Hate You Not

“Don’t hold them out like that, remember?” I remind Oliver. “We don’t want to drop them.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s okay.”

We all watch as Burke grins down at George. It’s maybe the softest smile I’ve ever seen on him.

“You’re a cute guy, aren’t ya?” he croons.

“Look, here’s Peppa!” Margot moves to stand by Burke, rubbing Peppa’s belly as she cradles her like a doll. “They’re best buddies,” she says.

Burke rubs Peppa’s velvety little pig ear. “Look at you,” he murmurs.

But I’m looking at him as I lean against the corner of the small wooden roof that covers a corner of the pig pen. He crouches down and plays with George, Peppa, and the kids for almost half an hour. Then the kids drag him back through the goat enclosure, and he makes his rounds with the goats, giving each one attention and stroking their necks and backs.

Finally, when the heat is frying my brain and I’m feeling red-cheeked and off-kilter, I check my phone’s clock. “Let’s go check the pool, and then you kids will have to start your movie. It’s time for me to start the decorating. Leah’s coming over to help.”

Burke is quiet as we walk around the house. He rides the kids on his shoulders. I catch his gaze on me once as we move, but when I meet his eyes, he quickly looks away.

As it turns out, the pool is only halfway filled.

“They told me on the phone that we can get in when it’s sixty-five percent filled,” Burke tells us. “There’s a line there on the inside.”

“Are you going back to Shawn’s place for a while?” I ask.

He nods. “He wants to go riding dirt roads,” he says, using air quotes. His brows arch behind his sunglasses.

“Ahh. So, we don’t really do helmets or anything with that. Be careful.”

“Is riding dirt roads like…riding ATVs?”

“Yeah. We call them four wheelers around here, though.”

He nods, biting on his lower lip, and I smile. “Really, do be careful. Sometimes people get bad hurt on those things, and Shawn is a nut.”

He nods. “Will do.” He walks around the pool, climbs one of the ladders to peek in, and then steps over to me with his hands in his pockets. “You good here?”

“Me? Oh yeah…I’m fine. Leah and I have totally got this. Some of our other friends are coming over, too. You’ll see the whole crew when you and Shawn get here.”

“What time will that be?”

“Oliver wanted burgers and hot dogs, so I think we’ll kick off around 4:30. Shawn said he wants to man the grill.” I roll my eyes.

“I’ll help him.”Chapter 22BurkeI don’t know why it matters, but I need her to see me as a good guy. Not some dude from Forbes, but like an actual nice guy who just does normal shit like ride an ATV and use a grill.

When we return to June’s house for the party, first I find the kids—they’re in the pool with their cousins, clinging to those colored noodle things—and tell them that I like the dinosaur balloons and décor tacked onto the front of the house.

They want me to referee a speed contest across the pool’s diameter, so I do that from up on the ladder and proclaim Oliver the winner before heading toward the house. When we were riding the ATVs through the woods behind Shawn’s house, he asked me if I’d fire the grill up once I got here. I want to get that done and then find June.

The problem is, the grill that’s in her front yard, parked near the card tables between the pool and the porch, doesn’t have a gas tank. There’s a bag of charcoal by it, but I don’t know what to do with the charcoal to get it going.

Shit.

Mary Helen and a red-haired woman I don’t think I know walk past me with a bucket of wine coolers, and I nod, tipping the ball cap Shawn loaned me.

“Burke. So glad to see you again!” Mary Helen does the arm squeeze thing that’s always awkward, but then flashes me a sincere-looking smile. “This is my friend Shelly.”

I shoot the shit with them for just a second. Then I steal around by the side of the house and pull my phone out of my pocket. I Google “charcoal grill how to light” and jump about a mile as someone says, “Burke?”

Holy fuck!

“June.”

She’s wearing some kind of loose white…jumper thing with sandals and a ponytail, and she’s got her hands shoved into her pockets.

“Hey.” She gives me a look that’s part expectant, part tense, and part friendly.

I slide my phone into my pocket. “Sorry, were you looking for me?”

“Nope. Just…” She tosses a pained glance over her shoulder, toward the backyard. “Needed to escape. Really, I need a drink, but that requires human interaction, so I settled for escaping. This is where I come to get away when there’s a party. These bushes”—she nods behind us—“are a little prickly, but if you stand right in front of them, no one can really see you from the front of the house.”