Across from her, Eli and Noelle Hueston took chairs, and beside them, their son Kyle and his wife, Emma, their drummer. “I used to live in Minneapolis,” Emma said. She forked pasta into her mouth. “Yum.”
“Yeah. I grew up in Minneapolis,” Raina said, hoping they’d move on. “I worked here and there as a chef. But it’s an easy recipe. Just some brown sugar, molasses, honey, Worcestershire sauce, mustard, liquid smoke—stir it together, add salt and pepper.”
“Oh, I have to have a recipe. I could never throw anything together like that,” Annalise Decker said, sitting on a bench across the fire. “To just guess? That takes special talent.” She smiled at Raina. “This was a great idea, by the way. Thanks.”
The water lapped the shore, a family of seagulls landing nearby, hungry, watching for dropped tidbits. The smell of campfire smoke tinged the misty evening air, the coals crackling as the sunlight flamed across the lake.
The conversation turned to past dragon boat races, other teams, then a rating of the annual fish burger stand and an opinion on the new cupcakes at the donut shop. Raina listened, quiet, soaking in the sense of family, even laughing at the inside jokes.
Casper stood just outside the ring, eating his burger and looking on, a strange smile on his face.
She glanced at him now and again, and he met her eyes once. She heard them then, his words from before.
I might be the captain, but you’re definitely first mate.
First mate.
She finished her burger, collected a few empty plates, and found the trash. She overheard Casper talking about the next practice, then saw Jensen and Claire, Kyle and Emma packing up their folding chairs. Noelle retrieved her bowl of pasta, and Annalise distributed the remainder of the cookies to the crowd. Raina didn’t realize how focused she was on cleaning until she looked up again and realized the majority of the team had left.
Including, it seemed, Casper.
Without saying good-bye. At least not to her.
Only John and Ingrid remained. Tiger stood on the shore, throwing rocks into the lake.
She tried not to let Casper’s escape bother her as she bundled up the garbage.
John retrieved the bag from her. “Great dinner,” he said.
She managed a smile.
Ingrid found her empty container of caramel bars. Her blonde hair pulled back with a headband, she wore a pair of capris, the oversize lime-green team T-shirt like a tunic. In a way, Ingrid reminded Raina of so many of the PTA mothers who had lined up in their minivans, picking up kids after school.
Raina had walked home after school, her key dangling from a string around her neck. She’d never had a PTA mother.
But she’d wanted one.
“Raina, you are turning out to be the Christiansen family’s secret weapon! First you help Grace pull together a delicious wedding dinner, and now you’re helping Casper build team spirit. We just might have to adopt you.” Ingrid gave her a one-armed hug before following John out to their Caravan, leaving Raina alone with the now-doused fire, the empty picnic shell.
The seagulls moved in, picking up the picnic scraps, the sun falling behind the clouds, the sky a mottled, bloody red.
Raina shooed away the gulls, sat down at the fire, picked up a stick to poke at it. John had doused it with water, so the embers swam in an ashy-gray stew.
Heat pressed her eyes. One minute she’d been in the middle of the conversation—okay, on the edge listening, but here, on the team. The next . . . Despite Ingrid’s words, it felt like the story of her life. She got up to check the area for any more garbage, threw out a couple runaway napkins, then headed toward the beach to walk home.
Behind her, tires crunched on gravel. “Raina!”
She looked up. Casper got out of his truck, closing the door. He jogged over to her. “Where are you going?”
She blinked, fast, hard, not wanting him to see the moisture in her eyes. “Home?”
“On such a beautiful night? Don’t you want to see the best place in all of Deep Haven to watch the sunset?”
He stood there, twirling his key chain, grinning as if they’d planned this, a friendly sunset date. Or maybe they had—she had a faint recollection of him mentioning the sunset today at practice. He’d been serious?
She frowned. “But . . . you left.”
“Sorry. I had to run to the office and pay for our use of the picnic shelter. I forgot and I didn’t want them to think we were running off, leaving the bill behind.”
She stared at him.
“What?”
“It’s just . . . you aren’t at all the guy I thought you were.”
“Who did you think I was?”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now.” She glanced toward the setting sun, not sure if she should give him an out. “I think people had a good time—”