I’m sorry, what?
Shaking my head, I push open the door and step inside, where I find Tim and Mac rearranging boxes from the sound system, placing them next to a little stage that has miraculously appeared on the side of the restaurant. The tables are all lined up on the opposite side, creating some space.
I’m still taking everything in when Tally approaches with a smile, her eyes sparkling excitedly. “How do you think it’s looking, Sloan?” she asks, seemingly oblivious to my confusion.
I raise an eyebrow and look around. “What’s going on here?”
Tally chuckles. “You didn’t know? We’re hosting a poetry slam tonight,” she announces with a mischievous grin. “Did I forget to tell you?”
I frown at her, making her grin even broader. “Seems like it.”
Something’s up.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologizes, but her face says everything except that she’s sorry.
What is she scheming again?
“It’s okay,” I say slowly, feeling anxious. “What do you need me to do?”
Tally shakes her head, her smile never fading. “Don’t worry, it will be fun! We’re only serving drinks tonight, so no kitchen service. We’ll put some crackers and snacks on the tables. Could you help me with that?”
I nod and follow Tally as we set up the tables. As the evening progresses, people start to fill the restaurant, taking their seats at the tables, and more keep pouring in, leaving them to stand along the walls. It’s a much larger turnout than I anticipated.
Where are all these people coming from?
At least two ghosts came in with them. I can tell by the chill running down my neck, but I do what I have been doing for the last year with ghosts I encountered during my everyday life.
Ignore them.
A guy I’ve never seen before steps onto the makeshift stage and announces, “Welcome to the first Lubec poetry slam! I’m thrilled to see so many faces here tonight.”
I watch from my position near the kitchen, still stunned at what is happening here. Glancing around, I spot some familiar faces in the crowd, including North, Hunter, and Lio, who are all standing near the entrance. But there is no sign of Nash.
Why wouldhe,of all people, miss a poetry slam happening in his town?
Maybe because he’s still wrapped up in someone’s sheets.
Hunter catches me looking at them and waves with a smile, breaking me out of my thoughts.
Sure, I’m one to talk, having called one ofhis brothers to share my bed and kissing him.
This morning, I woke up wrapped in Hunter’s arms, his lips on my forehead, when we both were woken by North calling him. He wanted to know where Hunter was since he needed him to be home to watch Lio when he came over for our run. Hunter held the phone so close to me that I heard North asking, so I told him I would skip our run today, feeling too cozy to do anything but go back to sleep for a bit longer.
North was silent for a moment before he apologized for disturbing us and hung up, but there was a hint of hurt in his voice.
This whole thing is getting more complicated by the second.
But when my eyes find North in the crowd and see he’s already watching me, the side of his lip rises in a slight smile, alleviating some of the guilt I’ve felt since this morning.
He’s not mad.
Why am I feeling guilty for not going on our run?
Fuck if I know.
The first participant of the slam takes the stage, reading what he has prepared for tonight. The poems Nash wrote for me are better, though.
As the evening continues, I find myself busy serving beers and sodas to the tables while one participant after another takes the stage. Some are incredibly talented, capturing the audience’s attention with their powerful words and emotions. Others, however, are less impressive, and I have to stifle a laugh or two at their attempts.
