Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 45326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
“Go grab a plate.” Mr. Spatula, whose face I knew but name I couldn’t recall, pointed at the picnic tables covered in red plastic tablecloths and heaping with food. “There’s plenty. Bonfire is…pretty self-explanatory, beer and drinks are in the coolers over there”—he pointed across the fire—“and there are plenty of chairs. Were you expecting more people?”
“No. The grocery shopper and setup crew probably got carried away,” I said.
“Mr. Tom, right?” He nodded after I did. “That makes sense. Handy to have around, though. Once you’re used to him fussing about everything, I mean. He seemed a little put-out that he had to leave.”
“He wanted your job.” I motioned at the grill in front of him.
“He couldn’t handle my job.” He winked at me.
“Thank—“
I cut myself off. Kace had instructed me not to go around thanking everyone for helping. By inviting them to a community event, I’d told them they were my community, and people in a community helped each other. He said I was doing plenty by supplying everything and organizing.
It felt wrong, inviting people to a BBQ, then having them do all the work. That’s not really how it happened where I came from. I went with it, though. This was their culture. I’d respect it and be thankful I didn’t have to grill.
“Welc—“ He leaned toward me with a funny expression and glittering eyes before going back to his job. “Go eat. I’m starving just looking at you empty handed.”
Austin nodded and led us toward the tables. “Mr. Tom must’ve thrown a fit about those tablecloths.”
“Not just about the tablecloths, but about me going out to get them. He gets really indignant when I do things for myself. Always has, since I first got to town.”
“It takes away from his job.”
“Then he shouldn’t complain about the type of tablecloths I want.”
He laughed softly as we reached the table. All manner of salads had been purchased—potato, pasta, and the kind that actually had lettuce leaves—in addition to buns, breads, cold cuts, and anything else someone might want at a BBQ. It was overkill but still low key, everything in plastic serving bowls with paper plates and napkins.
“Hey, alpha,” a woman said as she grabbed a roll and a plate. “Alpha. How goes it?”
“Great, Marna. How are you?” Austin asked cordially, waiting for her to grab a couple of slices of steaming tri-tip with her fingers.
“Really good. Looking forward to heading back home in a few weeks and checking in with everyone.”
“It’s been a while. You need to take some time off.”
She huffed a laugh, plopping a scoop of potato salad onto her plate. “You first, huh?”
She picked up a fork, those not plastic because I could not stand using crappy utensils when trying to cut meat, then raised her plate in a sort of salute and peeled away.
“This is you relaxed?” I whispered as I picked up a plate.
“I’m still the alpha. I can only fully relax when I’m with family, and even then I can’t cut loose the way gargoyles do. Or the basajaunak, for that matter.”
“Yeah, none of them seem to care how they are perceived. Outside of professional hours, I mean.”
“You know, I had a good time playing pool with Tristan a few days ago. After we got work talk out of the way, it was just…easy. Chill.”
“He’s got a good handle on his confidence, like someone else I know.” He reached for a plate, but I held up the one I had. “I’ve got one for us.”
It was his turn to pause, looking at it in confusion, and then me. A knowing gleam lit his eyes, and then a rush of heat filled the bonds. He pulled his hand away slowly, scooting in closer and using the other hand to grip my hip.
“What do you want?” I looked over our options.
“Why don’t you let me do that.” He took the plate and heaped on a spoonful of each salad. He balanced some bread on the side but left a large space for meat. After reaching down for my hand, he tugged me over to the BBQ.
“What are we looking for, alpha?” asked the guy doing the steaks. “Bloody, medium, burnt to hell?”
“Who would want it burnt to hell?” Austin asked. “Medium rare.”
“There are a couple of people who have no taste.” He smirked, about as much of an expression as anyone was making, and poked a few of the steaks before deciding on one. “Here you go.”
“Thanks, Don. Need a beer?”
“Nope.” He pointed to the side of the BBQ, where a Bud in a can was tucked into a beer koozie. “I’ve got one, thanks. Good to see you out and about. All work and no play makes Jack a very dull boy.”
“I’ll try to remember that when you’re at home sleeping, hoping I’ve done a good job fortifying the territory.”