Page 13 of Riot

I grabbed a stack of lids and slid them aside to make space. Then I tipped my chin toward the empty trays at the end of the table. Reaper moved over enough to let Calvin in.

“You did volunteer yesterday,” I said.

Calvin stepped in beside me. Close enough that I caught the soap-clean smell on him under the heat outside. “I was young then. Reckless. Full of trust.”

Reaper snorted and handed him a serving spoon. Calvin took it, their fingers missing each other by an inch. Good.

“Put that in the potato salad,” I said.

“Yes, bossy.”

I liked how quick he was. Liked that he didn’t overdo it.

For a minute, we worked without talking. I peeled back lids. Calvin set utensils into bowls. Reaper moved trays around and pretended not to pay attention. Kids screamed somewhere near the basketball court. Music switched to something with a heavier beat. Drift yelled for more buns. Holler yelled back that he had hands and could grab them himself.

Calvin glanced toward the grill. “Your friends seem pleasant.”

I stacked napkins into a holder and slid it closer to him. “That’s because you caught them in public.”

With one hand, he adjusted the bowl of coleslaw so it sat straighter on the table. His forearm brushed mine this time. A simple touch but it still landed.

“I respect a group committed to customer service,” he said.

“Don’t let them fool you. Holler only smiles because people feed him.”

At the far end of the table, Reaper slapped the back of my arm with a pack of plastic forks. I shot him a look. He stared at Calvin, then at me, and mouthed, “Nice.”

I stared back and mouthed, “Asshole.”

Reaper’s grin stretched wider. Juvenile motherfucker. He wiggled his brows like he was twelve. I muttered a curse at him under my breath.

Calvin turned his head a little. “Was that aimed at me? Because I feel I’ve been excellent so far.”

I grabbed the extra bag of buns and tossed it toward Reaper just hard enough to make him catch it against his stomach. “Not you. Him. He was born irritating.”

Reaper clutched the bag like he’d been mortally wounded. “Friendly workplace.”

Calvin smiled and looked down at the spoon in his hand. That smile was small, but it got me anyway.

A little boy came running up to the table with wet curls stuck to his forehead and asked if it was time to eat yet. Calvin bent some to answer him, his voice soft and easy, and pointed him toward the line by the grill. The kid took off immediately. Calvin straightened and shook his head.

“Kids move like they’ve got warrants.”

“They probably do,” I said.

“That explains the energy.”

He laughed under his breath. I liked hearing that too much.

A few more people lined up. Reaper took over directing them toward plates and cups, mostly so he could talk shit while being useful. Calvin stayed beside me on the side dish table and helped where he was needed without me asking much. He picked up on the flow fast. Replaced serving spoons when they slid into bowls. Refilled napkins. Shifted stuff around so people didn’t jam the line. The male was smart and observant.

I kept my focus on the table because if I let it drift, it landed on Calvin too hard. On his mouth when he talked. On those hazel eyes when he cut a look at me. On the way his hip brushed the table edge when he set a fresh bowl of pasta salad down where the old one had been nearly scraped clean.

A woman asked where the mustard was. Calvin found it before I did and handed it over with a bright smile that made her laugh. Then he looked at me again like that counted for nothing.

It counted.

Later, when the first rush slowed, Reaper wandered off toward the grill to bother Drift. Calvin wiped his hands on a napkin and looked out over the lot. Kids on the court. Adults under the shade. Sledge at a picnic table talking with Merk. Holler carrying a case of water on one shoulder like he wanted witnesses.