I’m being steamrolled by an elderly grandma and a redheaded twink.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hill, but we can’t give away any food products. We aren’t a food vendor. They have special permit requirements,” I say to the older woman holding a plastic container of heart-shaped gingersnaps near my store’s booth at New West Fest. That my long-time employee and brand-new manager Craig inspires this kind of devotion in his friends and neighbors is not surprising, but it is giving me a headache on this warm, August Saturday.

“But it would be a shame for them to go to waste. I’ll help you out, Mrs. Hill,” Kieran, the redhead and other thorn in my side, says. He pops one cookie into his mouth and grabs two more to go. His mouth is still full and I jump back to keep from getting sprayed with crumbs when he asks, “Where do you want my amp?”

Craig points to a spot right in front of the table that sits in the edge of the shade provided by our bright red tent.

“No.” I have to put my foot down. “I know we want to help Craig fix the disaster that he calls a love life, but the whole point of us being here is to promote Game Over. You remember my store? We sell video games? Some of you are employed there and would like to see that continue? That amp blocks people from getting to our booth.”

New West Fest is a music and beer festival in Fort Collins, Colorado that lasts for three days. Friday went off without a hitch, probably because no one was plotting or planning and Craig was subdued by his nerves over today. Today I have cookies and amps and rainbow flags and Craig singing an old song on repeat. I don’t have the world’s greatest singing voice, but anything is better than that. It’s all an elaborate ploy developed by Craig and the Steamrollers (debut track coming soon) to help Craig win back his boyfriend, Zach. I’m not entirely sure what happened between them, but when Craig begged me to let him do this insane plan, he was so pathetic, I relented. I’ve gotten soft in my old – scratch that – middle age.

“I have buttons,” a woman wearing a paint-smattered sundress sings as she stretches over the amp to throw a toaster-sized box onto our vendor table.

“See? Our customers need to be able to actually reach our table.”

Kieran shifts the amp back onto a dolly, causing his bangs to fall into his adorably freckled face. I probably wouldn’t be half so stressed this morning if I wasn’t fighting a constant boner at his sheer presence. When he looks up from the dolly with puppy-dog-round and espresso-warm eyes, I forget to be mad. Hell, I forget everything until he waves a hand in front of my face.

“Where should I place it?”

Right. The amp. The bane of my morning’s existence.

“Wheel it to the back until you get a text from Ben that they’re here. Then you can bring it out front. Ben is going to text, right?” I turn to Craig and ask. Ben is Zach’s roommate, and Craig’s inside man at getting Zach in position so that he can be wooed, or apologized to, or whatever they have up their sleeve. All I know is I wouldn’t want to be Zach right now.

“He promised. This is Victoria, by the way, my best friend from high school,” he says, pulling forward the button-bringer. “Victoria, Ted is the kind and generous and understanding owner of Game Over.”

“Uh huh. Flattery will get you nowhere.”

We have a couple of chairs for the booth, and more employees will be coming to help man it after Craig’s performance is over and we aren’t so crowded under the tent. I pull a chair out and set it farther back into the shade in the corner. “Mrs. Hill, would you like to take a seat?”

“Thank you, dear. I’m not used to the summer heat.”

Kieran tugs at my sleeve until I tilt toward him and away from Mrs. Hill. “Don’t worry,” he says in a low voice, “I’m taking her home as soon as the main show is over.”

I offer him a grateful smile and pull a twenty out of my wallet. “Would you mind going and getting her a drink?”

“Sure thing, big guy.” He winks at me and stuffs the twenty into his front pocket. “Mrs. Hill, what would you like to drink?”

While they discuss options, I attempt to drag my attention from butterflies deposited in my belly by that gorgeous man to the Game Over table. I haven’t noticed the time, but the festival must have started because the people in the aisles have stopped having that air of purpose that those working possess, and have started strolling, pointing, and browsing. It’s showtime.

Over the next hour, we give away countless bumper stickers, fidget spinners, and pencils that say “Game Over” on them. We sell t-shirts that look like the old-school game over screen of death, and I sign up three more gaming parties for the next two months. Craig barely talks with the customers. His eyes are glued to his phone, and his skin is a sick sort of green. I hope Kieran doesn’t mind a little puke on his amp.

When Craig’s phone finally dings, I think the man is going to fall apart. “He’s here. It’s on. Oh my god. Kieran!”

Victoria grabs Craig by the hand and pulls him farther into the tent, while Kieran grabs the amp, still ready to go on the dolly, and puts it into position. He plugs in the microphone, flicks the power switch to on, and gives it a quick sound check before handing it to a hyperventilating Craig. Victoria wraps him in a rainbow flag that he clasps in his hand near his throat like a cape and pushes him onto the amp.

When Craig begins singing into the microphone, I fear that we have seen our last customers visit the Game Over booth for the day. I couldn’t be more wrong. People don’t just crowd around for the spectacle of a crazy man with a terrible singing voice, they practically coo at the cuteness, most of them getting the movie reference, and those that don’t are won over by Craig’s heartbreaking speech at the end. Kieran and Victoria pass around their premade rainbow Game Over buttons. I will give them credit – they are cute. I had wanted to give them out as soon as I saw them, but they made me wait until after Craig’s big gesture. They didn’t want to risk tipping Zach off.

Craig’s crestfallen face when Zach takes off immediately after his speech stays put. It’s so depressing, I tell him to go ahead and leave early.

“But you won’t have any help,” he says, barely containing his whine.

Victoria left to join her girlfriend and enjoy the festival. Kieran left to take Mrs. Hill home, and although he said he’ll be back, he isn’t actually one of my employees. Dave and Laura aren’t slated to arrive until eleven, but I honestly think I’d be better working the hour until then on my own than forcing Craig to have to answer questions from all the curious bystanders and strangers who have circled back around to grill Craig on the success of his sword-falling.

“I insist. Get to the restaurant early. Have a drink to help calm your nerves. Do something. I think you’re going to go crazy sitting here thinking about it.”

Craig finally relents and I’m left on my own. So many people approach the booth after hearing about the spectacle, that I give away the remainder of the buttons within the next ten minutes. Several people want to know if there’s going to be another show. I refrain from asking them if they want their eardrums to hurt for the rest of the day, and instead apologize that it was a one-time deal.

“That was something else, huh?” a soft voice says behind me, making me jump. I turn to find Kieran biting his lip to keep from laughing at me. “Sorry. I just came to get my amp. You were deep in conversation.”

“Yeah,” I say, holding up my clipboard like a shield. “I’ve booked so many parties today. This was a great idea of Craig’s.”

“No, I meant Craig’s … performance.”

“Oh, right.”

He is too young. He is too … uh … friends with Craig. He is off-limits.

“Well, thanks for helping out. I’m sure Craig really appreciated it.”

“It was pretty fucking,” he looks at the front of the table and the kids grabbing fidget spinners, “Sorry, freaking cool that you even let him do it.”

I shrug, and for a second, Kieran looks like he has something else to say.

“Hey, boss man,” Dave says, bumping a fist on my shoulder as he arrives at the booth to work. “Hey, Kieran.”

Kieran might as well be an honorary employee, he’s so well-known and liked by everyone there.

Kieran pops a foot on the dolly and kicks it forward. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he looks disappointed. “Hey, Dave. See you around, Ted.”

I remind myself it’s for the best. I’ll find some time tomorrow night to go to The Cave, the gay bar north of Denver that has a more leather-based clientele, and relieve my stress. Although it isn’t strictly leather, it is more common to find men that are closer in age and interest there. I tried In Toto once. It was filled with young twinks who wanted to call me “Daddy.” I’m over a year away from forty, and I will never be anyone’s daddy.