Smoke curls into the air.
Heat rolls across my face.
Hector appears from somewhere behind a pickup truck carrying another bag of charcoal. He slows the moment he notices me, quietly folds his arms across his chest, and just watches with an amused smile.
"Don't you dare," I warn him.
"I haven't said anything."
"You look like you're about to."
"I've never seen anyone hold barbecue tongs like they're radioactive."
"They're very hot," I point out.
"That's generally how grills work," he replies.
"I don't appreciate your tone."
He steps closer, reaches past me, and adjusts the way I'm holding the tongs without making a big deal out of it.
"Relax your hand," he says.
"I am relaxed."
"The tongs are shaking."
I glance down.
"Maybe they're the ones feeling scared."
"You mean you're s
