Caitlin laughed, sliding off Burke’s lap just long enough to grab a plate. “You two are ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” Burke said, dragging her right back down. “But we eat first.”
Grant shook his head, but there was a hint of a grin as he reached for the tongs, flipping a steak onto Izzy’s plate.
“Don’t listen to him,” he said. “He’s been like this since we were ten.”
“Still bigger than you,” Burke shot back, taking a long pull from his beer.
“Still slower,” Grant returned easily.
That got a low laugh out of Burke—one of those quiet, competitive acknowledgments that didn’t need anything else said.
Izzy watched the exchange, something about it settling into her in a way she hadn’t expected.
She looked down at her plate, feeling that faint, prickly awareness of being outside of it.
Burke leaned in, kissing Caitlin’s neck openly, his arm wrapped around her waist like she was the only anchor he had in the world.
“Can you two behave for twenty minutes?” Grant rumbled, though there was a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he set the platter of steaks down.
“Nope,” Burke said, pulling Caitlin closer. “Happy birthday week, remember? I get a pass.”
Grant dropped into the chair beside Izzy, the wood creaking under his weight. His forearm brushed the edge of the table as he reached for the salad bowl, his presence filling the space without effort.
Izzy glanced over.
White shirt. Sleeves rolled. Forearms marked with work—small scars, sun, strength.
Grant caught her looking.
For a second—he didn’t look away.
Something shifted.
The easy, joking edge he had with Burke faded just a notch.
“Steak?” he asked, voice lower now.
“Please.”
He leaned in, closer than necessary, sliding it onto her plate.
His arm brushed hers.
The heat was instantaneous—a sharp, electric reminder of the tension that had been building since she arrived.
He paused—just a fraction too long.
His gaze dropped—to her mouth.
Then back to her eyes.
Something unspoken sat there between them.
Then, he pulled back.
Cleared his throat.
