“Fair enough.” Blake claps me on the shoulder. “But I’m holding you to that ‘maybe’ for another time.”
As Blake turns back to his work, Emily holds up her hands. “Wasn’t sure which you preferred.”
Carson had always said beer was for the unrefined and insisted we drink wine.
Pulse quickening, I take the beer from her hand. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She jerks her head toward the yard. “Come on. Jared’s about to burn the first round of burgers.”
I follow Emily to the grill area, where Jared wields a spatula with dangerous enthusiasm, flipping burgers with more force than necessary.
“You’re going to launch them into the bay if you keep that up,” Grady cautions, leaning backward on his stool.
Emily’s hand finds his back as she passes him the wine. “I told you not to sit so close. Didn’t you learn anything from last week?”
Jared flips another burger with a flourish. “It’s all in the wrist. Tell him, Leif.”
“Don’t drag me into this,” I laugh, the sound surprising me with its ease. “I’m a microwave guy.”
“Heathen,” Jared accuses without heat, then launches into a story about the time he caught a thirty-pound salmon with Kyle and tried to grill it whole.
The conversation flows around me, touching on boats, island gossip, and whether the new coffee shop in Pinecrest will survive the winter. No one pushes for me to contribute more than I offer. No one gauges my reactions to use as a weapon later. They simply accept me as I am.
I move between groups with increasing comfort. When Blake calls for an extra pair of hands to hold a piece steady, I step in without hesitation. When Grady mentions a book he’s reading, I find myself sharing my thoughts on the author’s previous work.
At some point, my attention snags on Emily across the yard, quiet satisfaction evident in her bearing, mirroring the growing contentment settling inside me. Without conscious intent, my cedar-and-linen pheromones, usually locked under strict control, fan outward in calm waves, no longer fluctuating with anxiety.
“Food’s up!” Jared calls from the grill.
The announcement triggers a casual migration toward the patio table. Emily emerges from the cottage with a bowl of potato salad in one hand and a platter of sliced veggie toppings in the other. She sets them down next to a ceramic dish of pickles, their bright color standing out on the worn wooden tabletop.
Blake arrives first, grabbing a blue ceramic plate with a chipped edge. “These burgers look like hockey pucks, Jared.”
“That’s called ‘well done,’ thank you very much.” Jared flips a burger onto Blake’s plate.
“It’s called ‘cremated.’” Blake piles on toppings regardless, constructing a tower that threatens to topple.
I hang back, waiting for everyone else to go first. When Emily spots me standing apart, she nudges a green glass plate into my hands.
“Get in there before Blake comes back around for more,” she says.
I join the loose circle around the table, filling my plate with a burger that isn’t as burnt as Blake claimed and sides from the various bowls. No one dictates how much I should take or comments on my choices, and the absence of scrutiny puts me further at ease.
We settle at the picnic table, and I find myself between Grady and Emily. The burger is juicy despite its charred exterior, and the conversation flows as freely as the beer Jared distributes from a cooler, while Emily tops off Grady’s wine glass.
As we finish eating, the sunset paints the sky in bands of orange and purple, reflecting off the windows of the cottage. Blake checks his watch and sighs.
“I should head back before it’s full dark.” He sets his empty plate on the table. “Holden will think I’ve fallen into the bay if I’m not home by six, and Kyle will be wanting to settle in for the night.”
“He likes to be in bed by eight so he can be up at four in the morning.” Grady shudders. “I’m a morning person, but I’m not acrazymorning person.”
Disappointment shoots through me. In my experience, one person leaving often signals the end, with others following suit in a cascade of departures, and I’m not ready to return to my hotel room, where I’ll be alone. I should have second-guessed less and arrived earlier.
I stare at my half-empty beer. It’s my third of the day. If I’d known the gathering was going to break up so early, I would have stopped at two.
Emily leans over. “I can give you a ride back to your hotel later. I haven’t been drinking.”
“Thanks,” I reply, the single word inadequate for the warmth spreading through my chest.