Page 47 of Wedding Wrecker

“Just there, around the corner. You can park in front of the cafe,” Logan says, pointing to the right.

Springton isn’t a big town, so when he said the cafe was called Rainbowology, I had a vague idea about where it was. Located in the main street, the cafe must have lots of footfall from college students, and going by the name, I’m guessing it’s a gay-friendly place.

I’m both excited and a bit antsy. I’ve never met gay people other than Logan, not knowingly, so I’m unsure if I’ll know how to behave in their company. But as Logan leads the way to the cafe with the big windows, I’m struck by how normal it seems. It has that cozy yet modern vibe going on, with large metal lamps hanging off the ceiling and colorful chairs around wooden tables. The clientele is around mine and Logan’s age, and as I expected, there’s a little pride flag on the door.

“I need to talk to the owner.” Logan points to a man behind the counter who looks like a smiley modern Viking with his blond hair in a bun and arms covered in colorful tats. “But it’s busy so we have to wait a bit until he’s free.

“Oh, hey, Logan! I have a table for you,” someone says, and when I turn my head, I realize it’s a young guy on roller skates. He’s slim and would be much shorter without the large wheels supporting him. He’s wearing a bright blue apron, but I can still see from the side that there’s a crop top underneath. His hair is the most unusual thing about him. Blond and dip-dyed blue, it’s in two braids that have glittering pom-poms attached to the ties. He gives me a once-over. “Or do you wanna wait for the date table?” he asks and winks at Logan.

Please. I want the date table.

But Logan laughs. “Nah, anywhere is fine. This is my friend Kyle, he’s new in town.”

I’m mildly displeased, but the stranger offers me his hand. His short nails are painted a pearly white. “I’m Kai, and I shall be your server. Follow me,” he says, leading us through the middle of the interior, toward a counter already tempting me with pastries and sandwiches overflowing with ingredients. There’s even a quiche.

The tattooed guy standing behind it waves at Logan, who’s surely a regular, and we sit at a small table close to a speaker playing a classic rock ballad. We’re squashed between a couple with two young kids and four jocks having a sober birthday party featuring a giant pile of cakes.

Despite being so obviously gay, Kai seems at ease around the big guys, and even pretend-flirts with the birthday boy.

This is… nice. So maybe I’m not on a date with Logan, but if I were, I could hold his hand here. Who would pay though? Would I bring flowers? Probably not. Or would he bring me flowers? Would I like that? Of course I would. Who doesn’t like fresh flowers in the house?

Millions of questions about gay dating float in my head until Logan leans back in his chair and waves at me.

“Awfully quiet there, Kyle. You like the place?”

I breathe in the warm scent hanging in the air. It’s like mac & cheese had a baby with wild mushrooms, and moments later, Kai delivers a beautiful steaming bowl to one of the nearby tables.

The couple laughs at their little girl in pink star-shaped glasses. She wiggles a little wand at the dad, who smiles and leans toward his daughter. They seem like such a happy family.

One I might never have.

I look away and make myself smile despite the squeezing sensation in my chest. “It’s great. And the food smells fantastic. Anything you recommend?” I ask, distracting myself with the small menu attached to a wooden board.

“Quinta makes the best coffees, especially the iced ones.” He discreetly points out the barista with a cropped afro, a nose piercing, and a flannel shirt. Her focused expression belongs on someone preparing potions, not coffee, but if it’s any indication of beverage quality, I’m in. Logan then goes on, “and that’s Olivia, she’s in charge of all the healthy and vegetarian options, so you could ask her about the special.” His gaze travels to a young woman by the sandwiches counter. Her ponytail is immaculate, without a single hair out of place, and she’s wearing a little black dress. There’s a pink, white, and blue flag at the front of her apron, but I’m not sure what it stands for. I should ask Logan later.

I’m about to warn him that the kid behind him is eying his Stetson, but it’s too late. The boy grabs the hat and places it on his own head.

I bite my lip not to laugh. Logan turns around, but instead of scolding the child, he shakes the boy’s hand.

“‘Ello there, pardner,” Logan says, exaggerating his Texan accent.

“I’m so sorry,” the kid’s Dad starts.

Logan waves it off. “It’s okay, he can play with it.”

The boy peeks out from under the massive hat, grinning. “I’m a cowboy!”

Logan nods at him with full seriousness on his face. “How many cows ya’ll got?”

The kid glances at his mom, who at this point is struggling to hold in laughter, and when she doesn’t offer any suggestions, he tips the hat so it covers his entire head and says, “Millions.”

Of course.

I smile, itching to stroke Logan’s hand in appreciation, but he’s busy talking to the boy, who inquires how many Logan has. They’re now trying to one-up each other by coming up with numbers that don’t exist.

I catch myself thinking he’d be a great dad, and it makes me feel guilty over trying to get his attention, when he could marry a pretty girl and have kids within one year.

I’m almost jealous of him, but the messy way my relationship with Madison ended showed me that I have to think of myself first. I was lying to myself when I believed starting a family with a woman would satisfy me, so I can’t lose sight of the lessons the canceled wedding taught me. Otherwise, I might as well go back into the closet.