Malcolm has always been that way. Cooking, plating, serving food—he happily allows the entire hosting experience to fall on him. Unfortunately, it’s just another way his type A personality manifests. If he’s in control, no one can disrupt his dinner. No one can taint all his effort.

Joy’s been working on gently pushing Malcolm out of his controlling comfort zone in situations like this for years. She didn’t want him to plate her food because she didn’t like it. They eventually learned to meet in the middle. He always offers. She usually declines.

When he sets the salad tongs down, she picks them up and fills her plate. And for her next trick, she turns to Fox. “May I?”

“Oh, I can—”

“No, no. Please. Let me.”

Malcolm watches her do it. She gives him a cheeky smile and wink for his troubles. Whatever he does for Summer, she’ll do the same for Fox. She’ll take her cues wherever she can get them until she figures this thing out.

Once their plates are full, Malcolm begins to bless the food by asking everyone to bow their heads. Religion is an essential part of Malcolm’s life, affecting almost everything he does. He grew up Catholic but converted in college after he began to regularly attend a Baptist church near campus. Joy was mildly surprised to not see going to church on the agenda for the trip. He’s done it before—researched welcoming churches they could visit during their travels. It’s possible Summer isn’t as religious as he is and he wanted to respect that. Joy doesn’t know.

Malcolm concludes his prayer. “Let’s eat. Enjoy.”

“I can’t believe how good this looks.” Summer eats one of the scallops and pretends to pass out in her chair. “Oh my god. This is magic.”

Joy snorts. “Malcolm the Magician strikes again.” She takes her first bite—okay, Summer wasn’t exaggerating. The risotto practically melts in her mouth, sending her taste buds to heaven and back again.

“Jesus,” Fox mutters as he chews. “I think it’s illegal for vegetables to taste this good.”

Malcolm says nothing. Bragging isn’t his style. He’s always preferred to let the testimony of others speak for him and his work. But Joy, who can read him better than anyone, knows how pleased he is. Mission accomplished; his nervousness begins to fade. He sits up a little straighter, the worry lines disappear from around his eyes, the tension in his jaw relaxes. He pushes a button on a small black remote and melodic jazz music begins to float around the room.

As they eat, Summer starts to tell a story about a disastrous school play she had the misfortune to direct. Everything went wrong, from some of the plastic elements for the set design melting during a heatwave to a small outbreak of lice.