The others watched for Grayson’s reaction, and even I expected him to have a mouthful. But he dropped into an easy smile, and high-fived Mason over the crackling fire.
The fire had settled into that steady, patient burn that made everything feel slower. We sat in a loose circle on folding chairs and overturned coolers, boots nudging at the dirt, the river somewhere behind us making a low, constant sound I kept forgetting about until it crept back into my awareness.
Hunter came back from the truck holding a plastic grocery bag like it contained something sacred. He lifted it in triumph. “Steak a la Holly.”
“Now we’re talking,” Tucker said, placing his beer on the ground at his feet.
Hunter pulled out vacuum-sealed steaks, thick and marbled, the kind you didn’t need teeth to chew if you cooked them right. He placed them on the stacked rocks around the fire, and gestured to the open grid leaning against a tree stump.
“I’m going to be honest with you guys,” he said. “I’ve never done this before, and we’ll need someone to appoint as head chef.”
Grayson leaned forward immediately. “I call the biggest one. When it’s cooked. Not by me. I’ll just end up ruining those beauties over open flame and you’ll never let me live it down.”
Mason snorted. “I’ll do it, but that gets me off dishes duty.”
We all stared at him, but it was Hunter who had the balls to say, “Dishes?”
“Oh, my God,” Grayson groaned. “We’re off to a fine start, boys.”
“So,” Mason said as he got everything ready for the barbecue, “what are we pairing these with?”
Hunter blinked. You could almost see the moment land. “Pairing?”
“Yeah,” Mason said. “Salad, jacket potatoes... Literally anything that didn’t have a pulse at some point.”
“Shit.” Hunter scratched the back of his neck.
I lifted my beer. “I’m fine rawdogging the protein like a caveman. One steak, no sides, no regrets.”
“You would be,” Tucker laughed, and clinked his bottle against mine. “And I’m with the rookie. As long as we keep the beers coming.”
“I want us to get an early start tomorrow,” Mason said casually. Groans went around the fire.
“What for?” Tucker asked.
“Fishing.”
“Oh, thank God.” Hunter gave a huge sigh of relief. “I thought you were about to say—”
“And a hike,” Mason finished, looking right at him.
“I take back my thanks.”
Mason chuckled, the first pieces of meat sizzling over the fire. The aroma wafted up and around us, making my mouth water. “And I found this spot upriver that’s perfect for cliff-jumping. Nothing crazy, though, so Grayson, you can hold off on that protest.”
Grayson shook his head. “I was promised beer and sitting down.”
“You’ll still get beer and sitting,” Mason said. “Just not exclusively.”
The guys complained, but it was only half-hearted. Nobody actually meant it. The fire popped, someone told a story I’d already heard twice about a road trip gone wrong, and Tucker exaggerated it anyway. Grayson kept angling his chair closer to the grill, guarding his steak like one of us might steal it. Hunter laughed loud and easy, the sound carrying into the trees.
I didn’t say much, but I listened, passed beers, took the shit when it came my way and gave a little back when it was warranted. Somewhere between the third six-pack of beer and Mason flipping the steaks, something eased in my chest. The space I usually kept between myself and everyone else felt smaller. Less necessary.
When Mason handed me my steak, juice running down onto the makeshift plate he’d fashioned out of the plastic grocery bag, he clapped my shoulder once, quick and solid. Not to say anything, but when I looked at him it kind of hit home all the same.
We ate with our fingers, because no one had brought forks.
After dinner, Mason straightened and clapped his hands again. “Okay. We have an early start, so I suggest we turn in. Let’s see how long it takes before Grayson regrets choosing to sleep alone.”
