“Thanks?”
“No. I’m serious. It’s a massive undertaking. Literally every single owner before you has failed. You haven’t.”
“Well, thank you. That means a lot coming from you… Does this mean you’re no longer richist against rich people?”
He snorts. “You had to go and ruin it, didn’t you?”
I chuckle and take another sip.
Silence creeps in again, but the nice kind. The kind you don’t feel compelled to fill with bullshit. The kind you can just sit and enjoy.
A Morgan Wallen tune floats in the night air, a warm breeze sweeps over my skin, and for the first time in a long time, I feel happy.
Peaceful.
Like things are locking into place.
“Uncle Kick!” Sammy wanders over to us, his arms swinging wide. “When are we having sa-mores?”
“Hey, buddy. You remember Jackson, from the sanctuary?” I say.
Sammy nods and bounces over to his side of the blanket. “Hey, Michael Jackson.” He sticks his tiny palm up for a high five.
Jackson awkwardly presses his much larger palm against Sammy’s. “You do remember me.”
Sammy, to his credit, says nothing else that could be incriminating. Instead, he turns to me, lifts his little finger to his lips, and makes a playful “zip” motion.
I smile at him to let him know he’s done the right thing keeping his mouth shut and make a mental note to chat with him about cooling it with obvious gestures that give it away.
Jackson either doesn’t notice, or if he does, he doesn’t give me shit about it, which is nice.
“I’ve never had sa-mores,” Sammy tells Jackson.
“Really?”
Sammy nods as I rifle my hand through his blond locks. “It’ll be his first fireworks show, too.”
Jackson lights up. “Ooh, I looove fireworks.”
His excitement is such a U-turn from his usual demeanor it takes my brain a split second to decipher that he’s being genuine and not sarcastic. He starts telling Jackson about all the fireworks shows he went to as a kid. I sit back and let them have their moment. It’s the first time Jackson hasn’t appeared uneasy around Sammy.
“Sammy! You want a s’more, buddy?” Wagner yells out from the fire pit he, Chris, and Tim must have lit up while Jackson and I were talking.
“Sa-moooores!” Sammy squeals excitedly and takes off.
“It’ll be a big night for the little guy,” Jackson says, looking after him.
“Yeah. It will be.” I finish the last of my drink. “Never knew you were so into fireworks.”
He smiles a little self-consciously. “It’s dumb.”
“Don’t say that. If you like something, like it. I mean, look at Pip. Given the chance, he’d eatallthe s’mores.” I glance across the yard, watching the dude stuff his face. “He’s not embarrassed. Own your shit, Hunter.”
“I…I guess.”
I haul myself up. “Want me to get you one?”
He lifts his head, meeting my gaze with a smile. “That’d be great. Thanks.”
