“Operate basic outdoor cooking equipment?” Finn was already heading toward the back door. “Come, show me this ‘broken’ grill.”
We went outside. Finn crouched down next to the grill and checked the propane tank connection. Two seconds later, he turned a valve, and I heard gas start to flow.
“It was connected, just not turned on,” he said, standing up and dusting off his hands. “Try it now.”
I pushed the ignition button.
The grill roared to life.
“I hate you,” I said.
“No, you don’t.” He kissed my cheek. “Now go inside and clean up whatever disaster you’ve created in the kitchen. I’ll handle the grill and the food prep.”
“But this is my house. I’m supposed to be hosting—”
“Chase.” Finn turned to face me, hands rising to rest on my shoulders. “You’re great at many things like the law and being supportive and looking delicious in a suit. But cooking? Or grilling?” He shook his head. “Those arenotyour strengths. Go inside and make sure the living room is presentable. The others won’t be here for a while yet. Let me handle this.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.” He kissed me again, this time on the lips. “Now go. Shoo. You’re in my way.”
I went inside, tail between my legs, and started cleaning things that were already clean.
Mark arrived first, right at noon.
I opened the door, suddenly very aware that this was the first time I was meeting any of Finn’s friends outside the bar without the safety of being a customer in a booth.
“Hey, Mark,” I said. “Come in.”
“Thanks for having us.” Mark stepped inside, looking around with an appraising eye. “Nice place. Very . . . lawyer-y.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Just an observation.” He smiled. “Finn’s in the back?”
“Yeah. He’s taken over the grill because I can’t be trusted with fire.”
Mark laughed. “Finn’s weirdly competent at all things domestic. It’s annoying.”
We went outside, and I watched Mark and Finn fall into easy conversation—the kind that came from years of friendship. Mark asked about the bar’s revenue. Finn asked about Mark’s family. They discussed the Lightning’s playoff chances like they’d had this exact conversation a hundred times before.
Finn and Mark were together almost every night at the bar, but the conversation still felt like old friends catching up, like a comfy old pair of shoes you just found in the back of the closet and slipped on for the first time in years.
I stood there, feeling like an outsider again, until Mark turned to me.
“So, Chase,” he said. “Finn tells us you’re a family law attorney.”
“That’s right.”
“You any good?”
“I like to think so.”
“He’s very good,” Finn interjected from the grill. “He just won a big settlement last week.”
“I didn’t win. Both parties agreed to terms.”
“After you convinced them that going to trial was a bad idea,” Finn said. “That’s winning.”
