Page 7 of One Hot Summer
When we pulled into the driveway, we both unloaded the groceries. My eyes snagged on his biceps flexing as he lifted several bags at once, and I realized I was staring and not even trying to hide it.
He caught me looking and raised an eyebrow. “Everything all right?”
I nearly choked. “Yeah, sorry. I was just uh… thinking about something.”
He laughed, low and warm. “Let’s get this stuff inside before the bears come after us.”
We carried everything into the kitchen and started unpacking. I watched as Griffin put the steaks in the fridge, humming under his breath. It was the same way Dalton would sometimes hum when he was in a good mood, and for a split second, I wondered what it would have been like to be part of this family. To have Sunday dinners and inside jokes and the kind of easy comfort that came with years of shared space.
He closed the fridge and turned. “Thanks for coming with me. It was nice to have company.”
“No problem,” I managed to say, hoping my voice sounded steadier than I felt. “It was fun.” Griffin smiled at me, and I had to look away before I did something stupid like blush again. I busied myself putting away the last of the groceries, hyper-aware of his presence behind me.
“So,” he said, leaning against the counter. “What do you say we fire up the grill tonight? Break in those steaks?”
My stomach growled at the thought. “That sounds amazing,” I admitted. “I can’t remember the last time I had a real home-cooked meal.”
He chuckled. “College diet, huh? I remember those days. Ramen and cold pizza were practically food groups.”
I laughed, surprised by how easy it felt. “Pretty much. Though Dalton’s been trying to teach me to cook.”
“Yeah? And how is that going?”
I scrunched my nose. “Let’s just say it’s a work in progress.”
Griffin tilted his head thoughtfully. “Well, how about I give you some pointers tonight? Nothing fancy, just the basics.”
My heart did a little flip at the thought of cooking with him. “I’d like that. And I’ll do my best not to burn the cabin down,” I joked.
He laughed, a deep, rich sound that sent goose bumps skittering up my arms. “I’ll hold you to that. Now, why don’t you go relax for a bit? I’ll call you when it’s time to start.” I nodded and headed back to the living room, my mind buzzing with excitement. As I settled onto the couch with my textbook, I couldn’t help but smile. Maybe this situation wouldn’t be so awkward after all.
My current work environment was proving to be ideal. Not only was it much cooler and quieter than at home, but Griffin had very thoughtfully brought me a snack of cheese and crackers with apple slices on the side. “Brain fuel” he’d called it, and it must have worked, because a couple of hours later, I’d managed to write two short essays and finished my research for an upcoming project.
I’d always preferred to work ahead, often completing all the assignments and readings well before the halfway point of any semester. I found my anxiety decreased significantly when I didn’t have a ton of work hanging over my head. At this rate, I should have the entire summer syllabus completed in another day or two.
I straightened up my makeshift workstation then stood, stretching my arms high above my head to work out the kinks in my back. My shirt rose with the movement, and I let out a groan as I felt the knots in my muscles relax. A sound from the doorway had me spinning around and I saw Griffin standing there, his eyes glued to my exposed midriff.Oh, my God! Is he checking me out?The thought had my pulse taking off like a racehorse, fresh out of the gate.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, averting his eyes and clearing his throat. “I was just coming to let you know I’m about to start the steaks, if you still wanted to help.”
“Oh, right,” I said, trying to regain my composure. “Yeah, definitely. Just let me wash up first.”
I hurried to the bathroom where I splashed some cold water on my face. I gave myself a stern look in the mirror. “Get it together, Adam,” I whispered. “There is no way your best friend’s incredibly hot dad was checking you out.”
The kitchen was empty when I walked in. Peering out the window, I saw Griffin on the back deck, doing something with the grill. He walked in a minute later, smiling. “The baked potatoes are looking good. They should be done the same time as the steaks.”
“Sounds great. What can I do to help?”
“You want to make the salad while I handle the steaks?”
“Sure.” I pulled the vegetables out of the fridge and took them to the sink to wash while he gathered a cutting board and paring knife for me.
Griffin poured us each a glass of wine then set up next to me, unwrapping the steaks with the focus of a surgeon. “Has Dalton ever told you about the time he tried to make pancakes?” I shook my head, listening to him intently as I began slicing a cucumber, being careful not to cut myself. I liked the sound of his voice, like warm honey, smooth and rich.
“He was probably twelve at the time and didn’t believe in reading the instructions on the box. Said he’d seen enough on YouTube to figure it out. Poured the entire box of pancake mix into a bowl but didn’t know how much water to add. Just started stirring with a spoon. When it got too thick, he used his hands.” Griffin laughed softly at the memory as he seasoned the steaks with pinches of salt and pepper. “His mother and I decided thenthat we should probably teach him the basics of following a recipe before he poisoned anybody.”
“Sounds like him,” I said, laughing. “He’s kind of got his own way of doing things.”
“Always has,” Griffin said, turning toward me. “What about you? Ever set the kitchen on fire?”
