Page 31

TWENTY-TWO

AMOS

The Holiday Hoopla had officially begun.

The festive atmosphere was in full swing at the Maplewood Tree Lighting Ceremony.

The Maplewood elementary, middle school, and high school choirs took turns singing Christmas classics, and the tree, lit minutes ago, cast a warm glow over Maplewood City Park.

With the ceremony over, the attendees moved to the other side of the park to the two rows of vendors open for the rest of the event.

The performances were scheduled to continue on the amphitheater stage for two more hours and kids’ craft stations were set up under canopies near the playground.

Traffic at the Sparky’s booth had been a steady trickle before and during the tree lighting, but now we had a line forming for the hot food we were selling.

“Mom! I found Prancer!” A kid bundled in a thick coat and knit cap jabbed his little finger at the laminated reindeer cutout taped to the pole holding up the canopy over our food booth.

“You sure did! Good job. Want me to stamp your postcard?” I offered.

He nodded eagerly and passed me the paper with a box for each of Santa’s reindeer.

It was a cute idea to encourage kids—and their parents with money to spend—to visit each of the vendor booths, find all the reindeer, and collect corresponding stamps to win a prize.

While I stamped his postcard, Sage processed the mom’s order for sliders and fries.

I’d texted Mickey to ask which reindeer Red’s had been given, but I hadn’t heard back yet.

Like a lovesick teen, I’d kept my phone face up on the table in case it lit with a reply.

After passing the postcard back to the kid, I snuck a quick glance toward the Red’s booth across the way and one over from ours.

It was killing me to have to pretend like we didn’t mean anything special to each other when all I wanted to do was sidle over to the Red’s booth and flirt with the man occupying most of my waking thoughts.

I’d barely slept since Bo showed up at Mickey’s the other night.

I wanted to go back to how right it felt to lie against him on his bed, spent and happy.

“Two slices of pie,” Sage called.

I slid the slices into cardboard boats, added whipped cream and a fork, then passed them over to the waiting customers.

Our line seemed to grow with people craving pie and burgers.

It should’ve kept me busy enough to keep Mickey from my thoughts, but I would hear his voice or laughter, and start thinking of him all over again.

We’d gotten together with Bo yesterday to strategize about what needed to change in our plans now that the show was coming for the Christmas Eve dinner.

Meeting at Bo’s office had taken away some potential for awkwardness because we had to keep everything completely professional.

I couldn’t quite tell if we were just busy and it was simply bad timing, or if things had taken a nosedive since Bo opened his damn mouth and basically asked us to stop seeing each other.

I couldn’t even be mad at him. He was doing his job while also being a concerned friend.

Odds were, Mickey or I would end up breaking the other’s heart, even unintentionally.

Isn’t that how things ended for most relationships?

We’re not even in a relationship . My heart and mind weren’t quite aligned with reality.

It probably didn’t help that I’d made a quick escape from his place like a chicken.

We still texted like we had been before, but neither of us had talked about what happened between us, what it meant, what Bo said, or where we should go next.

We also hadn’t brought up getting together again. I couldn’t shake an unsettled feeling.

“Hey, Sage! Is it true that Good Morning, USA, is coming to town to feature Sparky’s? Can I get a seat at the counter? I’ve always wanted to be on TV.” Dave, one of the older regulars at the diner who came in for coffee at least once a week, asked while passing Sage cash for his order.

“They’re coming for the Christmas Eve Community Dinner, which is sponsored by Sparky’s and Red’s. I’m not sure if they’re going to film at the diner,” Sage hedged.

Bo had warned us they planned to film at each diner, but we didn’t have any specifics yet, so we didn’t want to get people’s hopes up. But that was almost impossible with the rumor mill in this town.

“Well, if they do, dibs on a seat at the counter.”

Sage laughed. “Can we count on you to be at the Christmas Eve dinner? We’re going to do shirts or something for Team Sparky’s.”

They’d been excited since the moment I told them when I’d gotten back to their place after leaving Mickey’s.

Sage had arrived at the diner the next day with a list of ideas on how to highlight Sparky’s.

They and our parents had fallen into a huddle to brainstorm how to make a splash and have fun with it.

Before getting close to Mickey, I would’ve joined. But now? It was complicated.

“Of course. Our family is looking forward to it.” Dave glanced around before leaning in. “Hopefully, the television people don’t hear about the Maple Street Prowler. We don’t want that to end up on national news.”

I bit back a laugh and made a note to tell Mickey about that later.

Shortly after, my phone lit up with a text from Mickey, but we were so busy selling food that I wasn’t able to read it for nearly half an hour.

Mickey: Vixen. You ever thought about the origins of those names? Isn’t a vixen another word for a sexy woman or something?

I snorted.

Amos: Don’t forget about Donner. That just makes me think of cannibalism.

Amos: BTW, I’ve heard several people talking about the Maple Street Prowler. Better watch your back.

Mickey: I’ll never be able to wear that coat around town again.

Amos: Maybe you should donate it to a thrift store and leave a cryptic note inside. You have the power to create an urban legend.

I glanced over at the Red’s booth and caught Mickey looking my way. We shared smiles, which helped ease some of the angst I’d been feeling for days. All too quickly, someone approached the Red’s booth and pulled Mickey’s attention away.

Just one look and a smile sent my stomach swirling like I was on a roller coaster.

It wasn’t only Mickey. It was the enthusiastic greetings from people around town who stopped to tell me how happy they were to see me.

It was the energy of Maplewood and its obsession with festivals.

It was recognizing people and getting to spend time with my family.

The longer I stayed, the harder it was to imagine going back to Boston.

And if I stayed, what would that mean for Mickey and me?

That’s it. I can’t just let this slip through my grasp.

I was a goddamned adult, and how many times had I been hurt by guys ghosting me without having a fucking conversation about it?

It would be hypocritical as hell to wait for Mickey to initiate a conversation.

I liked him too much to let things fizzle.

Before I lost my nerve, I picked up my phone again.

Amos: When’s your next free evening? I’d love to spend more time with you.