“Uh-huh. But most people aren’t from the Hollow. And around here, Pye Day isn’t about celebrating the number or the dessert food. It’s about celebrating the bush.”
Her eyes flared wide. “Celebrating the… pardon?”
“The bush. The Joe-Pye weed bush that saved Celeste Dupont from falling into a well in 1909? It’s a whole thing.”
Crys was silent for a long moment, processing this. Eventually, she admitted, “I’ve never heard of that bush before, and I’ve sure as fuck never heard of Celeste Dupont, and yet somehow, this seems entirely appropriate. Why is that, Hawkins? Make it make sense.”
“Because we have our own brand of logic here in the Hollow, and you’re one of us now.” I patted her shoulder comfortingly. “Don’t worry. Real-world logic is overrated, and you’ll hardly miss it.”
Crys whimpered.
“Anyway, the bush no longer exists, nor does the well, and no one really remembers the details of the story. Now it’s more like the obscure reason behind one of the town’s most beloved potluck events. It’s a chance to one-up your neighbor by bringing the latest TikTok-trendy dish. Think cinnamon rolls in multiple ‘original’ variations, nacho tables, and so many feta pasta incarnations you’ll be able to pinpoint the day you becamelactose intolerant. Before this day is done, you will be forced to decide whether you are a hopelessly conventional charcuterie board purist or one of those free-thinking butter-board revolutionaries, like O’Henry Brush, who’s destroying America. And I haven’t even mentioned the kombucha that comes out of the woodwork for this thing. Do not consume anything made by the Derwent family, and that includes their cousin Delaney Powers, unless you’re ready to embark on the Hollow’s version of an ayahuasca retreat.”
“What are we bringing?”
I shook my head. “We don’t bring anything because Drew makes enough plum ginger tarts to sink a ship, and this year, Knox is bringing barbecue corn ribs. Gage showed him one TikTok video, and the man fell down a rabbit hole.”
“I didn’t even know cornshadribs,” she muttered.
“Did you say corn ribs?” Samir Moreland boomed from behind us. “Hell yeah! I love a corn rib.”
I turned and smiled. “Knox has been perfecting his sauce for so long that Gage’s body composition is more chili oil than water at this point. Definitely stop by his table before they’re all gone.” I didn’t mention Knox probably had so many corn ribs I was fairly sure we’d be eating the leftovers until we died.
“What’s Jack bringing?” Crys asked.
“Nothing. The potluck is for amateurs, not professionals. But his mom always brings a metric ton of flavor-infused lemonades she makes at home. The rosemary and mint one will change your life.”
We approached the crowd of locals as everyone shuffled around to find the best spots for their offerings. Over the years, an unspoken hierarchy had instituted itself, and the most popular offerings were at the prime table locations to allow for easier traffic.
“Tourists are welcome to come, and lots of ’em bring their own stuff to share, but the organizing committee had to institute rules to keep out promotional displays and for-profit stuff,” I explained. “One year, Big Johnson Brats came through in their Brat-Mobile and threw wieners at everyone. Naked buns and sausages all over the place. Norma Hart got so excited she had to be hospitalized.”
Crys covered her mouth with her hand in horror.
“Exactly,” I agreed. “The jokes write themselves.Oooh! You need to try Swathi Romano’s Christmas in July gingerbread snowflake cookies. They’re a fan favorite.”
As we meandered through the maze of tables, picking up things to try here and there, my eyes scanned the crowd for Jack’s tall form.
“Looking for someone?” Crys asked archly.
I coughed. “Maybe?”
“So Jack’s rescue mission worked, huh?” She buffed her freshly manicured nails on her shirt. “You’re welcome, bee tee dubs.”
“That was your idea?”
“Weelllll, no. I can’t take total credit. The man was a mess for days. Fucking up orders, talking to himself like he thought you were there, flying off the handle for no reason. Tense as a drawn bow. I just kinda… aimed him.” She grinned, clasped her hands under her chin, and said in a tremulous, high-pitched voice, “Ruh-roh, Jack! Bad storm’s a-coming! Hawk will need someone to fuck him gently through it! Maybe I’ll call Simon! He’s got big-dick energy!”
I rolled my eyes. “So you were the one who got him all riled and jealous. We fought about that, I’ll have you know.”
“Sure, sure.” She waved a hand. “But you didn’tjustfight, did you? I could tell the minute you walked in the diner today. You have the look of a man who’s experienced a Righteous Orgasm.”
I felt my face go hot. “Yes, well.Ahem. The official devirgination hasn’t happened yet.”
“But it will?” She wiggled her eyebrows.
“Yeah. Tonight. He… he wants me, Crys,” I whispered. “And not just sexually. We talked about a lot of stuff. Really connected, you know? And he has a lot of reservations and concerns, but…” I bit my lip but couldn’t restrain my excited smile. “We’re doing the relationship thing.”
“Hell, yeah! Victory!” She punched both hands in the air before clapping me on the shoulder. “I think we need to find some of that hard-core kombucha. You gotta celebrate this moment before you two get down into the hard relationship work.”
