“You looked like you were earlier.” When he’s not whispering, the rumble of his voice vibrates through his chest.

“Gotcha.” She laughs. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Because I like you, Joy. And I’d like to see you happy.”

Joy lifts her head. This is the closest she’s ever been to him and it feels . . . nice. She examines his face, one feature at a time, seeing him for the dozenth time and the first time. He blinks slowly. Or maybe it just feels that way.

“Oh my god,” Summer yells. “Why does he get to hug you and I don’t? I give way better hugs than he does.”

Fox answers without taking his eyes off Joy. “Probably because I asked first.”

Joy laughs, planning to tell Summer she can have a hug too—she’s feeling generous—but her gaze finds Malcolm instead. He’s staring at them like he isn’t sure what he’s seeing, blinking rapidly in disbelief. His brow furrows into a deep frown. He snaps out of it, shaking his head, and takes the food tray the rest of the way to the fire pit.

“Iris,” Joy says quickly.

Fox drops his hands immediately and takes a half-step away from her. “Sunflower.”

“Sunflower?” Summer asks, taking another pull from her beer.

He nods. “Sunflower.”

“Whatever. I don’t care.” Summer has hit that stage where she drunkenly wobbles when she walks, but it looks purposeful when she does it, like she’s dancing to music only she can hear. “I’m starving,” she says to Malcolm. “Are there veggie dogs?”

“I didn’t forget.” He says it like it’s an inside joke and she responds the same, “Remember, that was all your fault.”

They position the chairs around the fire in a circle, and Malcolm passes out roasting skewers. Hot dogs and links are the primary attraction, but at some point, Malcolm also cooks hamburgers and a slab of ribs. The dessert station has ingredients for s’mores neatly laid out. Two more pints of Joy’s favorite ice cream are chilling in ice buckets next to more beer.

“We should play a game,” Summer says, turning her veggie dog over the fire like it’s on a manual spitfire.

“What kind?” Malcolm asks.

“Something fun but easy.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll win,” Joy says. “I get really competitive. It’s one of my worst traits.”

Fox asks, “Worse than your pervasive honesty? That’s still number one for me.”

“Not quite that bad,” she says, playing along. Pervasive, she thinks, trying not to smile. That’s a new one. She figures he’s thought up his own new game where he gives her creatively strange compliments. “But it’s up there. Malcolm, remember the Great Beer Pong Disaster, when I flipped the table?”

Malcolm is sitting back in his chair, arms crossed, and very much not looking at her. “Yeah.”

Summer asks, “On purpose?”