Page 58 of Here & There

Nate slaps a hamburger patty down on the plate, and Mac’s eyebrows fly up.

I have to laugh. Nate does each one with more of a dramatic flourish than the last. I’m pretty sure because of how funny I’ve been finding it.

“We’re making dinner,” I explain.

“I see,” Mac says, setting down the bag he’s carrying. I try very hard not to watch the way his big-ass bicep flexes and how his forearm pulses as he lets it go.

“We’re running a bit behind,” I say. “We had some trouble finding the ingredients we needed for the burgers in town, so we went to Swan River.” I don’t mention that means I made two trips there today. “Did you know there’s a farmers’ market there that’s open during the week?” When Nate told me about it, it was like a wrench in the whole “Shelby Fox would never live in Swan River” thing. Shelby Fox would love a farmers’ market. I just know it.

Then I remember Nate only knew about it because his father has dragged him there in the past. “What am I talking about?” I laugh. “Of course you do.”

“Mac’s a veggie snob,” Nate concurs.

Mac only blinks. “I was going to ask if you needed help, but it looks like you have this…”

“Under control?” I supply as I pull a tray of homemade hamburger buns out of the oven.

Mac scrapes a hand over his beard. “Wasn’t going to say that exactly.”

I elbow a dirty bowl aside to make room for the tray of buns, and on the other end of the island, another bowl drops off the edge of the countertop. Mac’s hand flies out, catching it before it hits the floor. Every surface of the kitchen is completely covered with used bowls and utensils and ingredients in various states of disarray.

“Listen,” I say. “This isn’t your kitchen right now. It’s ours. So why don’t you get yourself a drink and go join Cal on the deck?”

Mac’s eyes snap to the chairs outside, where Cal’s reclining with his feet up.

“We wouldn’t let him help either,” I reassure him.

Mac grunts something, but he does as he’s told, grabbing an IPA from the fridge and heading straight out onto the deck. Luckily the weather’s been clear all day, so at least he won’t slip again.

When I look over at Nate, I’m shocked to see he’s grinning.

But Nate’s shocked me a few times this afternoon with how quickly he’s warmed up. He’s got this sardonic sense of humor that makes me laugh so hard. I honestly can’t wait for this dinner just so Mac can see what an amazing kid he’s still got, teenage hormones or not.

“Holy shit,” Cal says over a mouthful of burger. “I just about expired waiting for these, but you were right; they were worth the wait.”

“Why, thank you,” I say. “The burgers themselves were all Nate.” I wink at Mac’s son across the table since he’s too far away for a high five.

“Good job, dude,” Cal says, taking another giant bite. “They’re really fucking good.”

“Cal, for fu—” Mac grimaces. “Watch your mouth.”

We all laugh at that, even Nate.

We really did make them wait, though. It’s been a full hour and a half since Mac came home. The sun’s just a strip of orange over the ocean and mountains off the deck, and the four of us have just now sat down to eat. I kind of overdid it with toppings and sides, which took a while, plus I wanted to clean up the kitchen so Mac wouldn’t have to. Of course, I had to kick him out to keep him from pitching in three separate times.

Cal, we let help.

Now with a spotless kitchen and a full table, I can finally relax under the glow of the string lights as I watch this sweet group of boys enjoy the spoils of what really was more fun than work.

Well, relax as much as possible with Mac sitting next to me. I thought I’d be fine—the table’s so big there’s a good foot between us, and Nate and Cal are directly across from us. But his presence makes me feel like I’m sitting just a little too close to the fire.

Luckily Cal cusses again, and Mac sets down his burger strictly to glare at his best friend, which makes both Nate and me laugh, cutting the tension considerably.

For a moment.

“Don’t kids in eighth grade speak almost entirely in swear words?” I ask.

Nate nods confirmation as he reaches for more home-cut fries. “Pretty much every other word.”

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