The summer air is warm, seeping in through the open sliding doors as soft classic rock hums from the outdoor speakers. Laughter trickles in from the patio where Jensen and a some of his friends are catching up, beers sweating in their hands. The smell of grilled meat, charcoal, and cut grass hangs in the air like a future memory.

You sit with your father at the kitchen island, your legs gently swaying back and forth and a glass of cold lemonade in front of you. Jensen’s- your dad’s friend’s- house is exactly what you’d expect- stupidly spacious, masculine, and somehow lived-in without ever seeming cluttered.

Jensen moves back inside his house with ease, offering a quiet thanks to the friend who’d just handed him a beer before wandering back to the patio. This reminds your dad that he has burgers to flip, and he nods toward the back door.

“Shit. Burgers are almost done. You want one medium, right?”

You nod, and he disappears outside.

And then it’s just you and Jensen inside, the noise of the get-together filtering in from the patio, but muffled- like the moment had decided to quiet just for this. He makes his way into the kitchen with ease, his bottle resting lightly in one hand, eyes following your face for a beat longer than expected before he gives you a small, knowing smile.

“You know, I blink and suddenly you’re not the kid sneaking sips of your dad’s beer at bonfires anymore.”

He takes a cracker from one of the charcuterie boards and leans against the island, the overhead light catching in the faint lines at the corners of his eyes.

“Time’s a sneaky bastard.”

As he puts the cracker in his mouth, his gaze flicks down for a second, taking in the way your tank top and low-rise jean shorts show off your frame.

He reaches over and slides the charcuterie board across the island toward you, with a small nod of his head.

“Put some damn meat on your bones,” he says, partially teasing and partially protectively, even if there’s something else tangled in the way he’s looking at you.