“You guys are going to get teased for years.” Sage laughed.
The segment ended and Theresa and Lena were back on screen.
“There’s nothing I love more than romance at Christmas,” Lena said. “Thank you for this wonderful story, Theresa. Next up, we talk with Franklin about recycling gift wrapping.”
I wiped a tear falling down Mickey’s cheek after swiping one off my own. The only sound in the room was the commercial playing on the television.
“They didn’t talk about how good our milkshakes are,” Joe joked as he wiped his eyes. “This was special to watch together. We have you boys to thank for that.”
“On that note, we have a gift for you.” Mom walked over to the Christmas tree and retrieved a gift bag tucked behind it.
Mickey and I shared a confused look before I straightened and accepted the bag from her. It had some heft. Something flat and solid. As I removed the tissue paper, I saw a framed printout of aMaplewood Mattersstory dated yesterday, with a picture of Mickey and me kissing.
Mickey tilted his head back and laughed. “Of course that made it on the blog.”
“I think it’ll look great on your gallery wall,” I said with a teasing smile.
Mickey’s smile softened. “I know just the spot.”
“I thought about framing the one about us carrying Mickey’s cheese,” Dad teased.
“Too soon, Ian. Jesus.” Joe laughed.
It would take a while to get used to Dad and Joe being friends.
Joe cleared his throat and glanced at Ingrid before looking at Mickey. “About that. I’m revisiting the menu in the new year, and I’d like to rewrite it with you. Permanent menu items withyour product. I want you to make the diner yours. Sometimes change is a good thing.”
I gave Mickey an encouraging leg squeeze while waiting for his move.
“Dad, let’s go get that cheese plate ready.”
“You’ve got this,” I whispered. 'Tis the season for doing hard things and making changes for the better.
THIRTY-SEVEN
MICKEY
A cold sweat broke out on my neck as I followed Dad into the Flynns’ kitchen. It was modern with a lot of chrome appliances and shiny surfaces, but still held the warmth of a family home full of cherished memories. Bows wrapped the cabinet doors and ceramic Christmas figurines stood among the flour and sugar containers.
The sound of television commercials continued, and I heard Amos speaking in hushed tones. Since no one followed us into the kitchen, I suspected Amos was asking everyone to give us privacy. When I’d told him this morning that I’d hoped for an opportunity to talk to Dad, he’d been completely supportive.
I grabbed the edge of the counter next to the cheese plate Amos had helped me prepare earlier. “Dad, thank you for what you did last night. I can’t express how much it means to me, and I know it does to Amos too. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”
Dad stood on the other side of the counter. “It was overdue, kiddo. I’m sorry it took me so long. I have a bad habit of holding on to things longer than I should, but at least there are no more secrets.”
My knuckles turned white with my grip. “Not quite.” My pulse accelerated.
Dad tilted his head and gave me his full attention.
“This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say.” My voice shook, but I pulled strength from Amos’s encouragement and support. “I don’t want to take over the diner.”
Bracing myself, I waited for Dad’s shock or anger—disbelief, something. Instead, he nodded in resignation.
“Ingrid’s been warning me about this. Your mom did too.” He shook his head. “Maybe one of these days I’ll learn to listen to the women in my life.”
That startled a laugh from me.
Dad came around the counter and pulled me into a tight hug. In his arms, I was the tiny child who kept waiting for my dad to ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I never got to tell him that I wanted to be an archaeologist because he’d talked to me about taking over the diner not long after Matty died. Now, I understood that had probably been how he’d processed his grief.
