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A slow smile spread across Andre’s face, making my heart do a little flip. “I’d like that.”
EIGHT
ANDRE
Arriving at Red’s, I spotted Mickey, who was settled at the booth farthest from the door. He was sipping coffee, no doubt his maple blend, while reading on his phone.
The diner radiated its typical easygoing Sunday afternoon energy—that lull between brunch and dinner when people indulged in coffee and snacks. Despite our festival discussion, the vibe offered a respite from the whirlwind of preparations.
“Hey.” I slid in across from Mickey. “Sorry I’m late. Got caught up with Grace about the theater’s programming. She and Elena have put together something incredible.”
Mickey waved off my apology. “No worries. Just sat down. Once I give you my update, perhaps you can relax and put the festival aside for a few minutes.”
“You’ve met me, right?” I quirked my eyebrow comically high, wiggling it up and down until Mickey snorted with laughter. The moment of levity felt good. “I’m not sure I can go more than thirty seconds without festival thoughts.” I leaned forward, lowering my voice. “Last night I dreamed the parade made a wrong turn and ended up going right out of town. I couldn’t run fast enough to catch it.”
Mickey shook his head. “Not sure if that’s a sign you need reassurance or a year off after being in charge for three.”
I grunted but kept smiling. “For now I’ll settle for lunch. I’m starving.”
Mickey caught Ingrid’s eye, and she took our orders—a club sandwich and ginger ale for me, a burger and root beer for Mickey. As he ordered, my gaze drifted out the window. People strolled by, basking in the beautiful day. The kind that made you want to linger over lunch and forget responsibilities. I’d have more time for that in eight days.
“So, how are things with the food? Any last-minute hiccups?”
Mickey’s eyes gleamed with confidence. “Everything’s set, unless someone changes something up. Found out today that Special Blend is doing special maple bacon donuts, which will have rainbow colors. I got to sample one. It’s next level.” He looked for a moment like he was experiencing the flavor again. “They need to be on the regular menu.”
My stomach growled in anticipation. “They sound yummy. I wish you'd brought me one?”
“Duly noted for next time. Bring Andre all of the next-level treats to sample.” Mickey smirked at me as he continued scrolling through his phone notes. “And Mrs. Nguyen is debuting a maple-infused kimchi that’s amazing. And we’ve got a food truck bringing in maple pulled pork sliders.”
“Sounds like we’ll need to hand out stretchy pants at the entrance.” I was only half joking. Maplewood’s festivals always tempted me to overindulge. Not only would there be amazing food for Pride, but just a week later there was the Fourth of July and so much amazing ice cream. “But seriously, great job.”
“I’m proud that we’ve got so many options. You could eat something different every day of the festival. All the vendors are also on board for being at the picnic.”
Our food arrived and we dug in, our conversation on pause as we savored our meal. My mind drifted from the festival to its other favorite topic: Ethan Gallagher.
Heat crept up my neck as I imagined his smile, his laugh…
“What?” I asked, catching Mickey studying me. “Do I have mayo on my face?” I grabbed my napkin, self-consciously wiping my mouth.
Mickey’s brow furrowed. “No, nothing like that. You just seem… distracted. And I don’t think it’s the festival.”
The flush deepened. Was I that transparent? “I’m just eating,” I mumbled, taking another bite.
“Uh-huh.” Mickey wasn’t buying it. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain hockey player turned grand marshal, would it?”
“What? No, of course not.” Even I didn’t believe how that sounded.
Mickey’s expression softened. “Andre, come on. I’ve known you both since high school. You two talked, didn’t you?” Concern flashed in his eyes. “That didn’t make things worse, did it?”
I set down my sandwich, shoulders sagging. “No. I mean, yes, we talked. But no, things didn’t get worse. It’s all so… complicated.”
I wiped my mouth, trying to hide the smile that had formed. It was such a change that thinking about Ethan now triggered more smiles than frowns.
“What happened?”
With a deep breath, I tried to organize my thoughts. “We had this… moment. We talked—really talked—for the first time ever. And I realized how wrong I’d been about him all these years. This image I had of the perfect, popular athlete who got everything? So off base. I had no idea what life was like for him.”
“Ethan shares a lot with close friends, but he’s not one to bare his soul to everyone. It’s not your fault you didn’t see past the facade he put up back then.”
