Page 71 of ClickBack

“You’re a furnace.”

“And yet.”

I pull his hand over my stomach. “I’m cold now. Please keep up.”

He laughs into my scarf and lets me arrange him. I leave one leg outside the sheet, hoping to stay comfortable long enough to fall asleep.

By noon, I’m at Costco with him and Graves, who woke up wanting something off the grill. Jarrett’s building has an outdoor kitchen on the rooftop deck, and Graves called to ask whether he had used any of those grills since moving in.

Apparently, “I pay for them” was the wrong answer.

Graves pushes the cart through the meat department while Jarrett disputes how much he’s putting in it. Then Jarrett adds another package of ribs.

“Thought it was too much,” Graves says.

“You’re going to want some to take home.”

“I’m the one cooking.”

“Then you should appreciate me thinking about you.”

I reach past them for a package of corn. “Do either of you plan to eat anything with all this?”

Graves looks at the cart, then at me. “What do you make?”

“Depends on whether I’m being invited or recruited.”

“You were already invited. Now I’m recruiting.”

I agree to potato salad and corn, which sends us back for potatoes and gives Jarrett time to disappear down another aisle. He returns carrying a box with a small Shark fan pictured on the front and puts it beside the paper plates.

“What’s that for?” I ask.

“My room.”

I look at him. He checks the box again, then turns it so I can see the fan.

“We can point it at you. Leave the thermostat alone.”

I hadn’t expected him to remember anything I said half asleep, much less come looking for something to help. I put my hand on his arm while Graves keeps moving with the cart.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He bends to kiss me, then takes the potatoes out of my other hand.

Back at his apartment, Graves seasons the ribs and takes them upstairs to get started while I put on music and begin the potato salad. Jarrett washes what I finish using, then goes up to see whether Graves needs help. He comes back for a beer and stays to steal a spoonful from my bowl.

By the time I bring the sides up, Graves has the ribs cooking over low heat with the lid closed. The rooftop deck has several grills set into long counters, a sink, and tables shaded by umbrellas. Jarrett puts our bowls in the refrigerator beneath the counter. I take the chair nearest the shade and slip off my sandals.

We spend most of the afternoon up there. Graves checks the meat, Jarrett argues with him about music, and I finish three chapters of the book on my phone before either man notices I have stopped settling their disputes. Graves comes over for potato salad twice, even though he keeps telling us the ribs need more time.

Several hours after he started, he finally puts the corn on the grill. Jarrett leans forward in his chair to inspect the ribs, which are almost ready, from several feet away.

“You know you have to close that for it to cook,” Jarrett tells him.

Graves lowers the grill lid and looks over his shoulder. “You coming over here?”

“I can see from here.”