Page 24 of Perfect Blend

“I would very much dare. In fact, I must.” I wanted to kiss his deep dimples when he grinned.

“I’ve got just as much shit on him as he does me.”

“Ooh. Now this is getting good.” I rubbed my hands together. “What kind of dirt?”

“I’m saving it for when he finally brings his own guy around. If he tries feeding you anything, remember that he lives to give me hell.”

Hisownguy.

I faced the window to let my smile run free. The rural roads on the outskirts of town were bordered by fields with various crops and occasional sheep. Dogwoods lined the long driveway with blooming clusters of pink flowers. We rounded a corner, and I caught my first look at the dahlia fields. Though the flowers weren’t blooming yet, the ground was covered in polka dots of color, with hints of unfurled petals visible across the endless rows.

“Gorgeous.” I was tempted to lean my head out the window like an excited dog.

“You should see it in August when all the plants are in full bloom.”

Maybe I could come back for a visit.

We were greeted by the word Pride spelled in a rainbow arrangement of cut dahlias. An ombre display of queer joy. “The sign is amazing.” I scrambled to launch the camera app on my phone and snap a few photos through the open window. “How do they get so many open flowers if they’re not yet blooming?”

“Their greenhouse. Bailey’s idea. He spearheaded getting his family involved in the celebration.”

“Are they not into Pride?”

Dave turned toward the gravel lot with white spray-painted parking lines. There were already a couple dozen cars there. “They would prefer to just donate money, but Bailey wanted the farm to have a bigger presence in community activities. This Pride history walk he developed has been a huge success, and he said it’s helped increase their visitor numbers when the flowers are in bloom.”

“Sounds like a win-win.” I made some mental notes of questions to ask Bailey for my article.

There was so much to love about Dahlia Springs and the people. I had worried that the Pride celebration would feel like a performative tourist grab, but it didn’t. The more I learned about the town’s history of being founded by Portlanders looking for the more progressive ideals of the big city in a small-town package, the more I realized celebrations like Pride were how Dahlia Springs showed its love.

“I’ll take your picture next to it before we go. It’s a great photo op.”

“Awesome idea. Let’s get one of us together too.” I wanted the memento.

Dave’s cheeks tinged pink as he parked. “Good idea, but only if you send it to me.”

We walked toward a pop-up canopy with a hand-painted sign hanging from it that read “Start Here” with yellow dahlias painted on one side.

“How does the event work?” I asked as our shoulders bumped together. I wanted to reach out and grab his hand.

“At the check-in table, they’ll give us a brochure about the event and a map if we want to follow things chronologically. The signs share information about historically significant events like the Stonewall riots, major figures, legislation, and stuff like that. It’s powerful because it shares the bad along with the good. I think it adds a nice depth to the event schedule.”

“Look what the cat dragged in!”

“Brace yourself,” Dave stage-whispered as a handsome guy with curly red hair and pale skin approached. “Can’t believe they let you out of the dungeon,” he said to the redhead.

“It’s my parole day.” He winked at Dave and then turned his focus to me. He studied me like I was a new toy. “And you must be Mikey. I don’t know how you’re not tired of this guy yet.”

I shook his hand and was comforted by his welcoming energy. “He’s been plying me with delicious coffee. Better than what I get in Seattle.”

Bailey smirked at Dave, who looked down at his feet. But I caught his shy smile.

“That’s the only reason I’ve kept him around all these years. I don’t know how he manages to make it taste so incredible.”

“I’d tell you, but I’d have to kill you,” Dave teased.

“Dave!” a woman about my mom’s age with tight, curly black hair and dark skin called as she marched over from the parking area. “I need to talk to you about the drag show.”

Mabel, the force of nature I’d interviewed the other day. She’d nearly convinced me to join the Dahlia Springs Chamber of Commerce, and I didn’t even live in town or own a business.

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