“Well, yeah. I’m not the one who hit the ball or dropped a cooler on her foot.” She glanced down and then looked at me like I was an idiot. “Are you okay?”

That explained why the toes on my right foot were a little pissed off.

“Perfectly fine.” I grasped the plastic handles of the cooler and got it off my foot. Sweet relief swept over the little digits when the pressure was removed. Luckily, the sand had taken most of the impact.

“Doesn’t look like anything’s broken, but I’m not exactly a doctor,” Morgan drawled as she dropped down to examine my foot.

“I’ve been through worse.”

“Well, thank you,” she said, coming to a stand. “But I’m sorry you got hurt.”

“Perfectly fine,” I repeated like a puppet with a pulled string.

“Those are some serious reflexes you’ve got there,” she said as we walked the rest of the way to the grill where the sand firmed up.

“Having a five-year-old daughter will keep you on your toes.” I deposited the cooler in the sand and slapped Moreno on the back. “How about I take over, and you can go give Garrett and Sawyer a hand? They’re getting their asses kicked.”

Moreno laughed but handed over the spatula. “Yeah, I’ll go save their precious little egos. You got this?”

“Absolutely.” I opened the cooler and fished a beer out of the ice as Moreno joined the volleyball game. “Want one?” I asked Morgan.

She peeked around my shoulder at the selection.

“I’d love a Coke, please.”

I plunged my hand into the ice again and pulled out a Coke, brushing off tiny bits of ice from the top before handing it over.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, popping the top as I used the bottle opener I’d installed on the edge of the grill. “So, where is Finley?”

A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. Most women who ended up at our barbecues never thought to ask about my daughter unless she was actually there. “She’s with her grandmother.” I took a swallow of the cold beer and flipped over the first row of hamburgers.

“Oh.” Her forehead wrinkled as she watched the game, rotating the silver tab on her soda from side to side.

I nearly laughed—she looked so conflicted.

“You can ask, you know. I’m pretty open,” I offered, flipping the second row of burgers.

“Is she with her grandmother often?” She chanced a look at me.

“Vivian takes her a weekend a month. It gives them some girl time.”

“And you a little off time?” she asked, no judgment in her tone.

“Yeah, I guess. Lets me get stuff done, take a weekend shift at work—”

“And have Sunday barbecues,” she noted with a smile as she reached for the package of cheese slices on the grill’s side table. “Want me to unwrap?”