“I’m currently between jobs and figured I’d spend time with my parents while I plan my next move.”
Mrs. Appaline nodded knowingly. “I’m sure it’ll be a great step up. We wouldn’t expect anything less from theMost Likely to Succeedof your year.”
Amos winced.
He wasn’t working? I’d figured he was on the fast track to CEO, but his body language screamed something was going on. I wanted to ask, but getting even more personal with Amos seemed too risky.
At least he had the freedom to choose his next move. I was envious of that. He’d gotten to leave for college, meanwhile, I’d had no choice but to commute to a nearby college and keepworking at Red’s. Learn the business until I eventually took it over when Dad was ready to retire. I was expected to be the fourth generation of Brewers to operate Red’s Restaurant. Maybe my older brother Matty would’ve been the one to take over and I could’ve gotten out, like Amos. Except Matty wasn’t here any longer, and now I carried the burden of fulfilling a legacy I didn’t ask to be a part of.
I just needed to keep reminding myself that there were far worse things than inheriting a family business, even if it was one I had no interest in taking over. At least when I had to work, the customers were happy to be there.
“Well, it was good to see you, boys. I’d better get over to book club.”
Amos watched her walk away, then turned his bright eyes to me. I wanted to ask about his life in Boston, but I sensed he didn’t want to elaborate. Instead, I asked the thing I’d been curious about for several days.
“Speaking of books, I noticed you had one with you at the library. I might be way off, but the glimpse I saw reminded me ofThe Sword of Fire and Brimstone.”
Amos lit up and leaned forward. “Yes! Have you read it?”
“Twice. The series is so good. Are you going to read the next one?”
He snorted. “Are you kidding? I’ve already preordered it.”
We fell into an easy conversation about our favorite books. It was so comfortable to talk with Amos, like that first night, that I completely forgot I was sitting with the enemy in public.
When we hit a natural break in our conversation, he glanced around and looked startled. Over half the people in the coffee shop watched us, with a spectrum of subtle to blatant curiosity. I wouldn’t be surprised to see aMaplewood Mattersblog post speculating about why a Brewer and Flynn were seen laughingand having coffee together. Being outside a festival meeting and without Bo there, it was harder to brush off as festival work.
“I forgot what it was like,” he muttered, then finished his coffee. “Let’s make a plan for our Holiday Hoopla work.” He said the words a bit louder than necessary and sent me an apologetic smile.
“Sounds good. Shall we talk to our families and then regroup?”
Amos glanced at another table of lookie-loos. “Yeah, then maybe talk somewhere less fishbowl-like?”
I opened my mouth to suggest Red’s, but that would make it on the blog for sure. “We could meet at my place,” I blurted. My brain wanted to keep my distance, but clearly the rest of me disagreed.
A small smile curved his lips. “That sounds great. I’m crashing with Sage, so your place works. Otherwise, they’ll be all up in our business.” He pulled out his phone. “Let’s swap numbers. We’ll text and figure out a time?”
I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience as I passed Amos my phone with a blank message open and watched him text himself. I sure hadn’t had getting Amos Flynn’s number on my November Bingo card.
SEVEN
AMOS
I unlocked the front door to Sage’s apartment while juggling a pizza box and a six-pack of their favorite seasonal apple cider. The familiar sounds of laughter from my sibling’s favorite Australian comedy duo podcast, Toni and Ryan, greeted me through the living room speakers.
“Pizza’s here,” I called.
They popped their head around the corner leading to the kitchen. “Smells great. Extra olives?”
“Of course. I’m not a heathen.”
Sage paused the podcast in the middle of swapping puns about what you can say in a library and also in a bedroom, then retrieved a bag of salad from the fridge.
“What kind did you get?” I asked as I set the pizza and drinks on the Formica counter.
I pulled my phone out to shamelessly check if Mickey had responded to my last text. I’d ripped the bandage off and texted him shortly after we left Special Blend to share a hilarious guy I followed on social media who made questionable recipes from old cookbooks. Mickey had immediately fallen down the rabbit hole and was texting me his reactions.
Mickey: OMG hollowing out that giant brick of bologna?! This is not going to end well.
