did he say about the quantity?”

Amos scanned the texts as his phone continued to buzz.

“He said he’ll try to dig up attendance estimates at the last couple of Christmas Eve potlucks in recent years.

Though he warned that this will likely have a higher attendance since all food will be provided.

We might need to go with a bigger menu variety. ”

I chuckled. “I can imagine his brain spinning with all the variables to consider.”

“Oh yeah. He’s going to have a Plan A, B, and C.”

Amos’s c’est la vie smile confirmed my gut’s take that the moment had passed. I couldn’t help but wonder if we’d get another, but it wasn’t wise to let my mind travel down that path.

“So, what should we do next?” I asked.

Amos’s phone buzzed again. “Bo said he can squeeze in a meeting with us on Tuesday. He asked us to bring the menu and any ideas we have of people who might be willing to cook food.” His phone buzzed several more times. “He types so fast! Jeez.”

“Let me guess, he’s basically working through a to-do list framed as ideas?”

“How’d you guess?”

I snickered. “We’ve worked a lot of festivals together.”

Shaking his head, Amos began typing. “I’m starting a group text. You need to suffer through this too.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket as my lips stretched into a wide smile. “Sounds good.”

A group chat with Bo and Amos? Surreal. Maybe that would mean Bo asked us to do more than plan a menu. I wanted to keep working with Amos, even if it meant setting myself up for disappointment.

Amos set his phone on the couch next to him. “Now to more important topics. You’ve got to tell me where you get that cheese.”

Dammit, my friends had been right. I had no choice but to believe Amos when he said how delicious it was.

It might be time to finally pitch Dad on using it at Red’s .

The thought of that made my stomach swirl and rock like taking a small boat on the open ocean, but Amos’s happy hum while devouring the final crumbs of cheese brought me a sense of safety like a buoy.