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SIX

MICKEY

I appreciated Amos for making it look like we had our shit together instead of having let a couple of days pass without communicating. I could’ve contacted Bo for Amos’s number, but…I hadn’t. Bo would’ve reached out soon if he hadn’t heard from either of us anyway.

“Great.” Bo sounded relieved. “The mayor really wants to highlight the town’s history with the bicentennial of Maplewood’s founding happening next year.

She loved the idea of emphasizing the community-focused spirit of Maplewood’s history.

It will be even better with the diners coming together to plan the menu.

” Bo leaned forward and lowered his voice.

“I’ll be honest, this is the first time this particular granting organization has given us money.

If we do well, I might have a better shot with future grant applications. ”

There were a dozen ways this could end in disaster, and not least of which was the risk of liking Amos even more.

“You said at the meeting you only needed us to plan a menu that hopefully includes throwback recipes, right?” Amos asked.

“Exactly. Once you get that set, I can reach out to some businesses about preparing the food. I’ll do the bulk of the work, I promise.”

I raised an eyebrow at Bo. “You need to learn how to delegate.”

Bo shrugged my words away. We’d had the conversation a dozen times before. He knew my opinion was that the Venn diagram of his work-life balance was a circle.

I glanced at Amos, half expecting him to be annoyed at me for snipping at his former best friend. He shook his head in defeat. Maybe they’d had similar conversations back in high school.

Bo’s phone buzzed, and he picked it up. “Crap! I’m late for a meeting.

” He tossed back the rest of his coffee and gathered his things in a rush.

I suspected that was his usual frenetic energy at work.

“I’m sorry, Amos. I didn’t realize I’d double-booked.

Text me and we’ll find a time to hang out. Maybe grab a beer this weekend?”

“Sounds great. See you.” Amos aimed his killer smile at Bo.

Bo pointed at me. “You owe me a darts rematch.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, yeah.”

He paused and made eye contact with me, then with Amos. “Seriously, thank you for letting me volunteer you guys for this.”

I squirmed in my seat. “Of course.” I wouldn’t let him down, even if it meant making a deal with the devil. A devil with angelic curls and blue eyes the color of a Mediterranean horizon. Don’t think about his hand on your dick. Don’t think about his hand on your dick.

“Absolutely. We won’t let you down.”

I watched Bo, my lifeline, wave at Caspian as he scurried out. My shoulders sagged in defeat as I turned back to Amos.

There was a peculiar look on his face as he glanced between me and Bo’s retreating form.

Oh! Oh. God no. Bo and me? No way. No offense to him—he’d be a great catch for anyone—but we would drive each other up a wall.

He was far too…particular for me. My go-with-the-flow nature would make him want to murder me.

“I’m not interested in him,” I blurted, then immediately wanted to snatch the words back and shove them down my throat.

Amos bit his lip between his teeth as he failed to hide his smile. “I get it. Amazing guy, but he’s far too organized. He probably wears underwear labeled with the day of the week.”

“I tend to prefer guys who wear ones with lewd sayings and rainbow G-strings.”

Fire flashed in Amos’s eyes. “That’s quite a specific type.”

I held his stare for a moment as my pulse quickened, but I chickened out from taking it further. “It’s a curse. I bet Bo’s the type to schedule sex on his calendar app.”

Laughter spilled from Amos’s soft lips. I hated how badly I wanted to taste them again.

“Bo is a great guy, but not my type either.”

I could’ve sworn his gaze darted to my lips when I licked them.

“You guys never…?”

He began shaking his head before I trailed off.

“Love the guy, but not like that. I’ve seen him shit himself after eating five of those giant pixie sticks and chugging a bottle of Mountain Dew. After washing his clothes, he folded his underwear and asked if my parents had an iron. It would never work.”

A hearty laugh ripped from my chest. Amos’s lips parted as he watched me. I glanced around the coffee shop, suddenly feeling awkward and exposed and sure that everyone could read the dirty thoughts running through my mind.

“So, we’ve got a menu to plan,” Amos said.

“As much as I hate to say it, it’s a good idea. The town will love this.”

Sunlight beamed through a shop window and lit Amos’s curls. It made me forget what I was going to say next.

“Even if it means working together?” He gave me a questioning look. “Are you really okay with that? Will your family be okay with it?”

As I considered his question, a memory came to me from when I was probably seven or eight.

I’d accompanied Grandpa on a couple errands in town, and I noticed a poster for a special sundae on the window at Sparky’s.

When I asked if we could get one, he’d told me “Brewers don’t eat at Sparky’s.

We’re better off avoiding the Flynns.” I’d never stopped to assess how my family talked about Sparky’s and Flynns—it just was.

But since Halloween, I’d reflected on the feud.

Though my family wasn’t directly antagonistic about them behind closed doors, there was still an unspoken pressure to avoid them.

“Anything to make Red’s look good.” Dad would consider my having to interact with Amos as a necessary evil toward something to help the diner. “What about yours?”

“Same. They’ll love the spotlight on Sparky’s.”

I leaned back in the chair. “So, what do we do next?”

Amos’s cheeks puffed as he blew out a breath. “I guess we need to do some recipe research and make a menu.”

“I remember Mom giving Dad a Christmas gift of all sorts of family recipes bound in a book. She’d had someone make it look like the vintage Betty Crocker-style cookbooks. You know, those ones with the red-and-white checkered covers?”

“That’s a really thoughtful gift.” Amos smiled sweetly.

“She’s great.” My parents divorced while I was in college, and it was a difficult adjustment when she moved away. Looking back, I was surprised they’d lasted so many years after Matty had died.

Did Amos even know about their divorce since it happened after he left Maplewood? I wasn’t sure how often my family came up in conversation among his, especially outside of work.

As I thought more about it, most conversation involving Sparky’s happened at Red’s with the customers usually bringing it up.

I’d never really bought into the feud, but that was probably because it kind of pissed me off back in school that I had to avoid Amos.

He’d always seemed like the center of everything, meanwhile I’d had to orbit on the outside looking in on all the fun.

Since then, I’d stayed in my lane and focused on what I had to do at Red’s and tried not to worry about what went on at the other end of downtown.

When I’d gone out this morning to pick up supplies for my side hustle and meet with the owner of the commercial kitchen I used to make my cheese, I hadn’t expected to end up sitting across from Amos Flynn and drinking coffee.

I lifted my mug to take a drink, but it was empty. I glanced toward the counter and considered getting another, but I wasn’t sure I should stick around long enough to drink it.

“You’ve probably got plans to get to. I won’t keep you. I guess we should do some recipe research, then connect again?”

Guilt gnawed at my gut. “That sounds good. I?—”

“Mickey Brewer and Amos Flynn? Together? This’ll be the biggest scandal on Maplewood Matters since Bobby Miller’s goat got loose and ate Janet Gonzalez’s prize-winning dahlias.”

Suppressing a groan, I turned toward my— our —high school chemistry teacher.

“Hi, Mrs. Appaline. It’s good to see you.”

“Hi, Mrs. Appaline,” Amos said with his trademark charm.

She still dyed her hair black, but it no longer looked natural like it had when we were kids. One of her wrinkled hands clutched a pastry bag, the other a cozy mystery novel. She grinned at us like she’d stumbled on the scoop of the century.

“Why are you two together?” She narrowed her dark eyes.

Mrs. Appaline never was one to beat around the bush.

On one of my chemistry tests, she’d written a note along the lines of, “I know you can do better, so do better next time.”

“We’re helping out with a Holiday Hoopla event involving both diners.”

“Oh, that’s lovely. Always a joy to see Red’s and Sparky’s supporting the community.” She turned her attention to Amos. “I hear you’re doing well in Boston. Are you on vacation visiting your family?”

Amos shifted and darted a glance at me. “Yup.”

Mrs. Appaline tilted her head. “Didn’t I see you at the diner a month ago?

Do you have one of those fancy jobs with unlimited time off?

I wish I’d had that before I retired, so I could’ve stayed home on the hot days when all you kids stunk up the halls.

” She wrinkled her nose. “I swear, there should’ve been a class on proper hygiene and deodorant.

” Her laughter had a scratchy quality from decades of smoking.

I instinctively—and not subtly, given the twitch of Amos’s lips—angled my head toward my armpit and sniffed.

“I’m currently between jobs and figured I’d spend time with my parents while I plan my next move.”

Mrs. Appaline nodded knowingly. “I’m sure it’ll be a great step up. We wouldn’t expect anything less from the Most Likely to Succeed of your year.”

Amos winced.

He wasn’t working? I’d figured he was on the fast track to CEO, but his body language screamed something was going on. I wanted to ask, but getting even more personal with Amos seemed too risky.

At least he had the freedom to choose his next move.

I was envious of that. He’d gotten to leave for college, meanwhile, I’d had no choice but to commute to a nearby college and keep working at Red’s.

Learn the business until I eventually took it over when Dad was ready to retire.

I was expected to be the fourth generation of Brewers to operate Red’s Restaurant.

Maybe my older brother Matty would’ve been the one to take over and I could’ve gotten out, like Amos.

Except Matty wasn’t here any longer, and now I carried the burden of fulfilling a legacy I didn’t ask to be a part of.

I just needed to keep reminding myself that there were far worse things than inheriting a family business, even if it was one I had no interest in taking over. At least when I had to work, the customers were happy to be there.

“Well, it was good to see you, boys. I’d better get over to book club.”

Amos watched her walk away, then turned his bright eyes to me. I wanted to ask about his life in Boston, but I sensed he didn’t want to elaborate. Instead, I asked the thing I’d been curious about for several days.

“Speaking of books, I noticed you had one with you at the library. I might be way off, but the glimpse I saw reminded me of The Sword of Fire and Brimstone .”

Amos lit up and leaned forward. “Yes! Have you read it?”

“Twice. The series is so good. Are you going to read the next one?”

He snorted. “Are you kidding? I’ve already preordered it.”

We fell into an easy conversation about our favorite books. It was so comfortable to talk with Amos, like that first night, that I completely forgot I was sitting with the enemy in public.

When we hit a natural break in our conversation, he glanced around and looked startled.

Over half the people in the coffee shop watched us, with a spectrum of subtle to blatant curiosity.

I wouldn’t be surprised to see a Maplewood Matters blog post speculating about why a Brewer and Flynn were seen laughing and having coffee together.

Being outside a festival meeting and without Bo there, it was harder to brush off as festival work.

“I forgot what it was like,” he muttered, then finished his coffee. “Let’s make a plan for our Holiday Hoopla work.” He said the words a bit louder than necessary and sent me an apologetic smile.

“Sounds good. Shall we talk to our families and then regroup?”

Amos glanced at another table of lookie-loos. “Yeah, then maybe talk somewhere less fishbowl-like?”

I opened my mouth to suggest Red’s, but that would make it on the blog for sure. “We could meet at my place,” I blurted. My brain wanted to keep my distance, but clearly the rest of me disagreed.

A small smile curved his lips. “That sounds great. I’m crashing with Sage, so your place works. Otherwise, they’ll be all up in our business.” He pulled out his phone. “Let’s swap numbers. We’ll text and figure out a time?”

I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience as I passed Amos my phone with a blank message open and watched him text himself. I sure hadn’t had getting Amos Flynn’s number on my November Bingo card.