Page 95 of The Friends and Rivals Collection

PERRI

“Check this out,” Shaw declares proudly.

At the grill on our parents’ deck that evening, my brother stands next to my father, sliding a spatula under a hamburger.

Dad rolls his hazel eyes. “You’re not going to do this again , are you?”

Shaw nods vigorously as he waggles the burger-laden spatula. “Don’t you trust me, Dad?”

Dad huffs. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s that I absolutely don’t trust you for a hot second not to mess up the most fantastic burgers I’ve made this year.”

Shaw claps Dad on the shoulder—they’re the same height and have been since Shaw was in high school. Six foot forever. Same build too—big. Same sense of humor—sarcastic as hell.

“Dad, I don’t want to hear that kind of negative self-talk. All your burgers are incredible. Say it with me.” Shaw puffs out his chest and adopts a Stuart Smalley tone. “My burgers are good enough, and gosh darn it, people like them.”

“What did I do to deserve this kind of torture?” Dad grabs another spatula and tries to swat Shaw’s burger back onto the grill.

I watch from my spot in the Adirondack chair on the deck.

Shaw-and-Dad slapstick is the best spectator theater.

I lean closer to Vanessa, whispering, “Bet you’ve never seen this routine before. ”

“Never,” she says sarcastically. “But it never grows old.”

Shaw darts around Dad and grabs another burger.

“You deserve this, Sam. You taught him everything he knows about being a provocateur,” Mom calls out through the open kitchen window.

“I did not, Gail.”

“Oh yes you did, and now it’s payback time,” she says.

Shaw turns to Vanessa and me. “Place your bets, ladies. Will the juggler and star of the firemen calendar crush it at burger flipping, or will he absolutely crush it like no one has crushed it before?”

Vanessa cups the side of her mouth. “The judges haven’t ruled. We want to see what you can do first.”

“Behold.” Shaw fixes his eyes on Vanessa in her capri jeans and short-sleeve summer sweater.

With the spatula, he tosses the first burger high in the air then whacks the next one skyward.

As they fly, he wiggles an eyebrow, winking as he catches the first grilled burger on the spatula, then the second.

He slides them back on the grill, holds his arms out wide, and takes a triumphant bow.

Vanessa claps. “And the judges have voted you on to the next round.”

“Hey, I’m on the jury too. I never vote in his favor,” I chime in.

Shaw turns to Dad. “See, Dad? And you never believed I had talent.”

Dad laughs again. “I always believed you had plenty of talent. That’s why I figured you’d join the big top rather than the fire service.”

“There’s still time,” I shout. “I heard the circus is having tryouts for clowns in a week.”

Vanessa provides a rim shot on an invisible drum set. “Hey Shaw, just how many burgers can you juggle?”

Dad swivels around, waving his spatula like a weapon. “Don’t encourage him or you’ll be banished, and I always liked you.”

Vanessa adopts the sweetest smile. “Of course, Mr. Keating. I won’t feed the circus animals anymore.”

We’re at our parents’ house for our usual Sunday supper.

When Shaw and I aren’t on shifts, we come here every week and our parents treat us—and sometimes our friends too—to a feast, as we share the latest on jobs and life.

Mom’s a former firefighter, one of the few female former chiefs in the state, and Dad’s a retired prosecutor.

The apples didn’t fall far from the tree with Shaw and me.

Shaw darts through the open door to the kitchen and returns seconds later with a ketchup bottle, a mustard container, and some steak sauce, sending the three bottles spinning in the air.

Dad groans, but Vanessa cheers him on. “Higher! Higher!”

He does as he’s asked, a fierce look of concentration in his hazel eyes, and I swear he’s performing for her. Well, that’s not a surprise. Men tend to perform for women. Even if he’s known her for years, and Vanessa is practically our sister. Guys always try to impress the chicks.

“What else can you juggle?” Vanessa asks, as he sets the condiments on the deck railing.

Shaw scans the porch when Mom calls out, “Don’t even think about juggling plates, Shaw.”

He holds up his hands in innocence. “Who? Me?” To Vanessa, he says, “I can juggle pretty much anything. As soon as you get the hang of it, all you have to do is know the rhythm and keep it as you toss.”

“Can you, say, juggle bowling balls?” she challenges.

“Vanessa, do not let this trickster convince you that he can juggle bowling balls,” I warn.

“I just want to see if Shaw will try to convince me that it’s actually possible. Or really, if he can convince himself.”

He smiles at her. “I’ll have you know, I am a most excellent convincer. In fact, I have received a master’s degree in convincing.”

Mom pokes her head out onto the deck, using her best battalion chief voice. “All right, master convincer, why don’t you bring my ketchup, mustard, and steak sauce back inside, so I don’t have to convince you the hard way to set the table?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

We head inside and mingle in the kitchen, grabbing drinks and chatting before gathering at the table a little later when Gabe and Arden arrive. As we sit down to eat, Mom clears her throat. “Vanessa, can you say grace? I always love how you say it.”

“Of course, Mrs. Keating.” Vanessa says thank you for the dinner in Spanish, her first language. She’s fluent in both Spanish and English, since she moved here from Colombia when she was six.

“Beautiful,” Mom says.

Shaw nods, echoing, “Beautiful.”

We dig into the meal, enjoying the salad, burgers, and corn as Mom quizzes my friends on what they’re up to these days, even though she saw the full crew only two weeks ago.

Arden tells a story about a book club she’s been hosting at the store, and Gabe catches my parents up on how his grandpa is doing—he’s holding on well enough.

Dad lifts a glass of water. “Sometimes ‘well enough’ is all you can wish for. I’ll drink a toast to that.”

“Me too,” Gabe says.

“And Shaw, how are you feeling about Charlie having moved away?” my mother asks, referring to the paramedic he was close with. Recently, Charlie returned to his hometown in Florida.

“Well, I miss the bastard.” Shaw brings the burger to his mouth and takes a bite.

Mom gives him a look. “Language.” She might have once hung out in the boy’s club at the firehouse, but that doesn’t mean she talked the dirty talk with them. “Why can’t you just say, ‘I miss my friend’?”

Gabe lifts his chin. “I can do it, Mrs. Keating.” He glances at Shaw. “Watch how it’s done.” Gabe takes a deep breath. “I miss my friend.”

Mom smiles, satisfied, gesturing to Gabe, then Shaw. “See?”

Shaw chews then huffs. “Fine, Mom. I miss the guy. But there’s a new guy who took his place, and he’s cool, so it’ll be fine.”

Mom smiles. “It’s always nice to make new friends.”

“Yes,” I chime in, “isn’t it wonderful after all this time that Shaw is finally playing well with the other boys?”

Mom stares at me. “Are you being sassy, missy?”

“Hmm. Am I?” I pretend to think about it. “Definitely,” I answer.

“And is sass the way to win a promotion?” Mom counters.

“I’m not sassy with the chief,” I say sheepishly.

“Then don’t be sassy with me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Arden grabs the conversational steering wheel. “Speaking of, what do you think about the new promotion that Perri’s up for, Mr. and Mrs. Keating? I’m so excited about the possibility.”

I cross my fingers. “Let’s hope it happens. I want it so badly.”

“All you have to do is be the friendly face of the department, keep up your impeccable record at busting scofflaws, and oh, what’s the last one?” Arden asks playfully.

Vanessa waggles her arms excitedly. “Oh, I know, I know! Call on me, please!”

I roll my eyes. “Seriously, guys?”

Arden points to Vanessa. “You want to do the honors?”

Dad sets down his burger, his hazel eyes curious. “This I’d like to hear.”

“Me too,” Mom says. “What’s going on now?”

Vanessa points animatedly at me. “Her boss wants her to enter a kissing contest.”

Dad arches a brow. “That one in Whiskey Hollows?”

“Oh my God, is everyone doing this contest?” I ask.

Mom gives Dad a flirty look, and I drop my forehead into my palm. “Please, dear God, please oh please tell me my parents aren’t doing the contest.”

But when I look up, they’re already lip-locked. He’s leaned next to her and is planting a big fat kiss on her lips.

Gabe whistles while Arden cheers and Shaw shouts, “Get a room.”

They break apart, and Mom bats her lashes. “We’ve still got it.”

“And I’m still going to need therapy,” I tease.

“Oh, please. I’ve always believed the best example that parents can set is to show appropriate physical affection in front of their children. Now, who’s your kissing partner? Also, don’t even think you can beat us in the seniors category.”

I crack up. “You’re right, Mom. I can’t best you there.”

She squeezes my dad’s arm then turns her focus back to me. “So, who is he? Have you met someone? Is there a new guy?”

“Please. I have no time for dating or relationships,” I say, though the truth is a little sadder.

Men don’t ask me out much. It’s a power thing.

Being a cop can intimidate people, so my dating life has been woefully limited to men I’ve met online, and I’ve simply never found a meaningful connection there.

I affect my best carefree smile. “But who needs a relationship? I only need a kissing partner for the contest. I’m helping raise money for first responders. ”