“That cotton candy stand was genius.”
And my personal favorite: “When does the theater open?”
Every time someone asks that question, I feel a little spark of pride on Everett’s behalf.
It’s still a couple of months away, Everett is hoping to have it open by the end of May, but now, after the fundraiser, it suddenly feels real.
Like the theater isn’t just Everett’s dream anymore. It also belongs to the town.
I wipe the counter again, then sigh, because no matter how many times I replay that day in my head, my brain keeps landing on the same frustrating detail.
He never kissed me.
Not when we were tucked away in the corner, when we were inside the theater, or when the last of the town had gone home. There had been moments, several of them, where the world seemed to pause and the air between us felt thick. Moments where I was absolutely certain he was about to lean in.
And then, nothing.
I rest elbows on the counter and groan softly. Maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe Everett is just naturally charming and friendly, and I am the idiot reading way too much into it. Maybe the flirting wasn’t flirting at all. Maybe we are just flirty friends.
These thoughts make my stomach twist. I grab my phone before I can talk myself out of it.
Me:
Hey, are you free tonight?
Everett:
Depends on who’s asking ;)
I smile despite myself.
Me:
The café closes at six. Want to come by after?
A pause, watching the three dots on the screen as he types.
Everett:
Sounds great, I’ll be there!
My heart does an annoying flip.
By the time six o’clock rolls around, the café has emptied out. Brie has left after finishing the day’s baking. Maddie has locked the register, and the last of the chairs are flipped onto the tables.
I wipe down the final counter just as the bell above the door chimes.
“Hey there, partner,” he says, walking inside. He automatically locks the door without me having to ask.
“Oh, hey there,” I say back.
Outside, the sky has faded into a deep evening blue.
Everett steps further in, glancing around the peaceful space after everyone is gone.
“Feels different in here when it’s empty. It’s so quiet,” he says.
“I like it,” I say, walking around the counter. “Coffee?” I ask as I raise the coffee pot of freshly brewed decaf.
