Page 9 of Perfect Blend

“Is it the freaky dolls lurking in dark corners or the doilies on every surface that’s got you rattled?”

“Yes.”

Dave snorted as he pulled out of the cul-de-sac and drove through a quaint neighborhood.

“Why didn’t you warn me I booked a horror movie set for the week?”

“You were set on staying in town and refused my offer to crash in my spare room. That left the B&B.”

I was regretting not taking Dave up on that. The only reason I hadn’t was because I knew I’d be a bad houseguest. I figured I would work tons attending events and interviewing people since there was so much riding on this story. Being promoted to senior writer would be a dream come true.

Ever since I’d joined the newspaper during my last year of high school, I’d known I wanted to be a journalist. And getting to do that for a progressive queer publication in a position that would let me shape their editorial direction? Being able to write stories that meant something to people like me all over the country? I couldn’t afford to let myself get distracted by Dave. It made it easier knowing he had a busy week too.

“Do you like pizza?”

“Does the B&B innkeeper troll estate sales for haunted dolls? Yeah, I like pizza.”

He snorted and turned onto Main Street.

Dahlia Springs looked like a movie set for a coming-of-age film about a teen coming out during a Pride celebration. There were rainbows on nearly every storefront. Flags representing various LGBTQIA2S+ identities hung from lampposts lining the sidewalks. Smiling people walked the streets, popping in and out of shops. I loved it.

Dave found a parking spot behind the pizza place, and we quickly got a table. The server had our drink order taken within minutes, and as soon as she left, a couple of locals came over to chat with Dave. They asked if he needed any help with the festival.

“We’ve got a roster of volunteers already, but you can check with Mabel to get listed as a backup if anyone falls through. Donations would be very welcome if there’s anything you can spare. We’re supporting three charities this year.”

As he delivered a smooth and compelling speech about the important work each charity did, I couldn’t help but notice differences between the high school guy I knew and Adult Dave. I’d done some research on him before deciding to reach out with my idea for the article, and he seemed to have a wonderful life. Part of a tight-knit community, a successful business, and the respect of a great town. His coffee shop had even won awards, and he’d earned a volunteer recognition from the Chamber of Commerce. He seemed to have become a major part of the community after settling here.

I craved that. I wanted to be a part of something instead of an anonymous face in a big city like I’d been for many years. Moving to Seattle before my senior year of high school had been tough. I’d lost my support network. It had been too late to become a solid part of any group in Seattle, and then I’d had to start over again in college. Losing most of my friends in my divorce hadn’t helped matters, and it was nearly impossible to make true close friends as an adult. I usually met people who would go to a Mariners game or grab a drink, but I missed having a deep connection with people. I envied what Dave had built for himself in Dahlia Springs.

The server brought our drinks, and the locals took their cue to leave.

“Sorry about that,” Dave said as he unrolled his napkin.

“No need to apologize. It’s great to see you in your element. A lot’s changed since high school.”

The skin above Dave’s sandy-colored beard pinkened. I liked the beard on him, but I wanted to see his dimples in their bare-skinned glory. The memory of them from high school wasn’t crisp enough.

“You’re telling me. I went from being terrified of my shadow to performing in a drag show each year.”

It was hard to picture the Dave I sorta knew back then having the nerve to perform on stage, let alone dressed in an attention-seeking way.

“I can’t wait to watch that.”

His dimples drew me in as he smiled. “It’s always a great time. We have a few returners each year, but always some new performers too. I love seeing people step out of their comfort zones and try drag.” He took a drink of his beer. “But don’t let your expectations get too high. It’s truly an amateur night. As in, nearly all of us only do this once a year and barely manage to get makeup on in the right places. If it wasn’t for YouTube tutorials, it would be a mess.”

Our conversation flowed seamlessly from topic to topic—professional drag shows we’d been to, our favorite queens onDrag Race,what it was like coming out, and the work we each did to advocate for the safety and well-being of people in our rainbow communities.

We weaved in and out of light and heavy topics without awkward pauses or stilted responses. Spending time with Dave was easier than sliding a warm knife through butter. So much for Dave not being a distraction. We’d barely finished our food, and I was already mentally calculating how to see him as much as possible this week.

Even if it meant staying up late to go through my notes and work on the story, I would figure out how to establish a genuine friendship with Daveandsnag the promotion. No problem at all.

CHAPTER3

DAVE

JavaJackOfAllTrades: Impulse buy [grimace emoji] [screenshot of LEGO order]

Bricker: Daaaamn! That’s gonna be fun. Feeling a bit stressed?

---