Mrs. Flynn peppered me with questions about the different types I made, then she kicked around ideas for specials. Whenthe coffee machine beeped, she filled two Sparky’s mugs. When she handed me one, I expected to be smote on the spot.
“Kid, this is delicious and would sell like hotcakes. But I’m curious, why are youhere?” Her tone was gentle.
I blew on the steaming mug as I tried to find my words. “I wouldn’t feel right letting you put your name behind this without knowing I made it. It’s a risk.”
Mrs. Flynn nodded. “I appreciate that. It’s simple though.” She selected a package of cheese from the cooler. “It’s nothing more than Sparky’s supporting local goods from a new artisan cheesemaker, Mystic Rind.”
“You really don’t mind?”
“I really don’t. Takes guts to come over here. You could’ve easily let us carry your cheese and not said a thing.”
That wasn’t an option.
“Your dad must be so proud.”
My stomach soured. “He might be, but my cheese isn’t appearing on a Red’s special anytime soon.” I cleared my throat. I was already here, so I should put it all on the table. “He turned me down when I pitched him on some menu ideas.”
Her expression softened. “I’m sure it’s complicated, sweetheart.”
“It always is. Thanks for this, Mrs. Flynn. Absolutely no pressure if it doesn’t hit, but if it does, I’m happy to bring you more.”
“It’ll hit, hon. I’m sure of it. And please, call me Beth. Now get out of here before someone sees you and it ends up on that damn blog. Amos will let you know when we’re ready for more.”
MAPLEWOOD MATTERS BLOG
DECEMBER 9
Be careful out there, Maplewoodians! There are reports of a prowler trying to break into the businesses on Maple Street. This figure was spotted outside of Sparky’s, but fortunately, Chef Beth scared them off. Comment below if you’ve been victimized by the Maple Street Prowler.
[grainy photo of a figure in a parka with the hood pulled up]
TWENTY
AMOS
After cashing out my last table of the day, I moved into the kitchen and found Mom at the grill, shaking our special seasoning blend over fresh fries.
“Hey, Mom, do you have time to make two burger specials to go?”
“You got it, kiddo,” she called over her shoulder.
I pulled out my phone and shot off a quick text.
Amos: You busy? If not, mind if I swing by with dinner? I think you’ll like it.
“Two burgers, huh?” Mom’s eyes twinkled.
“Catching up with a friend tonight.” A familiar heat crept across the back of my neck. I’d always been a terrible liar.
Fortunately, she didn’t press, but the knowing look in her eye left me unsettled. She hadn’t asked any pressing questions about Mickey and the cheese after she told me he stopped by to talk to her about it. I’d expected her to pepper me with questions about our relationship outside of festival work or to warn me to keep my distance so I didn’t get hurt.
Mickey: My stomach growled as I read your text. I’m starving.
I was tempted to put myself on the menu. He’d been consuming my thoughts since our non-date date. Honestly? Since before that, but it grew worse with each interaction. Kissing him on Saturday night had confirmed we had some serious chemistry, and I was desperate to explore it.
“Here you go, sweetheart. And next time you talk to our cheese producer, tell them they’d better increase production.” She winked.
I thanked her and left Sparky’s with a spring in my step and humming the Christmas tune that had been playing on the diner’s speakers.
