Page 14 of Perfect Blend

“That’s comforting,” I said sarcastically.

“A group of guys leased the building to open a brewery. It’s going to be a great addition to downtown.” Dave’s pride in Dahlia Springs was one of the most endearing things about him.

I didn’t have that level of pride about where we grew up or Seattle. I wanted to feel that about where I lived. In Seattle, I could only afford a shoebox studio apartment overlooking an alley after the dual income went up in smoke. With my job being remote and losing nearly all my friends in the divorce, I didn’t leave my house as much as I used to, and it was depressing. Sometimes I felt suffocated by the size of Seattle. It was easier to stay home than choose a place to explore.

Dave walked across the roof to the front of the building and sat near the edge.

I followed and sat a few inches farther back so I couldn’t see the sidewalk immediately below us. “You’re right. The view is perfect.”

“Best spot in town for the Fourth of July fireworks too.”

Several people wearing matching shirts led the parade, carrying a sign welcoming people to the Pride festival, and turned down a side street just before the brewery. A perfectly clear view without being crowded by hundreds of bodies.

The first float, a large truck with colorful balloons tied to its rearview mirrors and the top rack, pulled a flatbed trailer full of seated elderly folks wearing outfits so bright I had to squint. A sign withDahlia Springs Senior Centerwritten in glittery letters hung from the front grill, and a group of seniors on motorized scooters rolled down the street behind the truck. Long, tubular balloons in rainbow colors were tied to the back of their scooters and looked like a gay peacock’s plumage. I snapped pictures of the seniors waving bright pom-poms and rainbow fans.

While we watched floats approach, I asked him questions about the parade and new questions about the town that had come to me as I’d gotten to know it better. I kept forgetting I was there to work because our conversation smoothly transitioned into other topics. He had my sides aching from laughter with his stories about past town celebrations. I could probably find enough ideas to write about Dahlia Springs for the rest of the year.

Once we lapsed into silence, I decided to be foolish and risk smashing the chill vibe with a sledgehammer by bringing up his ex. Questions had itched to spill from me since he’d mentioned the guy. “You seemed stressed after your ex came by earlier.”

Dave’s body tensed as he stared at an old Mustang convertible covered with rainbow streamers passing. His thumb tapped a staccato against his thigh. “He came by to tell me he can’t do our duet for the drag show.”

“But you were so excited about it.” One of the first things Dave had told me about when we’d begun talking about the festival was the drag show he spearheaded. He’d sent me photos and told me about the money they’d raised for charities. Watching him perform was what I’d been most excited to see. He’d been so shy in our high school drama class when it came to performing in front of people, so it was hard to imagine Dave voluntarily doing it year after year. Adult Dave fascinated me.

“Yeah.” He tried—and failed—to smile. “I’ll figure something out.”

“I’ll do it with you.” The words fell from my mouth before my brain clocked them.

His head snapped toward me. “What?”

“I’ll do the duet with you.”

“Why?” Hope shone in his eyes.

Because I have a weird, nagging urge to make you smile. Because I want to spend as much time with you as possible while I’m here. Because your ex is a fool to bail on you. Because I like you a lot.“It would be fun. And what better way to learn more about the festival than to participate?”

His dimples appeared. “Have you done a drag show before?”

“No, but I’ve done tons of drunk karaoke. How different could it be?”

Dave snorted. “Do you wear makeup and heels when you do karaoke?”

“I might. You never know.”

“You know it’s lip-syncing, not singing.”

“Good because I’m a terrible singer.”

He shook his head and looked back out at the parade. “I don’t know how we’d pull it off with the drag show being the day after tomorrow. That’s barely enough time to pull together a routine.”

I couldn’t imagine it would bethatcomplicated for an amateur event. “What about me learning the thing you and your ex were planning?” I would practice all night if I had to.

He scrunched his nose.

“Or not.” I looked back down at the parade and snapped a photo of teenagers carrying various queer identity flags.

“I don’t really like the song.”

A dozen questions danced on the tip of my tongue, like why he didn’t push for something they both liked, why he was even performing with his ex, why were they exes, how long had they been together, if he ever saw himself falling for someone again? Instead of being nosy, I went with an easy question. “What song?”

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