Maybe This Time(58)

“That was fun,” he said when they were done.

“That’s because we know how to have fun around here,” Micah replied, smiling. “That said, we need to get back to work.” She pushed my shoulder a little, which made me laugh, and left with Lance.

Andrew turned a full circle. “What’s next?”

“You expect me to entertain you all night?”

“This is your favorite event. So yes, I figured I’d stay by your side all night.”

I wasn’t sure why, but my stomach flipped with that statement. I tried to ignore it but then I didn’t know what to say. I fumbled with the handle on the barrel next to me, then noticed a roll of paper towels on the table. I handed the roll to Andrew. “For your dripping hair.”

He ripped off a strip and mopped his forehead.

Behind him, the lights strung around the food booths lit up. “You ready for a sampling of true Southern food?” I asked, my stomach growling. “I’m guessing you haven’t had any since you’ve been here. You’ve been filled full of eggs Benedict and broccoli salad and chocolate mousse.”

“I did have that barbecue in July. You can’t forget about that.”

“And neither can you, obviously. Because that’s what amazing food does. It changes you.”

He laughed. “Have you been watching old episodes of Cooking with Hart?”

“I have actually. I’ve been trying to uncover the secrets of getting on your father’s good side.”

“Let me know if you find any.”

I sighed. “If your seventeen years of in-depth study haven’t uncovered anything, I have no hope.”

“I wouldn’t say that I study my dad in depth.” He nodded his head to the side. “Which booth do we start at?”

“The okra, of course.”

He wrinkled his nose. “I’ve had okra before and it’s not an experience I want to repeat.”

“It’s fried, Andrew, and covered in cheese. Believe me, you have not had it like this.” I took him by the hand and dragged him toward the food.



“If I have another bite of food, I will die,” Andrew groaned, pushing his plate with a half-eaten fried pickle on it to the middle of the table.

“Weak,” I said. “We haven’t even had any of the desserts.”

“Are those fried too?”

“Some of them.”

“How are you not full?” he asked.

“I only took a few bites of each item. You are obviously an amateur.”

“Of course you didn’t tell me that secret.”

“I did! I said, ‘Pace yourself, Andrew, we still have half the food booths left.’ ”

“Oh, right.” He laid his forehead on his arms on the table. “Just give me thirty minutes or so. I’ll get my second wind.”

Gunnar appeared at our table. “Are y’all ready to do the maze?” he asked impatiently. “Mom said we have to leave in one hour. That might not even be enough time to get through it. Is it enough time, Soph?”

“If we start now.” I stood up and Gunnar whirled around and took off in a dead sprint.

Andrew groaned again.

“You don’t have to come,” I told him.

“No, I’m coming. Very slowly, but I’m coming.”

“Micah!” I called out to where she was standing across the way, busing a table. When she looked, I pointed at the maze. “Maze time!”

She held up her finger.

Gunnar zoomed back over to me and took hold of my hand, giving it a tug. “I thought we were going.”

“Almost. We’re waiting for Micah.”

Andrew climbed to his feet only to lean a hand on the table. A big group of guys from school walked by. One of them threw a container full of fries at the trash nearby, but it missed and landed on the ground right next to me, spraying ketchup all over my jeans.

“Thanks, Brady,” I called out.

He waved. “No problem, darlin’.”

“Ugh,” I said as they kept walking. “Losers.” I grabbed some napkins and mopped up my jeans.

“Who are losers?” Micah asked, coming over. Her eyes locked on the group, obviously figuring out who I was referring to. She didn’t say anything.

I noticed my mom walking in the distance. With every step she took, she had to shake dirt off her heels.

“What was she thinking?” I asked.

“She wanted to look her best.” Micah always took my side when it came to my mom so this surprised me.

“She’s ridiculous,” I said. “She wore heels to a farm.”

“There’s not a set dress code for every event,” Micah persisted. “Even though I’m sure you’d like there to be.”

“I know,” I said. “But some things are common sense.”

“Kind of like leaving this town?” Micah asked, turning to face me. “Is that common sense? Should everyone want to do it?” Suddenly, she was speaking quickly, her words running together. “Should everyone here live every day of their lives as though they’re already gone? Some people can actually appreciate where they are at the moment, even if it’s a small town in the middle of nowhere. But maybe only the little people who belong here can do that. The losers.”