He hummed. “Brisket is pretty good. The ribs are pretty good. Steaks aren’t as good as yours—”

“Remember arguing with me over making them on the cast iron?”

Trip squeezed me to his side as he chuckled. “Yeah, I ‘member. I bought a cast iron skillet last time I ran to the store. I was gonna check up on you during practice on Thursday, but we get so busy with all the parents wanting to talk about how their kid needs more play time.” He made a grunting noise.

I snickered. “Don’t worry. I know we’re friends.”

“We sure as fuck are, honey,” he confirmed as we came up to three big barbecue pits lined up nearly side by side. “What are you in the mood for?”

I told him what I wanted: brisket and grilled corn on the cob. When the pretty girl helping the thin, elderly gray-haired man at the barbecue pit scooped some potato salad onto my plate, Trip whistled. “You’re a doll, Iris.”

“Fuck off, Trip,” a tall man who had been standing off to the side with a toddler strapped to his back and a baby wrapped in a pink blanket in his arms snarled. I looked once at him and then one more time before glancing away. There were tattoos up to the man’s neck and he had the grumpiest frown I’d ever seen on anyone, but that didn’t change the fact that his face alone could have impregnated some woman.

“Yeah, yeah.” Trip ignored him, winking at the girl helping to serve.

“Trip,” the tattooed man barked again.

This blond snorted as his eyes met mine and he whispered, “You ever had someone you just love fuckin’ with?”

That man didn’t look like someone I’d love to fuck with, but what did I know? Even with two kids in his arms, I didn’t want to look at him for too long. I whispered back, “Yeah.” That had been my brother for me.

Trip snorted and, with my plate in his hand, led me toward one of the many tables set up along the closed bays of the shop. So many people were standing up, there was more than enough room to sit, and he took the spot across from me, setting the plate down. “I forgot to grab you a drink. What do you want? A beer?”

“I’m driving. Whatever soda you have is fine.”

“You got it.” He grinned before disappearing on me.

With my fork in my left hand, I took in the meat on my plate and cursed. I should have gotten the ribs instead. Since burning myself, I’d been settling for making food I could eat with one hand safely, which was mostly soups, but I hadn’t put two and two together with the meat. There was no way I could use a knife. Hell, I could barely wipe myself with my left hand. So, with my fork on its side, I started trying to break up the meat, but it wasn’t going so well.

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever seen,” a voice said from behind me a moment before someone dropped onto the chair beside mine.

I didn’t need to look to know who it was. Only one man had that hoarse, raspy voice. It was Dallas.

And the smile that took over my face to see him inches away had me dropping my fork to pivot in the chair. “I didn’t know you were here already,” I said, noticing the can of root beer in his hands. In dark jeans and a gray fleece pullover hoodie, he looked great.

“I was busy talking to my uncle when I spotted you getting food,” he explained, those long fingers moving the can around in his hand until he had it the way he wanted it. He flipped the tab, opening it for me, and setting it beside my plate before scooting his chair over, leaving him so close his body heat was unavoidable. He leaned over, directly in front of me, blocking my view of my plate as he asked, “You want anything else?”

“No, I’m all right. Are you cutting the meat for me?” I joked, smiling even though he couldn’t see it.

“Yes,” he said, continuing on with his back inches from my face.

There was something wrong with my heart. There was something seriously wrong with my heart. I stuttered, “You really—”

“Let me do it,” was all he said.

I sighed and leaned back, trying to make it seem like it was some kind of bullshit he had the nerve to cut my meat for me when my hand was messed up. I was going to need to go to a heart specialist. Pronto. First, I needed him to stop doing whatever it was he was doing to make this happen to me. “Dallas,” I whispered. “You really don’t owe me anything. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“None. Stop wasting your breath.”

Did he stop what he was doing? No. He didn’t.

“You are so fucking stubborn,” I said.

“Pot meet your kettle.” He straightened in his chair, propping the knife on the edge of the disposable plate before handing over the fork he’d been using.

My kettle? It didn’t escape me he’d cut the meat into perfect square shapes. I sighed again and took the utensil from him. Quit your shit, heart. Quit it right now, I tried telling it. I don’t have time or the emotional reserves for this. “Thank you,” I said to Dallas.

His blink was the second most innocent thing I’d ever seen after Louie’s. The corners of his mouth went up just a little as he said, “Anything for you.”

Oh my God. Why was he doing this to me? Why? Why? He wasn’t the type of person to string someone else along for the fun of it. I knew that. But why did he have to be so nice? And why did I have to be so fucking dumb?

Fuck me.

If I hadn’t been so hungry, I would have taken my time eating, but I was. I’d skipped lunch, expecting to stuff myself this afternoon at the cookout. I’d texted Ginny to find out if she was coming after work, but she’d said she would only get a chance to run by during a break; she had a lot of last minute things to do for her wedding coming up in two weeks. I had honestly completely forgotten about it.