We Have Till Monday

“I’m paying,” I replied. “Did you see the sign over there? You can put your name on the bunny’s ear.”

It was just five bucks extra, and we’d pick it up in thirty minutes.

“Oh, I want that, please.” His tone turned pleading, and he grasped my arm as if he was getting ready to beg.

“Then it’s yours.” I dropped a kiss at the top of his head. “Let’s go talk to the saleslady.”

“Gah! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

I chuckled and hugged him to me on the way to the register.

Yeah, leaving next Monday was gonna fucking suck.

It took a stuffed animal and some cotton candy for Camden to come alive, and we ended up spending the whole day at the festival. Whenever he felt bold, he peeked out from under his fabric mask and grinned at us.

We strolled up and down the rows and tried enough food that we knew we were gonna regret it eventually, but right now, life was fucking perfect.

I even got to show my famous chef my skills for picking the right place to have carnitas for dinner. It had to be the one vendor that displayed bottles of Mexican Coke in front of their register.

August knew very well that it was the right way to go, but he didn’t expect me to know.

I smirked around a mouthful of the juicy meat. “You’re talkin’ to a guido mick who grew up near a bodega that would go bankrupt if they didn’t sell Fanta and Mexican Coca-Cola. If there’s one thing I know, it’s good Mexican food. And Puerto Rican food—madonn’.” I kissed my fingertips. “It’s almost better than pizza.”

Almost.

He laughed softly. “I love how excited you get about food.”

I shrugged and smiled. I was a simple man.

“Anthony!” I heard Camden holler from somewhere. The sun had set, and the rows were packed with people, so it was difficult to see where he was. He appeared from the crowd a few seconds later with his mask pushed up to his forehead, out of breath and visibly excited. “I know where we’re gonna go next! There’s a seating area with a bar and stuff, and they’ve got live music!”

Sounded good to me. It’d be nice to get off my feet for a minute.

On the way over there, August stopped at a stand to buy candied almonds and a small bag of buttered popcorn.

“Daddy, we gots to go now!” Camden said, frustrated.

August lifted a brow and tossed a handful of nuts into his mouth. “Are we in a hurry?”

“Uh, yeah.” Camden nodded. “Maybe someone signed Anthony up for the open-mic thing.”

I did a double take at him. “Boy, you did what?”

“I said someone,” he grated. “Come on. Local radio is here, and you can tell everyone you’re playing at a big festival next weekend. It’s good PR.”

I…

“You’ve been hangin’ out with Clara too much.” August frowned.

“Camden, I didn’t bring any instruments,” I told him, at a loss. “I can’t play on a whim like that.”

Not that it would take me very long to come up with something.

“That’s okay! They have instruments you can borrow.” Camden grabbed my hand and tugged me along through the sea of people crowding the row, and I looked back to make sure August was following. “You’re a musician, aren’t you?” Camden threw over his shoulder. “I really, really, really want to hear you sing.”

I huffed a chuckle and shook my head.

Fine. No need to twist my arm—literally.

Bistro lights zigzagged over a dozen or so long picnic tables, which were filled to the last seat. People brought over food they’d bought, and wait staff rushed between the tables to take orders and serve beer. The bar wasn’t very big, and it wouldn’t take too many patrons to crowd it completely. Then at the back of the large deck was a stage lit up with red and blue spotlights.

A band was playing, but at a closer look, I deduced it was a solo guitarist with four musicians comping him.

He wasn’t very good. The band, however, was.

I wouldn’t expect anything else in Nashville. They bled good music around here.

“You’re supposed to talk to that lady over there!” Camden called over the din, pointing to someone near the stage.

I nodded once and handed over two bags for him, one of which had his bunny.

Camden smiled curiously. “You’re not nervous or mad?”

I dipped down to kiss his temple. “Music is easier than breathing.”

“I mean, you’re wrong, but I’m glad you think so. I can’t wait to see you!”

I laughed. “All right, see you soon.”

I left Camden between two tables seconds before August joined him, and I went over to talk to the woman in charge. I had to press a finger to my ear closest to the stage in order to hear what she said, and I got the gist. Open-mic setup, festival edition; if I had sheet music or a lead sheet, I was to deliver it to the accompanying band right away.