Chapter 6 Cider Sparks
cider sparks
. . .
Derek
The Black Cat looked exactly like its name suggested.
Dark wood, cobwebs strung across the ceiling year-round, a neon pumpkin sign flickering in the window.
It was the kind of dive bar that smelled like old beer and nostalgia, where everyone knew your name and your business before you'd even sat down.
I pushed through the door, still covered in dried pumpkin guts, and headed straight for the bar.
Sasha was behind the counter, her orange pixie cut catching the dim light. She took one look at me and burst out laughing.
“Rough day?”
“Something like that.” I slid onto a barstool, running a hand through my hair. “Cider please. Whatever you've got.”
“Coming right up.” She grabbed a mug, filling it from the tap, and slid it across to me. “You and Miles really put on a show today.”
“Don't remind me.”
“Everyone's talking about it. You're like the town's favorite couple.”
“We're not a couple.”
“Yet.” She grinned, leaning on the bar. “Give it time.”
I didn't respond, just took a long drink.
The cider was sweet and sharp, warmth spreading through my chest, and I let myself relax for the first time all day.
The festival had been chaos. Fun chaos, but chaos nonetheless.
And now, sitting here in the quiet of the bar, I felt the exhaustion catch up to me.
My shirt still smelled like pumpkin. My jeans were stained orange. And I couldn't stop thinking about the way Miles had looked at me when we fell, the way his body had felt beneath mine, solid and warm and dangerous.
“Mind if I sit?”
I glanced up to find Richard standing beside me, hands shoved into the pockets of his flannel. He looked tired but steady, that same quiet confidence he always carried. I gestured to the stool beside me.
“Be my guest.”
He sat, nodding at Sasha. “Whatever he's having.”
She poured him a cider, and we sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the hum of conversation around us filling the space. Richard took a sip, then glanced at me, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“You held your own out there today, kid.”
I snorted. “I got my ass handed to me by a pumpkin.”
“You had fun. That's what matters.”
“Did I? Because I'm pretty sure I made a complete fool of myself.”
“You made people laugh. You gave them a show. There's value in that.” He turned his mug in his hands, thoughtful. “Besides, Miles looked like he was having a good time too.”
Heat crept up my neck. “Yeah, well. He's good at hiding when he's miserable.”
“He wasn't hiding today.”
I didn't know what to say to that, so I just took another drink. Richard had that way about him, cutting through bullshit with a single sentence. It was unnerving and comforting at the same time.
“You're good for him,” Richard said after a moment.
I nearly choked. “What?”
“Miles. You're good for him. He's been... stuck lately. Going through the motions. But ever since you showed up, he's been different. More engaged. Alive.”
I didn't know how to respond. What was I supposed to say? That Miles drove me crazy in ways I couldn't explain? That every time he smiled, I felt like I'd been punched in the gut? That I wanted him so badly it scared me?
“He's... complicated,” I said finally.
“Most good things are.”
We fell into silence again, and I found myself relaxing. There was something grounding about Richard. Something solid. Like he'd weathered every storm life had thrown at him and come out stronger for it.
“What about you?” I asked. “How are you holding up?”
He glanced at me, surprised. “Me?”
“Yeah. You. I know you've been helping Miles with the festival, but that can't be easy. Single dad, raising two kids, dealing with all their chaos.”
His expression softened, something vulnerable flickering across his face. “It's not easy. But it's worth it.” He paused, then added quietly, “Their mom passed when they were young. Cancer. I did my best, but I wasn't always... present. Too caught up in my own grief to see theirs.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be. It's ancient history.” But his voice was rough, and I could hear the regret beneath the words. “I just wish I'd done better. Been better. For them.”
“From what I've seen, you did just fine.”
He looked at me, and there was something in his eyes that made my breath catch. Gratitude. Warmth. Something deeper I couldn't name.
“Thanks, kid.”
“I'm thirty.”
“You're a kid to me.” He grinned, clapping me on the shoulder, and I felt the weight of his hand, solid and reassuring.
We finished our drinks, the bar slowly emptying around us. By the time Sasha called last call, it was just the two of us and a handful of stragglers.
“Water?” Sasha asked, already reaching for two glasses.
“Yeah,” Richard said. “We should probably sober up before heading out.”
She filled two pint glasses from the tap and slid them across the bar.
I drank mine slowly, feeling the fog in my head start to clear.
Richard did the same, and we sat there for another half hour, just talking about nothing important.
The town, the festival, the way autumn felt different here than it did in the city.
By the time we stood to leave, I felt steadier. More clearheaded. Richard stretched, rolling his shoulders, and I followed suit, my body protesting every movement.
“Need a ride?” he asked.
“I'm fine. It's not far.”
“It's late. And you look like you're about to pass out.” He pulled his keys from his pocket, jangling them. “Come on. I insist. Besides, I'm good now. Water did its job.”
I hesitated, then sighed. “Fine. Thanks.”
Sasha gave us a knowing look as we headed for the door. “Get home safe, boys.”
“Always do,” Richard called back.
We walked to his truck, an old beat-up thing that looked like it had survived multiple apocalypses. The interior smelled like sawdust and coffee, and I settled into the passenger seat, the leather cracked and worn beneath me.
Richard started the engine, and we pulled out onto the quiet street. The town was dark, most of the shops closed, jack-o'-lanterns still glowing from windowsills. It was peaceful. Quiet. The opposite of the chaos earlier.
“You ever get tired of it?” I asked, breaking the silence.
“Tired of what?”
“This. Small-town life. The same people, the same routines.”
He thought about it for a moment. “Sometimes. But then I remember what I had before. The noise. The pressure. The constant feeling that I was running just to stay in place.” He glanced at me. “This is better. Slower, sure. But better.”
“I'm starting to think you might be right.”
He smiled. “Give it time. You'll get there.”
We pulled up in front of my building, and I reached for the door handle. But Richard didn't move. Just sat there, staring out the windshield, his hands still on the wheel.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. Just... thinking.”
“About?”
He turned to look at me, and there was something in his expression that made my pulse kick up. Something uncertain. Vulnerable.
“Can I come up?” he asked quietly. “Just for a bit. I'm not ready to go home yet.”
I should have said no. Should have thanked him for the ride and sent him on his way. But there was something in his voice, something lonely and raw, that I recognized in myself.
“Yeah,” I said. “Sure.”
We climbed the stairs to my apartment, and I unlocked the door, stepping inside. The space was dark, and I flipped on the lights, the soft glow illuminating the sleek interior. Richard followed, his boots heavy on the hardwood floor.
“Nice place,” he said, looking around. “Very you.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Clean. Organized. Too perfect.” He ran a hand along the back of the couch. “You ever let yourself make a mess?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“Figured.” He wandered to the window, staring out at the street below. “Chaos makes you nervous.”
It wasn't a question. Just an observation. And he was right.
“Always has,” I admitted, moving to the kitchen. I grabbed two beers from the fridge, popping the caps and handing him one. “Control's easier. Safer.”
“Safer from what?”
“Failure. Disappointment. All the usual shit.”
He took the beer, studying me over the rim. “You're afraid of failing.”
“Aren't you?”
“I've already failed. At marriage. At being a father. At being the man I thought I should be.” He took a sip, his gaze distant. “But I'm still here. Still trying. That's all any of us can do.”
We moved to the couch, sitting side by side, and I felt the weight of the day settle over me. The exhaustion. The vulnerability. The strange intimacy of sitting here with Miles's dad, opening up in ways I never did with anyone.
“I feel like a fraud,” I said quietly. “Like I'm constantly pretending to be someone I'm not. Someone confident. Someone who has his shit together.”
“You do have your shit together.”
“Do I?” I laughed, bitter and sharp. “I'm barely keeping my café afloat. I'm terrified of losing everything I've built. And I can't stop thinking about your son in ways I probably shouldn't.”
The last part slipped out before I could stop it, and I froze, waiting for Richard to react. To pull away. To tell me to stay the hell away from Miles.
Instead, he just smiled. “He feels the same way about you.”
“He does?”
“Kid's been a wreck since you showed up. Can't stop talking about you. Can't stop thinking about you.” He took another sip of beer. “You two are so busy fighting each other, you can't see what's right in front of you.”
“And what's that?”
“That you're already halfway in love with each other.”
My chest tightened, and I set my beer down on the coffee table. “I don't... I'm not...”
“It's okay to be scared, Derek.” Richard's voice was gentle. “But don't let that fear stop you from going after what you want.”
I looked at him, and for the first time, I saw past the gruff exterior. Saw the man beneath. The one who'd lost his wife, raised two kids on his own, carried his grief like a weight he'd never put down. The one who was lonely, just like me.