I couldn’t read Mickey’s expression as he studied me closely. It was probably some new local artisan cheese brand that was all the rage.
“It is. Try it with the honey. It brings out the lemon zest.”
I eagerly followed his directions. “Mm. Damn. So good,” I spoke while chewing. “You gotta tell me where to buy this. Sage would love it.”
Mickey’s eyebrows rose. “Really? You think it’s good?”
“Dude, it’samazing. It makes me wish I knew more about wine so I could do some pairing.”
“It’s not currently for sale. I’ve got a, uh, special hookup, but I might be able to get you some.”
“That would be fantastic,” I said with a mouthful of cheese and cracker. I needed to slow down before I ate it all.
Mickey was cute with any expression, but he was devastatingly handsome when he smiled. I’d noticed his smiles in school, but they were never aimed at me when they did come out. He’d always been on the quiet side, but he seemed to let loose with his friends. Unfortunately, our lives, families, and circumstances had prevented us from freely sharing smiles with each other.
“Can you take the tray to the living room while I grab two glasses and the wine?”
“You’re leaving me alone with the cheese? Foolish man.” I smiled to myself as I returned to the living room while he laughed in the kitchen.
I set the tray in the middle of the coffee table, then settled on one end of the couch. It showed significant restraint that I didn’t put the tray on my side of the table.
Mickey joined me a minute later with two wine glasses in one hand and the open bottle in the other. He poured each ofus a glass before sitting on the other end of the three-seat, floral couch. It was hard to imagine it was his style. Was he house-sitting for someone? That might explain how he could afford it.
Mickey picked up a notepad from the table and poised a pen over it. I was glad he was taking this seriously. I pulled out my phone and opened the Notes app, where I’d jotted down ideas while doing research and talking to my parents.
“How do you want to go about this? Work our way through each course?”
“Sounds good.” I carefully drizzled honey over another chunk of cheese. “Are there any recipes you’re particularly stoked about incorporating?”
“Actually, yeah. There’s a casserole from the original Red’s menu. Grandpa used to cook it for us when we were kids. Full of cheese and carbs.”
We?Oh. Right. Mickey’s older brother. It was impossible to live in the same town and not know of the tragedy, but I hadn’t thought of it in so long. I remember Mom and Dad getting flak for not sending flowers to the funeral home, but they’d sent them directly to the Brewers. It wasn’t about showing off and being performative but rather expressing genuine condolences that transcended the rivalry.
“Yum. That sounds good. From Sparky’s, I’d love to include our meatloaf. It’s a customer favorite, but Dad said it’s been around since the beginning. They found an earlier version of the recipe, but it hasn’t changed much.”
“That sounds great.” Mickey’s smile was genuine and encouraging.
It was surreal how easy this was going. It was a special sort of divine fuckery that the first guy I’d genuinely enjoyed spending time around with our clothes on was literally the one guy I couldn’t want.
I scooted closer to Mickey to better reach the mixed nuts on the tray.Keep telling yourself that’s why, pal.
After angling toward him, I leaned against the back of the couch and picked an almond from my handful of nuts. “It might make sense to try and minimize the number of ingredients across the menu so it’s easier to group dishes for the various restaurants to cook.”
“I was thinking the same thing. We should be as efficient as possible and focus on volume instead of variety. Who knows how many people will show up to this thing.”
I frowned. “Actually, that’s a good point. Do we know how much food will be needed?”
Mickey stilled. “Shit. I know how much food to order to feed our diner, but that’s at max capacity. This could be dozens or hundreds of people. Who do you think knows?”
“Bo,” we said simultaneously, then shared a smile.
Mickey put his phone down. “You text him.”
I took it as a gesture of goodwill that he supported me in rekindling my friendship with Bo.
After shooting off a text to Bo with our question, I set my phone on the table.
Over the next hour and the rest of the cheese, Mickey and I worked through ideas for appetizers, side dishes, main courses, desserts, and drinks. It was surprisingly easy. Stripping away the diners and the identities they assigned us, we were two guys who got along well and flirted a little while debating the pros and cons of messing with vanilla ice cream for apple pie.
