He stands abruptly and escapes to the guys by the grill. He reaches forward to shift one of the steaks off the grill, and Mason smacks his hand lightly with the metal.
“Oi. Don’t pull out too early, Prince.”
There’s a tiny pause.
“Pull out?” Elle’s curious voice travels across the bay. “Don’t pull out too early of what?”
Max’s head pops up immediately next to her. “PULL OUT,” he repeats gleefully. “PULL OUT.”
Every adult within earshot goes completely still.
Remi doesn’t even glance up from bouncing Zela gently against her shoulder. “Choose your explanation wisely, boys.”
Colt presses his lips together so hard they practically disappear.
“Uhh…” Evan points vaguely at the grill. “It means taking something off too soon.”
“Ohh.” Elle nods. “Like cookies?”
“Exactly,” Mason says in a voice an octave too high, nodding quickly. “Like cookies. You have to wait until they’re finished.”
Max beams. “FINISHED!”
Mason’s eyes widen, and he opens his mouth, but Colt nudges him hard in the ribs.
Luke takes a sip of his drink. “Fletchis about to be finished if he doesn’t stop yapping.”
Frankie hides her face behind her napkin, but her shoulders are shaking hard enough to give her away.
Colt clears his throat and, for reasons unknown, opens his mouth to make everything worse. “The point is, when meat is resting, you don’t touch it.”
Elle frowns at the grill. “Is the meat sleeping?”
The sound that leaves Frankie is not human, and Evan closes his eyes.
Mason bends over the grill, wheezing silently, one hand braced on his knee, while Luke takes the slowest sip of his drink I’ve ever seen.
“Exactly,” Colt says, seizing the safest explanation with the desperation of a drowning man. “The meat is resting because it’s hot.”
Max slams both hands on the table. “HOT MEAT.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been happier,” Mason says faintly.
Evan points at him without opening his eyes. “One more word.”
“Technically that was Max.”
“One more word from anyone.”
Elle leans toward me, brows drawn in concern. “Why is everyone laughing about the meat?”
“I think,” I manage, my voice strangled around a laugh, “because some adults are very immature.”
“That’s accurate,” Frankie says weakly.
Mason, who has apparently chosen death, lifts the tongs and clacks them twice. “In fairness though, Prince does get very intense around anything hot.”
“Fletch,” Evan warns.
