That was, as my mind continued to replay it over and over, an experience.
Lying on my bed last night, part of me wanted to reverse time and have a do-over where I went to sleep the first time. A do-over that didn’t jeopardize our friendship. But another part of me, a bigger one if I were being honest, actually wanted just the opposite.
To kiss him again.
The door opened. A smiling, freshly showered Beck, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, stood in the same spot as the scene of the crime. Was it me, or had he gotten even hotter since last night?
“Morning, Mae.”
“Good morning.”
“Ready to rock and roll?”
“I am.”
“Cool.” He reached out, taking my overnight bag from my shoulder.
“You don’t have to do that.”
Beck headed to the bed, popped his toiletry bag inside his own duffle, and slung it on his shoulder. “Now what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t?”
“Who says you’re a gentleman?”
“Ouch. You don’t play fair.”
And just like that, as we headed downstairs, we fell right back into our old pattern of busting each other’s asses and being… well… normal. Except, nothing was normal about this morning at all. Apparently we weren’t going to talk about the kiss. I certainly wasn’t going to bring it up. What the hell would I say?
Soooo, about that kiss?
We had a pleasant enough breakfast, Ellie introducing us to her husband and another couple who were already eating breakfast when we got down there. The only exception? When we both reached for the pepper at the same time and our fingers touched, at which point I pulled quickly away. I promised to follow up with Ellie when I got home, and just like that, the day started without any fanfare. On the short drive to the festival grounds, we discussed preparations. We tried to predict when we would run out of pastries… I said after the lunch crowd, Beck predicted earlier.
One thing we didn’t talk about?
The kiss.
I couldn’t take it anymore. Was Beck seriously going to pretend it didn’t happen? Just as he was firing up the grill, I leaned against the table beside it, crossed my arms, and waited.
“Nice day for a festival,” he mused, pulling an apron over his head.
“You’re seriously going to talk about the weather?”
Beck’s laugh always had a way of wiggling itself into my soul. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Mae. Just taking your lead.”
“Well, it feels like something we should talk about.”
“Agreed.”
He wasn’t making this easy.
“Or…” He was about to say something cheeky. I could just tell. “We could just do it again, instead.”
I swatted him on the arm with the rag I was holding as the fry guy across from us approached.
“Morning, guys. All ready for another nice day?”
He was around my dad’s age, maybe a little older. Didn’t have a brick and mortar but worked festivals and loved it. Apparently “life on the road” was for him. He looked like a cross between Larry David and a weathered rock star, all wiry energy and mischievous grin.
“I can’t imagine doing this year-round,” I said, shaking my head as I wrung out the rag. “You must really love deep fryers and porta-potties.”
