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Luckily, Grady didn’t seem to want an actual thought-out answer, because he kept going without waiting for one, showing Lake how to tenderise the meat and mix up a marinade that smelled like barbecue and deliciousness that he just wanted to drink. Grady told him not to drink it, which was unfair.
The steaks were put in the fridge for a few minutes while Lake spread the chips out on a tray, and Grady laid out the broccolini next to them before sprinkling rock salt over the top and lightly drizzling them with olive oil.
“I prefer homemade chips in the air fryer, but this will do.”
“Where’d you learn to cook?” Lake asked, making sure all the fries were lying flat.Homemadechips sounded like a lot of work. Peeling and then slicing the potatoes? Where did they find the really big ones for the chips that were super long?
“My dad,” Grady said shortly.
Lake knew he probably shouldn’t pry, because Grady’s voice had a definite “back off” vibe to it, but curiosity was one of his worst personality traits. “He’s…” he trailed off, waiting for Grady to fill in the blank.
“He’s not around anymore.”
Well, shit. Lake was great at putting his foot in it as well, clearly. It was generally what happened when his nosiness reared its ugly head. “I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“And… your mum?” Because foot-in-mouth syndrome didn’t have a cure. Not for him anyway. Other people probably found a way to rid themselves of it.
Grady shrugged. “I have no idea. Those ready to go in?”
“Yeah,” Lake said quietly, pushing it over towards him. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Where are your glasses?” Grady interrupted.
Lake pointed up to where they were stored. There were hooks underneath that had mugs on them, but whiskey was not a mug drink. He didn’t think. Maybe it could be? Anything could be a mug drink, really. Just pour it in andbam,mug drink. Now he wanted to ask Grady to pour it into a mug just so he could find out if it tasted different. Maybe another time. Grady didn’t seem like a “whiskey in a mug” kind of guy, and Lake was already poking the bear.
“Do you have any siblings?” Lake couldn’t help but ask when Grady had retrieved the glasses and placed them beside the whiskey.
“Lake,” Grady said, an edge of frustration to his tone. He braced his hands on the counter and leaned forward. “Cues aren’t your forte, are they?”
“I was just asking!” Lake said defensively. Grady was also correct, but Lake wasn’t going to say that. “You ask friends about family; it’s a thing.” It was a thing. It was also a dating “getting to know you” thing, but friends also did it. How was he supposed to find out about Grady if he didn’t ask?
Grady sighed. “No siblings. It was just me and my dad.”
“Like… the whole time?” That sounded lonely. Lake might have sent a letter or two to the stork village—his mum had even given him an address; he still couldn’t decide if that had been cruel or genius—to take back his baby brother, but he’d been grateful he hadn’t been alone growing up. He loved Felix and Zach like brothers, and his bond with them wasn’tlessthan the one he had with Avery; it was just different.
“Yeah. My egg donor took off when I was two. That’s all she is to me. I have a name on a birth certificate. My father raised me.” Grady poured the whiskey and slid one across the bench to Lake. “Anything else you want to know?”
Lake tapped the edge of his glass, wriggling his mouth while he tried to think of a question that wouldn’t be offensive but would feed his curiosity. “How’d you learn to share?” was what came out. It was a valid question, though.
“How did I learn to… share?”
“Well,” Lake said, jumping up to sit on his dining table. The whiskey sloshed over his hand. “Whoops,” he said sheepishly. He licked it up with his tongue because he couldn’t be bothered getting back off the table to go clean up. It was going in his mouth anyway. “So, like,” he continued, “people that are only children are more prone to being selfish because they never had to share.”
“I think that’s a gross generalisation.” Grady ducked out of sight for a second and then came back up with a washcloth and a tea towel. “Did you read that in a magazine?” he asked as he approached Lake.
“Yeah, it was an article inGirlfriend.”
Lake jerked in surprise as Grady took the glass from his hand and wiped his sticky hand with the washcloth, making sure to get between his fingers. That felt nice. He should spill stuff on his hand more often.
“Should I be surprised you used to readGirlfriend?”
“I don’t know,” Lake drawled, “should I be surprised you know what it is?”
“Touché.”
Grady dried Lake’s hand with the tea towel and then wiped down the glass before handing it back. “It goes in your mouth.”
