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Nikko scoffs. “Please. Everyone in Winterberry knows you. Nobody’s going to lose their mind. It’s not like you’re going to get on stage.”
“That’s not the point.”
“If we sit in the back and drink a beer, half the town will be thrilled, and the other half won’t even notice.”
I glance at Finn.
He hasn’t looked up from his tablet. He’s chewing the inside of his cheek, one hundred percent into the new festival plans. He knows as well as we all do that Bastian won’t say no to his little brother. Not when this would mean literally saving the town’s biggest festival.
But it’s still Thanksgiving, and I want to see Finn relax again somewhere with music loud enough that if we ended up next to each other, no one will think anything of it. Somewhere with a booth and a bar and a lot of other people to look at.
“Fine,” I say. “Let’s go to Joe’s.”
Nikko grins and starts walking toward the kitchen. “Yes. I’ll grab Bastian.”
Griffin looks up. His eyes meet mine, and just for a second, I see the exhaustion he’s been holding at bay since he walked through the door.
Then he blinks and looks back down at his tablet.
“I’m in,” he says quietly. “I could use a drink.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
FINN
Joe’s is packed.
I don’t know if it’s the Thanksgiving crowd or the fact that a new band is playing, but every booth is full and the bar is three deep. The air is thick with the scent of beer, body warmth, and the smell of Joe’s famous fries. How can anyone still eat anything today? Even after my meltdown, I still ate more than a grown adult should.
I take a deep breath. My festival crisis brain has finally quieted down for the first time since this morning.
The guys commandeer a large table near the back. It’s a shame Taylen went home after dinner, though he did look really tired earlier. Nikko ignores us and goes closer to the stage, where the band is setting up. I hesitate for a second and then take the seat across from Fox because it’s the safer option. If I sit next to him, I will end up with my knee against his under the table, and I don’t trust myself.
Being across from him is worse in a different way. Because now every time I look up, he’s there. Those amber-brown eyes, the silver in his hair catching the low light, and that quiet way he has of watching me like nothing else in the room is happening.
“Finn.” Stone slides in next to me. “What are you drinking?”
“Beer. Whatever’s on tap.”
“Boring. How about you, Fox?”
“I’ll have the same.”
Stone grins and goes up to the bar.
The band is actually really good.
The song ends to a round of applause. The lead singer steps up to the mic.
“Thank you,” he says. “Wow. Thank you. We were told Thanksgiving night would be a quiet room. You lot are making liars out of Joe.”
The room laughs.
“For the folks who don’t know us yet, we’re The Winter Sons. I’m Augie. That’s Ben on drums, Jack on guitar, and the tall one hiding behind the keyboard is Danny. We’re originally from up near St. Johnsbury and have been playing together since Ben got his first chin hair. You’re actually stuck with us now because my daughter and I just moved down here about a month ago.”
Somebody near the bar whoops. Augie laughs into the mic.
“So expect to see us around a lot. Us, and probably a small blonde person who has strong opinions about pancakes and tiaras. The next song is brand new, never performed before. We hope you like it.”
