His lips roll and purse as he thinks about it. “I love flapjacks, and polo, and snails, and dogs . . .” His eyes flick to me, and he continues in the same breath. “Daddy, can we go see Honey?”
“I don’t think she’s here yet, bud. They’re not coming until later.”
Story turns to me. “Who’s Honey?”
“Can we go check? Pleeeeeaase?” Max drags out the vowels, an expert in negotiation. “Miss MacIntosh can come too.”
I turn to Story, lips quirking. “Shall we go and see if the dogs have arrived at the kissing booth? Max would like to show you a puppy he met. Her name is Honey.”
“I’d love to.” She chuckles.
Max pushes his chair back so quickly that it hits the man in the chair behind hard enough that he jerks forward. “Sorry,” he shoots out before the stranger reprimands him.
I glance at the table of his untouched hot chocolate and half-eaten cinnamon bun, which he normally devours. “Maxy, are you done?”
“It’s too pink.” That’s his only explanation, and next to me, I feel Story’s shoulder shaking with laughter. “Please, Daddy, can we go now?”
My brow arches at Story. “This is what a Saturday morning looks like, just so you know.”
Her hand brushes along the back of my arm, and she leans in. “Seems pretty idyllic to me, but we might need more coffee.”
Glancing at the queue, which is now snaking out of the door and looping around the corner with Agatha’s, we come to the same decision.
“Coffee cart outside.”
“Lead the way.” I sweep my hand in front of me. “Max, remember it’s busy, so you have to stick close. And please walk, not run,” I add quickly.
He turns to the door, then to Story, and thrusts his hand at her. “Would you like to hold my hand?”
“Of course.” She grins down at him. “I haven’t forgotten you’re my favorite hand holder.”
Max and I have been in The Beanery for less than an hour, but in that time, the number of visitors to Valentine High Street has tripled. It’s quite a sight.
Groups of people are clustered at the top and bottom of the street, where they’ve walked around the corner and seen the festivities for the first time. Phones are out, and everyone’s taking pictures of the decorations threaded from lamppost to lamppost, or of the light-up heart installations, perfect for selfies. Actors stand on strategically placed boxes hosting impromptu poetry sessions, and halfway down is a poet who’ll write you a sonnet on the spot based on any set of words or subject you give them.
It’s the busiest time of year for Valentine Nook, and the season it thrives in. And you can’t help but be swept up in the joy and cheer, the infectious happiness that love brings you.
Therefore, we take our time to ease through the crowds, soaking in everything around us. Halfway down, Max’s free hand slips into mine, and from then on, Story and I walk with Max between us. I try to concentrate on where I’m going, but my attention frequently drifts to them. Max is chatting away while Story listens intently, and it’s hard to believe I’m not in a dream.
It’s everything I ever wanted.
Up ahead, I see the stripes of the kissing booth roof before the rest comes into view. Big pink hearts, the curtains scooped to the side, and the heart-shaped cutout window designed for visitors to have their phototaken. Eddie’s currently manning it. He should be taking the pictures, but I suspect the couple took one look at him, his deep frown lines and drooping mustache, and decided they could do a better job.
“Where are the dogs?” Max demands before saying hello. “Are they here?”
“Not here yet, little man. Come back after lunch.” Eddie ruffles his hair, then his attention lands on Story and me. His finger points back and forth between us. “What’s going on here, then?”
Story shrugs, but when she looks up at me, her eyes flash knowingly. “Just enjoying Valentine’s together.”
“Oh yeah?” Eddie’s eyes narrow, and he stares, waiting for us to say more. But while that might have worked on us when we were ten, it doesn’t any longer. And our official line, until we’re ready to tell Max, is that we’re spending time together. “Better than seeing you arguing, I s’pose.”
“Our thoughts exactly,” I add, only to find my son frowning at me like it’s my fault the dogs aren’t here. “I told you, but we’ll come back later. By the time you’ve finished your concert, the dogs will have arrived. Then you’ll see Honey.”
“But what are we going to do until then?” he huffs.
“I have an idea,” Story says, pointing at the booth. “Did you know your daddy and I built this?”
Max looks so skeptical it’s almost insulting.
