Page 15 of Best Friends, Tennessee

It had always been slim pickings for an artsy guy like me who dreamed more of sex in a glittering penthouse than getting fucked over a hay bale.

…Not that I’d saynoto getting fucked over a hay bale.

Not these days.

Maybe that was a sign of maturity. I’d probably even be willing to shack up with a gay cowboy type guy these days, as long as he treated me well. They weren’t my type, but even I had to admit they probably looked incredible naked.

I sat down and grabbed a second margarita. Max and Kane chatted with me a little, and a couple of times, Finn looked over at me. I could see the sparkle of the gold glitter that had rubbed off on him, even from the bar.

“Two more lattes! Dad! Do you have them coming?”

Danielle’s voice cut through the loud chatter and clanging of silverware in the diner.

“Can’t do it, Danielle,” Dad’s voice called back. “Cannot do it.”

I was on milkshake duty during my first shift back. A group with a bunch of kids had just ordered six different ones, and I scooped out what felt like the thousandth scoop of fresh strawberry ice cream today.

I glanced over at Danielle, who was racing over to Dad’s side right as he started smacking the espresso machine with his palm.

“Hitting it won’t make it work,” Danielle told him.

“Hot water!” Dad said, his eyes wild beneath his gray hair. “Make it hot!”

“Yelling at it won’t work either,” I chimed in.

I was running on fumes, and the afternoon rush and Dad fighting with machines wasn’t helping.

Last night, I’d barely been able to sleep. I was bone tired, but I kept tossing and turning in Finn’s guest room on the uncomfortable mattress. I’d jerked off twice and still hadn’t been able to drift off, even though that was typically a surefire way to make it happen.

Now I was paying the price. The diner was busy as fuck today, like a littlewelcome homefrom the entire goddamn town of Bestens.

“It’s a coffee maker!” my dad’s voice cut through the din. “Beansin, coffeeout. Why won’t it spit out the coffee?”

“It’s an espresso machine, Dad—and that part is for steaming milk—”

“I still can’t believe we have a real espresso machine now,” I said as I scooped out mint chip ice cream for one of the next shakes.

To say the Red Fox Diner was “old school” was a bit of an understatement.

Danielle sighed between me and our dad. “People kept coming in asking for lattes and cappuccinos, so I thought an espresso machine would be a good investment for the business, but—”

“Oat milk almond lattes,” Dad said, as if he was describing something as ridiculous as flying cars.

“Dad hates the machine. Some of the instructions are in Italian.”

Dad came over toward me, grabbing a wet towel. “I don’t hate the latte machine. It’s just pointless. We’re Red Fox. This isn’t Italy.”

My parents had bought the Red Fox Diner back when Bestens was even smaller than it was now. The previous owner had practically begged them to take it off her hands back in the eighties, and they’d kept it running as a local hub ever since.

“You won’t think it’s pointless when it helps us pay our bills,” Danielle called over. She was pushing buttons on the shiny, stainless steel machine, trying to fix it. “People will pay four bucks for a good cappuccino. Five or six, if it has theoat milk or almond milkin it.”

“Not Bestens people,” Dad said as he joined her side again. “Red Fox people ain’t paying six bucks for a cup of coffee.”

“Sure they will, for the special espresso drinks,” Danielle said. “No—Dad—don't touch that part, it’s going to be hotter than hell—”

“Fuck,” my dad swore under his breath. “Yeah, um, Ori, glad you’re back in town, kiddo. When can you learn this thing so I don’t have to do it anymore?”

“Well, I’ve been making milkshakes for so long my hands are frozen solid, so if you want to swap—”

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