“Alright, you two,” Becca said, pushing up from her chair. She plucked the marshmallow stick from Ocean’s hand before he could drop it into the fire. “Come on, bud. Up you go.”
Ocean didn’t argue, which told me he was more gone than he looked. He stood without opening his eyes fully and let Becca steer him toward the back door. Gideon lifted River without waking her, the way only a grandfather could manage, and carried her inside. The screen door banged softly behind them.
Summer and I sat in the sudden quiet. The fire had burned down and was nothing more than a soft glow. The tide was coming in, making the ocean feel feet away.
I leaned back in my chair, stretching my legs out toward the warmth of the coals. The night air had cooled considerably andit felt good against my face. I could have stayed in that chair until sunrise and been perfectly content about it. I knew I should probably go, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave. It was after ten, but not exactly late.
Gideon came back out through the screen door a few minutes later, rubbing his hands together and looking very much like a man who had no intention of going anywhere. He dropped back into his chair and let out a long, satisfied exhale.
“Beautiful night,” he said.
“It really is,” I agreed.
“You grill?” Gideon asked.
I looked over at him. “I do. I’m Texan. It’s a rite of passage.”
His face opened up into a genuine smile. “Gas or charcoal?”
“Charcoal,” I said. “I tried to convert to gas about six years ago. Lasted a couple weeks before I tore the whole thing out and went back.”
He nodded with the deep satisfaction of a man hearing exactly what he needed to hear. “Gas is for people who are in a hurry and don’t respect the process. You can’t get a good, smoky char with gas.”
“My father would agree with you completely.”
“Smart man.” He crossed his ankle over his knee. “What do you cook?”
“Steaks, mostly. We’re in Texas, so it’s basically a requirement. Ribs when I’ve got the time. My dad just got a Blackstone. Ever use one?”
“No, but I’ve heard a lot of good things about them.”
“You can’t rush a good piece of meat,” I said.
I watched Becca come back out through the screen door and caught the look she shot Summer from across the fire.
“Dad,” Becca said pleasantly, settling into her chair and crossing her arms. “It’s getting late.”
Gideon looked up at the sky. “It’s not that late.”
“It’s after ten.”
“Ten is not late.”
Becca looked at Summer again. Summer shook her head almost imperceptibly. I bit the inside of my cheek and kept my eyes on the fire.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Becca announced, in the tone of someone making a very obvious exit. “It’s been a long day and I am exhausted. Completely exhausted.” She paused, as if waiting for someone to take the hint. “So. I’m going to bed.”
“Good night, Becca,” Summer said.
Becca looked at her father again. He was watching an ember pop and drift up from the fire pit. He had the expression of a man who was either truly unaware of what his daughter was attempting or was enjoying the performance enormously.
I suspected it was the latter.
“You know what sounds good right now?” Gideon said. He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “A cold beer. The kids are in bed.” He looked at Summer. “I think I saw a couple of bottles in the back of the fridge.”
“I’ll get them,” Summer said and pushed up from her chair before I could offer.
Becca leaned forward as soon as Summer went inside and looked at her father. “Dad.”
