David smirked. “It means you should come with me. Theo said it’s going to be fun. And honestly? You could use a little fun.”
Maurice pushed his chicken around his plate, thinking. “I don’t know. I’m not exactly—”
“Don’t say you’re not the type,” David cut in. “You literally told me ten minutes ago you found Mr. Right and he vanished like a gay magician. You need to get out there.”
Maurice sighed. “I didn’t say he was Mr. Right.”
“You implied it,” David said. “Your face implied it. Your soul implied it.”
Maurice groaned. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet…” David raised his glass. “You still love me.”
Maurice clinked his glass against David’s. “Fine. We’ll go.”
David beamed. “Excellent. I’ll text Theo and tell him we’re coming.”
Maurice leaned back in his seat, letting the moment settle. Maybe the party would be ridiculous. Maybe it would be awkward. Maybe Finn would be there. Maybe he wouldn’t. But for the first time since boarding the train, Maurice felt something like anticipation humming under his ribs. He wasn’t sure if it was for the party… or for the chance to see that blond again. Either way, he was going.
Chapter Seven
Finn
Finn was still hoveringnear the bar, pretending to study the drink menu even though he’d already memorized it. Really, he was stealing glances at the man in the suit—tall, sharp jaw, dark hair, the man who looked like he owned half the train and didn’t even need to brag about it. Finn had been working up the courage to say hi. Or at least smile. Or at least not stare. He wasjust about to take a step toward him when someone tapped his shoulder.
Finn jumped a little. “Hi!” he said, spinning around.
Mr. Santos stood there, still in his crisp uniform, still looking like he ran the entire Pride Express with a clipboard and sheer willpower. “Can you help me with the setup for the Meet-a-Daddy Party?”
“Me? Sure, I can help.”
Of course he could help. He just… really wished the timing wasn’t right now. He shot one last look toward the man in the suit. The guy was laughing at something another passenger said.
Great. Perfect.Please don’t find someone else before I get back.
“Follow me then,” Mr. Santos said.
Finn forced a smile and followed him out of the bar area, feeling the disappointment trail behind him like a little cloud. He hoped the man didn’t even notice he’d left. Or maybe he hoped he did. He wasn’t sure.
They walked into a car labeled Party Car #1, and Finn squinted at the sudden brightness. The overhead lights buzzed with a harsh, electric hum, making everything look a little too exposed. The air carried a faint stale scent, like the car hadn’t been used all day, with a mix of dust, old upholstery, and the metallic tang of recycled train air.
Small round tables were stacked against the wall, their edges clinking softly every time the train hit a bump. An entire army of folded chairs leaned in uneven rows, rattling against each other with each vibration of the tracks. The floor still held faint scuff marks from whatever event had been here last, giving the whole place a backstage feel.
Finn took it all in with the brightness, the clutter, the low mechanical hum under his feet, and somehow it made the taskahead feel more real. More grounded. Like he wasn’t just killing time or distracting himself from the man in the suit. He was helping build something, setting the stage for a night that might matter.
“We’re going to make two circles of chairs,” Mr. Santos said. “One for the Daddies, and the other for the boys.”
“Sounds fun,” Finn said, stepping over a stack of chair legs. “What if there aren’t enough Daddies for the boys?”
“It usually works.” Mr. Santos gave him a knowing smile.
Finn wasn’t sure what that meant, but he nodded. “How many chairs should each circle have?”
“Ten chairs for each circle. If more come, we can add them later.”
Finn got to work, dragging chairs across the floor and forming two neat circles side by side. It reminded him of the time he helped set up for a school dance, except this time he wasn’t the kid hiding by the punch bowl. He was the one assisting to build the whole thing.
While he worked, Mr. Santos ordered pizza. The smell drifted into the room before the delivery guy even knocked—warm, cheesy, a little greasy in the best way. Finn’s stomach growled so loudly he winced. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until the scent hit him.
