Page 102 of Reeves

My hand shifts on the spatula.

"Yeah. The one I got with my brothers."

"Where is it?"

I pull up my sleeve and show him the word STONE on my bicep.

"Cool."

Charli moves past me toward the table, close enough that I catch the scent of her shampoo. It hits me before I can shut it down. Same as before. Same as her.

I force my attention back to the grill, but I feel her behind me now. Moving. Setting things down. The quiet rhythm of it.

"Okay, buddy. Time to flip them."

Benjy steps closer. I pick him up with one arm and guide his hand with the spatula.

"Lift it first. Make sure it's not sticking."

He does exactly what I showed him, focused in a way that feels too familiar.

"Good job."

His smile reaches in and grabs me.

Behind me, Charli moves around the table. Plates. Napkins. Condiments. I track every movement without meaning to.

I can’t help but notice the brush of fabric when she leans past me to set the ketchup down, either. Or the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she's concentrating.

I hold the spatula a second longer than necessary before flipping the last burger because I need anything to ground me.

Focus.

I've been around plenty of women in the past six years. Beautiful women. Available women. None of them affected my focus the way two days around Charli has.

"Are they almost done?" Benjy asks.

"Another minute or two."

I close the grill lid again and step back, forcing myself to look away from the table where Charli is slicing tomatoes.

The kid doesn't know me from any other stranger, but he trusts me to teach him things. To show up when I say I will. To flip burgers the right way.

I open the grill again and press the center of each patty with the spatula. The juices run clear.

"Benjy," I whisper to him, like we have a secret. "Tell your mom the burgers are ready."

"Mom! Dinner's ready!"

Charli glances up from the tomatoes. "Bring the plate over, Reeves, when you're ready. I'm almost done with the tomato, and everything else is set."

I load the burgers onto the plate she left on the side table, then carry it to where she's finished setting up everything else. She has cooked bacon on a plate, chips in a bowl, and poured iced tea. The condiments lined up like she's done this a thousand times.

Which she probably has. Just not with me.

"Smells good." She takes the platter and sets it in the center of the table.

"Thanks."