Page 5

FOUR

MICKEY

Armed with a hot coffee from Special Blend, I braced myself for the Holiday Hoopla meeting.

My friend Bowie, or Bo as he preferred these days, was the most organized person I knew, and the way he ran festival planning meetings showed it.

As Maplewood’s community development manager, he took his responsibility of making Maplewood an enjoyable place to live very seriously.

I walked through the Maplewood Public Library toward the meeting room.

Normally, I would’ve arrived ten minutes earlier to chat with Andre, the head librarian.

He was one of my close friends and part of our D&D crew, but ever since he’d coupled up with Ethan—another childhood friend—and temporarily relocated to Seattle for the year, I had no reason to show up early.

“Hey, where’s mine?” asked Clara, who was filling in as head librarian while Andre was away. She had bright-red hair, green glasses, and a warm smile. She aimed one of them at me as she arranged books on a children’s display about Thanksgiving and local indigenous history.

I laughed. “You sound like Andre.”

“I’ve got to make sure people don’t forget him while he’s out west. Not that anyone would.” Her smile was fond.

I loved that Andre’s colleagues adored him so much.

He poured his heart and soul into this place.

Thinking of him reminded me of the handful of times I’d nearly texted to tell him about what happened with Amos on Halloween two weeks ago.

I figured he or Ethan were the safest to talk to since they weren’t currently in town, but I couldn’t make myself actually say the words to anyone.

“We definitely won’t. It’ll be great to see him and Ethan at Christmas. I’d better get to the meeting. Good to see you.”

“You too.” She returned to her work as I walked away.

I was still getting used to not having Andre at D&D nights. Ethan was only in Maplewood during his hockey off-season, so it was normal to not see him this time of year. I missed my friends, but more than that, I was thrilled they’d found their way to each other, despite my envy.

The eager chatter spilled from the meeting room as I approached.

When I started working at the diner full-time after college, I hadn’t expected volunteering for town festival planning to be part of my job description—not that there was such a description for the role of eventually taking over the family business—but it had ended up being my favorite part of the work.

Not sure what that said about my interest in my destiny, that the one thing that got me out of the restaurant was my favorite part.

I loved the behind-the-scenes view of the town’s biggest events.

Of all the Maplewood festivals, Holiday Hoopla had always been my favorite.

Maplewood was magical this time of year.

I entered the meeting room and spotted Bo among the dozen or so people who had already arrived.

As I lifted my coffee in greeting, I froze when my eyes and brain registered who sat next to him.

Someone with familiar blond curls and blue eyes that had featured in too many sex dreams over the past two weeks.

This time, Amos’s curls were perfectly styled instead of damp and flat like I’d last seen them.

Where the hell is Sage? Amos’s sibling was supposed to be the one representing Sparky’s Diner at these.

Sage and I had managed to maintain a polite distance at festival meetings, which seemed to be what everyone else expected of us too.

If I sat next to Amos, there was no way I could pull off indifference.

People would be able to read on my face that, fuck , I liked the guy.

He glanced around the room before locking eyes with me and giving me a tentative smile.

I suspected the hesitant nature was more for our audience’s sake than mine.

I wanted to go sit next to him and start talking about something goofy like the Loch Ness Monster or ask whether he considered a taco a sandwich, but I didn’t dare.

The last thing Dad needed was a town scandal that Amos and I were a little too friendly.

“Hey, Mickey!” Bo smiled widely in the way he always did, friendly and eager, but I could see the strain and exhaustion lurking. He had a bad habit of working too much, which was something we’d originally connected over when Dad had begun sending me to festival meetings years ago.

“Hey, Bo.” My attention wandered to Amos, but I didn’t dare say his name in case my voice exposed my feelings. The tables were arranged in a hollow square, and like a coward, I took a seat across from them.

As soon as I set my coffee down, draped my coat over the back of my chair, and took a seat, I realized my miscalculation because now I had to stare at Amos and his casually spread legs. Memories of the way he touched me made my blood run hot.

I should’ve sat on Bo’s other side and saved myself the temptation. There was a tote bag at his feet. I couldn’t read the printing on it, but it looked like the ones Caspian sold at Special Blend.

Roger, an employee with Maplewood’s power and light utility, leaned into my space. “What’s Amos doing here? I thought he lived in New York or something?”

Frank, an insurance agent sitting on my other side, shifted closer and mirrored Roger’s whisper.

One that wasn’t as quiet as they likely intended.

“I heard the diner is struggling and he came back to help them out. But you never can believe that gossip.” Frank’s tone was dismissive, but his expression said he believed every word.

“I heard one of the parents is sick and he came back to take care of them. Never can count on gossip though. It ain’t true half the time. I don’t dine there anyway. I’m a Red’s guy through and through.” Roger nodded at me in a way that felt like a salute.

I managed a small smile, but honestly? I didn’t care about their diner allegiances. What I did care about was them getting out of my personal space, so I didn’t have to smell their stale coffee breath.

For a lot of my life, the diner feud was fun. Who didn’t love a good rivalry? Yankees vs. Red Sox. Duke against North Carolina. Manchester United and Liverpool. Countless siblings throughout history.

It was fun to compete, take sides, and cheer for a team.

Many Maplewoodians grew up on Team Red’s or Team Sparky’s, and it could be good fun.

But sometimes people took it too seriously.

Seriously enough that I didn’t feel like I could have a damn public conversation with a guy I’d nearly hooked up with, let alone actually go through with the hookup.

The final couple of committee members arrived and filled the last two empty spots.

“Shall we get started?” Bo asked, effectively silencing conversations and causing the guys on each side of me to move out of my space. He passed a stack of agendas to Amos to send around.

Seeing them sitting side by side took me right back to school, where you never saw one without the other.

I’d always tried—and usually failed—to ignore Amos while growing up, but it was hard because Amos had been involved in everything .

If Amos hadn’t been president of a club, Bo had been, and they usually served as each other’s vice presidents.

Peak extroverts working for scholarship dollars.

Hell, even when I hadn’t seen Amos, he’d felt present at Red’s with half our customers gossiping about Sparky’s over their meals.

Despite that, I’d always done my best not to think about him.

Amos had been off-limits, taboo, my nemesis.

Though it had always seemed weird to have an archrival when I didn’t even know the guy.

He hadn’t done anything to me personally, other than implementing a lottery system for the school parking spots, which meant I couldn’t keep parking in my favorite spot under a big maple tree where I liked to hang out at lunch.

“Okay, let’s start with the Maplewood Tree Lighting Ceremony. Roger, how are things going with lights and power?”

Roger cleared his throat and sat straighter. “My team has already tested the lights and replaced any duds. We’ve got the crane scheduled for December 5 th . Thanks for helping arrange the street closure permit.”

“Of course.” Bo smiled.

While we worked through the agenda and touched base on the three weeks of festival events from ice skating to the vendor market to the New Year’s Eve party, I did my best to avoid looking at Amos.

I failed miserably. I’d half convinced myself that Halloween had been a fever dream, but it was impossible to ignore the way Amos wrapped his lips around the straw of his iced coffee.

Of course he chose that moment to glance my way and catch me watching him.

Without moving a muscle on my face, I tried to convey a message: Why in the world are you drinking iced coffee in November? It’s cold as hell outside .

I read the slight quirk of his eyebrow as: Who cares what time of year? It’s delicious . I held back a smile as I looked away.

Neither Amos nor I spoke much beyond confirming the diners’ participation in a few events, like selling food at the tree lighting and serving as judges for the community lights contest. Most likely, my dad and Amos’s would find a way to vote for different decorated houses in town just because.

A sinkhole would probably open if they actually agreed on something.

“You’re probably wondering what the vague ‘update’ item at the bottom of the agenda is about.

” Bo practically vibrated with excitement as a few people murmured their agreement.

It was unusual for him to be so unspecific.

“I wanted to do something extra special in honor of the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Holiday Hoopla that would really exemplify this year’s theme of A Community Celebration to Remember .

I applied for grant funding a few months ago and didn’t say anything because I didn’t think it would come through. But it did!”