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Despite that inclusivity, I had to look over my shoulder to make sure no one saw that I was sending long strings of smiley face emoji to the heir of the diner that had been the biggest thorn in my family’s side for over seventy-five years.

If I’d grown up in different circumstances and a friend said to me, “Hey, I can’t tell my family about the guy I like, let alone actually try to date him, because he’s from the family who runs a rival diner down the street,” I’d ask what the hell the big deal was.

It sounds absolutely ridiculous. But growing up in Maplewood and living with this feud for nearly thirty-three years?

The pressure was real. The feud was bigger than the Flynns and the Brewers. The entire town was invested in it.

It’s not worth the stress because I’m not staying in Maplewood.

Why let myself get even more hooked on a guy when I’ll be heading back to Boston soon?

I had to stick around through the holidays and see the Christmas Eve Community Dinner through, but after that, I had no reason not to get back to Boston and move on with my life.

“Sorry, sorry.” I grabbed a peeler and positioned myself next to Sage at our workstation.

It took me back to our childhood. Sage and I had been the holiday dinner potato peelers since we were old enough to do it without the risk of peeling the skin off our fingertips.

My stomach growled at the earthy aroma of sage and thyme that wafted from the oven as Mom opened it to check on the roasting dishes. Standing with Sage and smelling the tantalizing scents triggered memories of years with the same sensory experiences.

“Remember when we used to play diner as kids? We couldn’t wait to take over this place.”

Sage laughed. “If only we knew how much math was involved with running a diner, we probably wouldn’t have been so excited.”

“I don’t mind the math.”

“I bet you had to do a lot of it in your job.” Sage smiled. They tried so hard to encourage me in my career. If only they knew how unsatisfied I was with it.

The teenage turkey defiler passed by with palms full of deviled eggs he must’ve nicked from one of the coolers.

My wrist still ached from piping those last night.

Sparky’s Thanksgiving was always lively with a different mix of people each year.

Thanksgiving dinner had been open to all Sparky’s employees ever since Sparky himself ran it.

I supposed it made sense, given the Christmas Eve feast he and Red used to prepare for the community.

Each year, a different mix of employees and their families joined us, along with some extended family members. I hadn’t been very good at making it back for Thanksgiving in recent years since I was usually traveling for work, but the familiar foods were exactly what I needed.

As people talked over each other and laughter filled the space between the walls, I realized I’d taken the chaos for granted my whole life. It held a charm I’d never appreciated before.

I’d forgotten how hard the work was in the food industry, but I was enjoying it while being back in town.

The always-on-the-go nature of it was probably why I’d always fidgeted in classes and struggled with desk jobs.

It would’ve been impossible to get through the long hours at my last job without the standing desk and a wobble board to keep me moving.

The diner was fun and lively. There were always people to talk to and things to do that didn’t involve staring at a screen for endless hours. If I never heard the phrases “let’s circle back on that,” “close the loop,” or “move the needle” again, it would still be too soon.

I’d miss working in the diner when I got my next job. Except I needed to actually apply to jobs for that to happen .

Sage peeled potatoes with the ease of someone who regularly pitched in for kitchen duty, while my movements were jerky like someone who only did it a couple of times a year.

As was tradition, Mom and Sage argued over the music. Well, more accurately, Mom kept trying to play Christmas music and Sage said it wasn’t acceptable until Thanksgiving was over.

A while later, we slid into booths with our plates heaped with food that made my stomach rumble. It was an unspoken Flynn family rule to sit among our guests instead of at a table together.

I sat with one of our cooks, Tim, and his turkey-torturing teen, Oliver.

From what I’d heard from Sage, Tim had gotten divorced this past year and this was Oliver’s first Thanksgiving without both his dads together.

I didn’t blame the kid for scarfing down deviled eggs and defiling a turkey with all that turmoil in his life.

“Amos has been helping out at the diner for a bit, but he lives in Boston,” Tim said after a bit of silence while we each dug into our dinners.

Oliver’s eyes grew wide. “You do? That’s so cool. I want to move there as soon as I graduate.”

Tim winced before covering it with a curious smile. “You do?”

Oliver pushed dressing around his plate. “I’m tired of Maplewood. It’s so small. There’s nothing fun to do here.”

I locked eyes with Tim. He stared helplessly at me. Tim and I had chatted a bit about his kid since I’d come home, and I’d picked up enough to realize he was having trouble with Oliver.

“I get it. I grew up here too and couldn’t wait to get out. The city’s fun, but now that I’m back, I’m realizing how much I appreciate about the town.”

“Sure, but you had time away at least. How come you haven’t gone back to Boston? I’d have left as fast as I could if I were you.”

Tim gently elbowed him. “Ollie, don’t be a nosy shit.”

Laughing, I shook my head. “It’s fine.” It was my turn to push my food around. “I haven’t found my next job yet.”

“There’s got to be, like, a million jobs in the city. You’ll find something,” Oliver said while chewing a big bite of dressing.

But ones I actually wanted? Not so much. The kid didn’t need to know that though.

“Any prospects?” Tim asked while slicing a piece of ham.

“Not yet.” I’d poked around listings but hadn’t gotten beyond that far yet. “I’m sure I’ll find something soon.”

“Then you can get back to the office and stop smelling like grease.” Tim grinned.

I laughed, but the words stung. What if I didn’t mind my clothes smelling like the diner?