Page 97 of Big Dill

“Yeah,” I say, sliding a thick piece of hardwood onto the grate. “But let’s do the steaks in a pan. Too dark to barbecue now.”

“Perfect.” She heads for the fridge. “I’ll make a salad. You know your mom wants you eating your vegetables.”

I groan, and she laughs, already pulling things out. She hums as she works, the sound filling the cottage in a way that feels…right. Once the fire’s crackling again, I join her in the small kitchen.

She looks up at me, smiles, and reaches out to touch my face. “I like napping with you.”

“Bed wasn’t too small?”

“I didn’t say that,” she laughs. Then, softer, “But it was… nice.”

I reach under the counter and pull out a pan. The clatter of dishes and the hum of the stove fill the small kitchen.

“Are you looking forward to the tournament in Alberta?” she asks, glancing up from the cutting board, her knife pausing mid-chop.

I unwrap the steaks, and reach for the seasoning. “Yeah, I think it’ll be fun. The games, the crowd… seeing everyone’s energy again.”

She smiles, chopping a cucumber with precision. “You and Jaxon have a good chance of winning?”

“I think we do.” I slide the steaks into the pan. “Winning would be great, but more than that, I’m looking forward to promoting our social.”

“Are you getting promotional material made?” she asks, curiosity in her tone.

“That’s Jaxon’s department,” I answer with a shrug. “He handles the design and branding side.”

She watches me for a moment, then smiles. “I love how well you two work together. Each of you has your own strengths, your own role, and somehow it all comes together to make the social a really special place.”

The second the words leave her mouth, something twists in my stomach—a flicker of guilt. We both go still for a heartbeat, the air thick with unspoken thoughts.

“Well,” I say, trying to shake it off. “Your clothing will be branded too.”

She glances up from the cucumber again, and I step closer, slipping my hand around her waist. I pull her gently against me. “Maybe you could come with us, help show it off,” I say, my voice low. Honestly, I might be asking for selfish reasons too. “Once the other clubs see our new line of clothing and branding, they’re all going to want their own.”

“You think?” Her knife hovers over the board, forgotten. Her eyes find mine, searching, daring. “You think it could be big?”

“I don’t know much about the industry, but yeah… I think it could be.”

She bites her lip, a half-smile tugging at her lips. “I’ve always wanted my own design line. New York fashion shows…” She throws a hand into the air. “Paris, France… That’s what I’ve always wanted.”

As I look at her, really look at her, I can’t help but wonder if that’s her dream, or if it’s what she feels she should want to finally win her parents’ approval.

“That’s what you consider success?” I ask gently, curious, careful not to push too hard.

She shrugs, slicing through the cucumber with a crisp thunk. “Yes. But this… sportswear… it’s not high fashion. So that’ll never happen.”

I tilt my head, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “That doesn’t mean you can’t redefine what success looks like… for you.”

She goes quiet, the knife tapping against the cutting board in a slow, thoughtful rhythm, the sound filling the brief hush between us. I reach for her hand, letting my fingers brush hers, grounding us again.

“The tournament’s in September,” she says. “I’ll likely be back on the mainland by then.”

I inch back at the reminder, a tightness in my chest. “Right,” I say casually, blowing it off. “Yeah. It was just a thought.”

She opens her mouth like she’s about to say something else, but whatever it is never makes it out. Instead, she turns to the fridge, and opens it. “I know I saw a tomato. But I don’t see it now.”

“Right here,” I say, reaching into the fruit bowl where I dropped it earlier. I set it beside the cutting board as she turns back to me.

She stares at it. Then at me. “You keep your tomatoes in the fruit bowl?”