June
Jamie
How long did it take to form a habit? Jo had been to three game nights. She’d met Talon and Dune, so she was able to put faces with the two remaining group chat phone numbers. He’d had two farmers’ markets since meeting her, but he hadn’t signed up for the one today because PrideFest started at noon. Jo hadn’t shown up to either of those, but she’d been there for lunch after, mostly because of Chase.
The times when she’d hung out with him while he smoked weren’t because of Chase, though. She’d never spent a full day, and it was sort of catch-as-catch-can based on her time in the archive and Margot’s most pressing questions, but he was now somehow almost used to a text from her: Coffee before I head to the archives? Or Can I stop by? They were always questions, like he’d ever tell her no.
There were times when he wasn’t sure if she’d change her mind because he’d always work in Mom’s schedule or whereabouts if she was there or expected back soon, but she didn’t. Jo now knew that Mom was more of a tea drinker than a coffee drinker, and then actually a tisane drinker, so she’d show up with three cups and hand one off either in passing, if Mom was going somewhere, or during a short chat.
Mom had yet to suggest they have Jo over for dinner, as something official, but it wouldn’t be long. Right?
Jamie didn’t really have time to think about that just now. The problem started when he checked his supplies before heading down to the harbor to park the food truck and he saw that the lid of one of his containers hadn’t been fastened all the way. Something—mice or maybe even squirrels—had gorged on an entire bin of his rolls. Shit. Today was not the day to run out of the one ingredient that really made his product street food. But he was late, and Ricky was running behind, so he loaded up what they did have and pushed off the bread problem for another few minutes.
Ricky had other things on his mind. He’d been accepted to perform during the drag show, and being Jamie’s first-shift help was not even on his radar. Jamie had to prep as well as he could and hope Ricky showed up at the stroke of noon, although at least he didn’t have to worry he’d be in any part of his costume. The ensemble would only be revealed at the right time, when it was complete. For now, Jamie did what he could to get set up, alone.
When Ricky arrived, he was cheered by the little line already waiting out front. Because it was Ricky, he waved and blew kisses like a beauty queen. “You look pissed,” he announced as he squeezed around Jamie, but there was nothing to indicate that he thought Jamie’s mood might be because of him.
“Something got into the rolls, so we’re going to be short.” Jamie all but shooed Ricky to the window to take the first orders.
He did, working through a half-dozen or so before asking the next person if they wouldn’t mind hanging on a minute. Jamie wasn’t behind, at least not noticeably, but Ricky stepped away from the window and pulled out his phone. Jamie tried not to sigh, especially when he started the conversation with “How much do you love me?”
Chase loved him a whole heck of a lot, but Chase also didn’t need all of the information Ricky proceeded to give: where they bought their rolls. What account number to use. “I’ll text you a photo, but at this point anything close is good.” And then he ended without saying any form of Love you.
“Jo,” Ricky said with a shrug as he took and sent the photo so he could slip his phone back in his pocket. Today it was jeans and a rainbow tie-dye T-shirt that proclaimed here. queer. fabulous.
Jamie passed some orders down the counter. “Jo loves you enough to go get rolls?”
“Right, right,” Ricky agreed, almost distracted. “Thanks for waiting! What’ll you have?”
Okay. The only conclusion was that Jo loved someone enough to go get rolls, and Jamie knew Jo well enough by now to mean that had to be a lot. She was good at masking her social anxiety, but anytime she had to do something new—say, buy a ton of bakery and ask to put it on an account—she preferred time to prepare a script and maybe even go through a practice run.
Shoot, she’d also have to pay for admission into PrideFest. Maybe they’d let her in carrying dozens of rolls based on her story about the food truck, because who else would show up like that, but they’d also be within their rights to demand the entrance fee. Was Jo even planning on coming to anything before the drag show? She was cool with his game night friends, but what about the community in general?
There wasn’t much time to dwell on things. The lunch crowd came in strong, ready to peruse the stalls and check out whatever was happening on stage now—the drag show was later, after most of the vendors had left and things shifted from come one, come all, to PG-13—and eat their fill while doing it. This wasn’t Jamie’s first year here, but things varied drastically according to the weather, and that was something you couldn’t predict with much accuracy. Some diehards would hunker down and endure a deluge, but others wouldn’t come at all if it was going to be cold and rainy.
Some people showed up in the sorts of outfits Ricky would totally change into after handling the food and were probably chilled no matter what the weather.
Jamie himself was in jeans and a T-shirt that had a barcode in black, gray, white, and purple stripes next to the text ASSUME NOTHING. It was the asexual flag, because he specifically hadn’t looked for one with the aro-ace flag, and it was also more on the subtle side. If you didn’t recognize the colors, then most of the meaning went over your head.
Even in a group like this, Jamie was never sure how many people would recognize the colors. It wasn’t the most popular flag.
Generally he lost track of time on days like this, when it was a rhythm of looking at slips, making what they said, and grabbing the next one. He had his watch on, sure, but Jamie hadn’t checked to see when, exactly, Ricky had called Jo, so it was a surprise when Ricky first leaned out of the window to wave frantically and then pulled back in. “Open the back for her,” he told Jamie, even though that meant he’d need new gloves.
Like there was any universe in which Jo wasn’t worth new gloves. Jamie stripped them off and opened the door, blinking at the sight of Jo loaded down with large, reusable tote bags. “Did you know Amanda does Thirty-One parties?” she asked as she handed one up, like it made any sense.
“Uh.” Jamie shook his head a little and shifted things around so he could make room for them.
“I think it’s a bag or two more than you asked for,” she added, “and they’re not all sliced, but if you’ve got a bread knife and can squeeze me in, I’ll take care of that.”
Jamie didn’t even say uh again. Yes, it was tight quarters, and yes, having to slice rolls would slow him down more than usual, but how had it even occurred to her to ask? He just took the last tote and then offered her his hand, since it was a pretty big step up and her legs weren’t as long as his. “I’ll see what I can find,” he rasped because here she was, bright-eyed and smiling within kissing distance, and he’d better turn away as much as he could before he got any brilliant ideas.
Chapter Seventeen – coming October 17
