Page 7 of Love Songs

“Finally,” Adam breathed. The air whooshed from his lungs and his shoulders relaxed. “Someone who gets it.”

“Uh . . .” I tilted my head, confused, but Adam didn’t elaborate. “You’re welcome?”

Adam’s face lit up and his teeth flashed.

The siren went off again, and I gave Adam an apologetic look, as though it was my fault. Though I suppose I was guilty by association.

“And on that painfully high note.” He rocked back on his heels. “I think I’ve had enough people-ing and noise for one day.”

I waved him off with a laugh and asee you around.

I was close to having had enough of today, too. Except I still had to oversee all the bands’ stage setups, continue with fire safety demonstrations, help break down the booth, and later, stuff myself into a claustrophobic penguin suit for the charity bachelor auction. I cursed Mamie for the millionth time since she’dvoluntoldme I would be participating.

When I finally slipped away for a quick break, I wandered over to check out my friends’ booths. They were all doing brisk business, and it looked like they would wrap up early because they were running low on inventory. I loved to see the support for our town’s local businesses, farmers, and artisans.

I bought the biggest jug of maple syrup that Sam had left for the fire station kitchen and a smaller bottle for myself. At Haider’s booth, I bought a box of truffles that he had stashed for me. Man, I loved that guy. He gave me a wink and tried to hand my money back, but I wasn’t having that. I needed to do my part to help him fight the evil candy syndicate.

Ryan was deep in conversation with someone inquiring about a custom-made headboard for their bedroom, and when he was done, I bought one of his animal wood carvings. He’d made a dragonfly that I had to have because they symbolized living life to the fullest and I loved how iridescent their wings were. I had more than a few dragonfly-themed T-shirts and knick-knacks in my house.

My last stop was the library’s Buck-A-Book Bargain booth, where Sam’s boyfriend Ben was helping. He’d dressed casuallytoday, in jeans and a forest green T-shirt withYoda one for mestenciled on the front. I only noticed because when he’d first arrived in town, he’d still dressed like the city boy he’d been.

“Hey, Conor. Looking for anything in particular?” Ben asked as I perused the display of old paperbacks.

I shook my head. “Not really, but what would you recommend?”

Ben’s face lit up. “What genres you like to read?”

I thumbed my chin while I thought about it. I didn’t read too often, but—

“I do like a good mystery. Just started reading the firstHarmony Lake Murdersnovel. It’s pretty good so far. Have you read those? Did you know Adam is—”

Ben frowned, his expression tightened, and the light in his green eyes dimmed.

“Uh . . . Not a fan I take it?”

“No. It’s not that.” He shook his head, lips pursed. “It’s . . .” He turned away without finishing his sentence and rifled through some books that were still in a box. “Here. This is an excellent murder-mystery series.”

He handed me a well-worn book with a colorful cover, the title “Bourbon Street Blues” in bright yellow, and . . .

“Is that a go-go dancer?”

I frowned at the image of a near naked man with dollar bills tucked into his G-string. Don’t get me wrong. I loved a good go-go dancer, but the cover didn’t exactly say mystery.

Ben laughed at my expression. “This is the first of nine books set in New Orleans with a gay protagonist. I dare you to put it down once you start.”

“Dude. Did Sam not tell you never to dare me?” He laughed as I handed him a dollar bill. But it was true. I had yet to meet a dare I wouldn’t accept. “I’ll take it.”

“And the author knows his city,” Ben added ominously as he handed me the book.

I tucked it under my arm, wondering what that was about, and headed back to the fire booth.

By the time late afternoon rolled around, I felt like I’d already been there for two weeks, and I was still far from done. The country band from the next township over had finished their set, and it was time for my nowexfavorite band to take the stage.

My heart pounded with a mix of excitement and aggravation as I walked over, my legs a combination of heavy and shaky, and found Brian barking orders at a couple of sweaty roadies wearing black T-shirts with “CREW” in big white letters stamped across the back. Anger flared in my chest, and I flattened my mouth. The manager was a pompous assanda dick.

“Lawton,” I called his name louder than necessary, but I wanted his attention away from the roadies. Dudes were only trying to make a living. They didn’t need a tyrant of a boss berating them while they were at it.

“Lieutenant,” Brian said with a groan in his voice.

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