I chuckled. “Notice his new uniform shirt too? He even considered fixing the crack in the counter, but I told him it was part of the place’s charm.”
Bo smiled. “It is. Not everything needs to feel new and unused. I appreciate the wear and tear of Red’s. It’s seen a lot over the years.”
That was what was killing me. I wanted to make more memories in this place over the rest of my life, and I wanted others to have the same opportunity. Despite that, I didn’t want Red’s tobemy life. Not like it had been for Dad and Grandpa. I loved Red’s, but it wasn’t my passion. Just because I didn’t want to become the owner didn’t mean I wanted it to go away.
I spent so much time dwelling on how I would let people down because I wasn’t my dad or grandfather. I didn’t have that special thing that made them so great at running this place. What if I ruined it? But what if I didn’t? Maybe all I needed to do was decide to do it, and then I would enjoy it. That was nice in theory, but I wasn’t convinced it could happen.
“How are you feeling about tonight?” I asked Bo while he read the menu as though he hadn’t memorized the thing twenty years ago.
“Fantastic. You and Amos have done a stellar job with everything—especially with the extra pressure fromGood Morning, USA.” He set the menu down and adopted a serious expression. “Not to mention the burden I put on you.” His expression morphed into one of pain. “I’m sorry, Mick.”
“For what? You know I’m always happy to help with the festivals.”
Bo opened his mouth but stopped himself from saying whatever he planned to when Ingrid stopped by to take our orders. After she left, he leaned close and lowered his voice.
“For not being supportive of you and Amos. A good friend wouldn’t have pressured you to keep things quiet and warned you off each other. I should’ve focused on the fact that two of the best people I know had fallen for each other instead of worrying that two of my closest friends would end up hurt.”
I slumped against the chair. “Thanks, Bo. I appreciate that.”
“Are you still seeing each other?”
“Yeah. We’re actually planning on telling our families at Christmas. I was feeling confident about that until today.”
“What changed? Doubting your feelings?”
“No! That’s not it at all. I just can’t shake this feeling of duty to my family and the business. I’m worried going public with Amos might affect that.”
“It’s not your responsibility to shoulder the burdens of your family or the town. Your happiness matters as much as everyone else’s.”
A lump formed in my throat. I didn’t realize how badly I’d needed to hear that from Bo, given how much he cared about the town’s happiness.
Lunch with Bo was exactly what I needed to decompress before tonight’s dinner. I just needed to get through that, tell my family about Amos tomorrow, and then I could start living the rest of my life.
There was more to figure out, like what to do about the diner, but I would rather worry about that later with Amos by my side.
THIRTY-THREE
AMOS
The barn-like structure on Maplewood’s festival grounds brimmed with jovial energy as the place approached a capacity that might have the fire department raising an eyebrow. There had to be at least five hundred people celebrating the holiday and enjoying the amazing food that our community restaurants came together to prepare.
Finn’s boyfriend Drake, who ran the festival grounds, had transformed the plain space into a winter wonderland. A local Christmas tree farm had donated garlands and evergreen boughs, which Drake’s team hung around the room. Long rows of folding tables held centerpieces of tree clippings and festive ornaments around glass cylinders with battery-operated candles. Instrumental Christmas music played over the sound system, and volunteers bustled around in their ugly Christmas sweaters and silly festive headbands to refill catering trays at the buffet line.
Another group of volunteers had just returned from delivering plated dinners in reheatable containers to Maplewoodians who weren’t able to attend in person. I was so proud of how the event was turning out.
“Hey, Amos, can you take these to the drinks table?” A volunteer handed me two pitchers of water.
“On it.”
There was a visible divide between people showing their diner allegiance by wearing red or green. Also, oddly enough, a fair number of people wore sequins. Was that a Christmas thing?
What surprised me the most was seeing how blended the red and green were. I’d expected to see something more like what I had at college football games, with a clearly defined home team section with people in one color and the visiting team visible in another section. Seeing Sparky’s and Red’s people so intermingled while celebrating Christmas Eve gave me hope that they would embrace Mickey and me when we began dating openly.
As I wove my way through clusters of people standing and chatting, I reveled in the laughter and joy. A deep sense of belonging filled me.How can I leave this?For the most part, I’d enjoyed my time in Boston, but I’d never felt like part of a community there. It was simply a place I’d lived and worked. Maplewood was different. Special. Vermont was home. Where my heart was, and hopefully, my future.
I had no idea what to do, but I could keep working at Sparky’s until I figured it out. Burlington was only about an hour away, and Montpelier was only half an hour. It didn’t have to be a matter of Boston or Maplewood—I could find a new career somewhere closer to here.
Mickey gave me a dazzling smile as he approached with his hands full of empty pitchers. He looked adorable in a red sweater with a picture of a giant reindeer with lights wrapped around the antlers.
