“Perfect, Archie,” Brogan said, wrapping his hands around the mug.
“Thanks. Figured we needed to thaw out before helping at Blue Star.”
Brogan looked at him, a little sheepish. “You okay about today? Me at Pints ‘n Pool?”
“I’m over it,” Archie said, shrugging. “And I’ll always tell you when I have a half day. Actually, I’ve got a calendar. I’ll email it to you.”
Brogan’s eyes crinkled as he sipped his tea. “You’re such a charmer.”
Archie winked at him.
They cleaned up, loaded the dishwasher, and headed out in Brogan’s vehicle, the heater blasting and their fingers brushing between gear shifts.
The Blue Star Diner hadn’t changed in decades—blue vinyl booths, checkered floors, and a jukebox that only worked if you smacked it like it owed you money. Archie loved it for that. It felt like a place that remembered things, like it held stories in the walls.
They pushed through the door, the bell jingling overhead, and were hit with the smell of coffee, bacon grease, and something sweet—probably cinnamon rolls. Andrew and Rafael were already there, half-buried in boxes of decorations. Rafael had a string of lights tangled around his arm like a snake, and Andrew was holding a plastic reindeer upside down, looking like he’d lost a fight with it.
“About time,” Andrew called. “We thought you bailed.”
Archie grinned. “Wouldn’t miss it. Someone’s gotta supervise your decorating choices.”
Brogan hugged Rafael, then grabbed a box of ornaments. “You mean someone’s gotta stop you from putting tinsel in the coffee machine again.”
“That was one time,” Andrew said, mock offended.
They got to work—lights on windows, garlands over counters, snowflakes taped to the walls. Rafael climbed onto a stool, Brogan wrestled with tinsel that looked like it had survived three decades of bad storage, and Archie fluffed a fake wreath that smelled faintly of dust and peppermint.
A couple of regulars waved from a booth.
“Archie!” one of them called. “Good to see you, kid. We miss you around here.”
Archie smiled, warmth blooming in his chest. “Miss you too, Mrs. Callahan. You still ordering pancakes with extra butter?”
“Every damn time,” she said with a wink.
The jukebox kicked on with an old-school Elvis Christmas tune, and the four of them kept decorating, laughing and singing off-key. Rafael tried to hang mistletoe above the register, but Andrew kept swatting his hand away.
“Babe, that’s where people pay. You can’t ambush them with kisses.”
“Why not?” Rafael said, grinning. “Holiday cheer.”
Brogan leaned over to Archie, whispering, “Ten bucks says he puts it up, anyway.”
Archie chuckled. “I’m not betting against Rafael. He’s got mistletoe energy.”
By the time they finished, the diner looked like a Christmas card—twinkling lights, shiny ornaments, and a tree in the corner that leaned slightly to the left but had enough charm to make up for it. Archie stood back, arm slung around Brogan’s waist, and took it all in. It wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs. And that made it feel just right.
They all slid into a booth with ice cream sodas, the kind that made Archie feel like a kid again. Gabriella walked in and came straight to their table.
“Hey, Andrew,” she said. “Your mom was at my house talking to my mother about Christmas dinner.”
“What’d she say?” Andrew asked.
“She was upset your dad told Archie and Brogan they were uninvited. So, they’re talking about having it at our place instead.”
“Interesting,” Rafael said. “Did they run that by Dad?”
“No. They might not tell him.”
