“I don’t care what it looks like, as long as it tastes like the one Noah made for our hike.”
“Wait.” Brie looked confused, her gaze bouncing between Noah and me. “My brother made you muffins for a hike?”
“Yes,” I said, breaking off a piece of the mashed muffin and popping it into my mouth. The flavor hit exactly the same complex notes as before, that perfect balance that spoke of someone who truly understood baking as both art and science. “He made us a breakfast picnic on top of the mountain.”
“My brother made you a picnic?” Brie looked like I’d just told her that her brother could walk on water. And levitate. And fly.
“Maya’s orders,” said Noah, but his deflection sounded of surrender.
“Mmm-hmm. Just following orders. Because you’re such a rule follower, Noah.” Brie’s grin only widened.
Noah’s face was now the color of the setting sun in the Colorado sky, reddish-pink, which seemed to delight Brie even more.
“Let me grab those coffees so you can wash down your muffin.” When Brie returned, she poured two steaming mugs. The coffee smelled like heaven condensed into liquid form. “This is my Sunrise Blend,” Brie explained. “Costa Rican beans I get directly from a little family farm in the mountains, then slow-roasted to bring out the natural chocolate notes.”
I took a cautious sip, making extra sure it wasn’t too hot first. Hints of dark chocolate, a whisper of berries, and something nutty and complex that lingered after I swallowed.
“Holy caffeine gods,” I spent the next two minutes gluttonously devouring nibbles of muffin and slurps of perfectlyroasted coffee. “This is why you sell out so fast,” I mumbled, crumbs rolling down my chin. “You must clean up at these festivals.”
Brie nodded, wiping crumbs off her counter while Noah gently brushed them off me. “All the local vendors do. It’s what keeps us in business.” She gestured around the square. “We’re all out here every week. Well, except next week.” Brie’s expression fell; her usual cheerfulness dimmed.
“What’s going on next week?” Noah asked, tensing at his sister’s shift in mood.
“Food festival over in Denver,” said Brie. “All the food trucks from here to Boulder will be over there, so the town council nixed ours. Said Aster Park can’t exactly have a festival without feeding people.”
We stayed to talk with Brie a bit longer, then helped her close up shop when the sun dipped behind the mountaintops. She joined us as we returned to Main Street, the strings of lights overhead transforming the town square into something magical. The festival had shifted from its daytime energy to an evening buzz.
“They’ve got the Wayward Sons playing tonight,” Brie said, linking her arm through mine like we were old friends. “Local favorites. They do an amazing cover of ‘Sweet Home Colorado’ that gets everyone dancing.”
Noah rolled his eyes. “That’s because half the town is related to someone in the band.”
Music drifted through the cooling air, a mix of guitar, fiddle, and something that might have been a banjo. We followed the sound to the town square, where couples spun and twirled on a makeshift dance floor.
“You going to play …” Brie started to ask.
“No,” Noah cut her off before she could finish. “I’m sure Sam is eager to getback. It’s been a long day.”
“Actually, I’d like to stay a little longer,” I said, pulling out my phone again. “This is nothing like the nightlife in Los Angeles.” I took a video of a grey-haired couple gliding past. The woman’s skirt swished as her partner spun her around, both of them grinning like teenagers.
“Better or worse?” asked Brie.
The band shifted into a slower song, the fiddle drawing out long, sweet notes that seemed to echo off the mountains. Fairy lights twinkled in the trees around the square, catching the sparkle in people’s eyes.
“Just different,” I answered. “It’s all good when people are having fun and enjoying themselves.”
A cluster of pre-teen girls in matching t-shirts spotted Noah and descended on him like a pack of wolves.
“Mr. Barrett! Mr. Barrett! Dance with us!” They tugged at his sleeves, practically pulling him off his feet. Noah’s usual stoic expression melted. “Ladies, you’re supposed to be selling cookies, not harassing people.”
“We already sold out!” One girl with braids announced proudly. “Now you have to dance with us.”
“Girl Scouts,” Brie explained, leaning close to me. “Noah helps them with their outdoor projects from time to time.”
I watched as Noah let himself get dragged onto the dance floor by three determined twelve-year-olds. “Noah volunteers with girl scouts?”
Brie’s eyes followed her brother as he attempted to teach the proper dance steps to his giggling entourage. “Last summer they built a boardwalk with a wheelchair ramp down by Mirror Lake. So people with disabilities could enjoy the view.”
Brie and I watched in amusement as the girl scouts formed a circle around Noah. To my complete shock, he actually knew how to dance. Not just awkward swaying, but genuine rhythm and footwork. His boots tapped against the wooden platform inperfect time with the music as he spun his young dance partner in a circle.
