Michael was the first to stop laughing, a strangeness in the smile that lingered on his features.

"Hey, guys,"

I was still trying to stop laughing, if only to alleviate the ache in my stomach, when the server spoke. I looked up and met my favourite pair of deep blue eyes... three years...
My laugh was arrested by a grin so wide and real that it was almost painful.

"Andy?" I heard myself say. "Andrew Delaney?"

"In the flesh." He nodded.

"What are you doing here?" I said before he could continue. It was an amazingly stupid question.

"Well," He shrugged and looked around before saying slowly. "I-work-here..."He took a deep breath. "Welcome to Mitch's Mixes. Create your own mix CD for forty cents a tune. We also have great coffee and killer shakes - or you can try our curly fries, maybe some lasagne? I'm Andrew," he pointed to the nametag on his apron. "and I'll be happy to help you with anything you'd like today."

"You memorized all that?" I blinked.

"Yep— well, not exactly, I change it up a little, you know, so I won't sound like a robot... So, what'll it be?" He continued. "The usual?"

Michael nodded.

"Thanks, Andy." I said.

"Sure." His eyes smiled. "I'll be right back." I watched him walk up to the bar, hop up onto it, and slide across to the other side.

"An-drew!" The girl yelled at him, rolling her eyes.

"What?" He said. "Now you have something to do." They kept talking as she followed him through the swinging door to the kitchen, where I couldn't hear. I turned back to Michael, who hadn't said a word.

"So much for not seeing him." I grinned. "You weren't kidding about no one coming here..." Someone would have known where Andrew spent all of his time, how did his own family not know? "..Michael?" His expression hadn't changed. "Are you okay?" I waved a hand near his face.

"Yeah." he laughed. "Wow. This was definitely the last place I expected him to be."

"Talk about hiding in plain sight." I marveled. He nodded. "So, why'd he quit the band?"

"I don't know. He wouldn't say."

"Okay." Suddenly, Andy returned. "Caramel coffee somethin' or other for you," he set a huge steaming mug before me. "And a regular iced tea for you." He slid a tall glass to Michael, and set a sweating pitcher on the table. "With," he pointed. "lime instead of lemon— there you go. Your food'll be up in just a few minutes." And he was off again before we could stop him.