Forums » General Roleplay » Summer Soirée: Lakeside Soiree at Night [18+]

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Strings of a guitar sounded as Hannah played it and hummed happily. Lips turned up in a genuine and friendly smile while the steaks cooked upon the grill. She wore an orange outfit that was comfortable enough, no shoes and hair down. A platinum locket caught the light from both the bulbs overhead and the firepit with each movement made. A guitar pick lazily strummed as she played the acoustic instrument with an unhurried rhythm. A timer went off as she got up and placed the guitar to lean against the wooden chair, the pick left on the armrest, as she headed over to the grill area a few feet away. That same tune was hummed as she busied herself. The steaks were seasoned a little bit more and then flipped over with a pair of tongs.

She moved over to another grill as the lid was opened up. Steam rushed upward as seasoned strips of chicken were revealed. The scent of BBQ hung in the air as a different set of tongs was used to flip these over as well before the lid was closed. The tongs were set down and then she worked on the fresh vegetables that had been cleaned prior to now. With a sharp knife, skillful hands chopped cucumbers, squash, potatoes, onions and carrots. A long, thin skewer was used to put a bit of everything onto each one. Dozens of these were made as she prepped them for light seasoning and set them to the side for a moment as she checked on the hamburgers in a third grill.

These juicy patties were flipped as she went ahead and sauteed some fresh onions to as a topper for these. Hannah made sure there was lettuce, freshly sliced tomatoes and cheese, too. The buns were ready. The burgers needed a little longer to cook, so she closed the lid set the timer on it. Then she moved back over to the first grill to check the steaks. These, too, were nearly done. everything smelled delicious! She couldn't wait to dig in as a smile curled those lips. While everything cooked her hands were washed, then made it a point to pour herself a strawberry and cherry mixed punch that she made by hand earlier. Sure, it was a work and might have been easier to buy the packaged stuff. But she didn't mind hard work. There was a sense of appreciation that tended to come with it.

Nathan hadn’t planned on sticking around this long. His original idea was to take a week off—maybe ten days, tops. Just enough time to visit a few local farms, try some regional barbecue, and maybe catch up on sleep (though, let’s be honest, that never really happened). A change of scenery, he’d told himself. Clear his head. Get some fresh air away from the pressure cooker that was his restaurant back in the city.

It was supposed to be a solo trip through the Southwest, with detours for food festivals, wineries, and open-air markets. But somewhere along the way—maybe it was the easy charm of the small towns, or the local butcher who let him help prep sausages just for fun—he found himself slowing down.

That’s when he saw it.

The flyer was stapled to a wooden post outside a rodeo arena. A little frayed at the edges from the wind, but still perfectly legible.

"SUMMER SOIREE!"
Lake. Lights. Firepit. BBQ. Fruit drinks.
Bring your appetite and your good vibes.
Everyone welcome.

It wasn’t flashy. No logo. No RSVP. Just a hand-drawn border of little stars and dancing flames, and a note in thick black marker at the bottom: "Hannah’s hosting. Don’t be weird."

Nathan had to laugh.

It wasn’t the kind of invitation he’d usually take seriously. No curated guest list, no press coverage, no kitchen he could sneak into. But something about it... maybe the simplicity, maybe the fact that someone named Hannah had the guts to tell an entire town “don’t be weird” in permanent marker—caught his attention.

He didn’t know anyone here. He wasn’t dressed for it. But he was a chef who hadn’t had a real conversation outside of food service in weeks. And the idea of a firepit and a lakeside grill, under stars instead of kitchen fluorescents? That sounded... oddly perfect.

So he scribbled the directions into his notes app, bought a pack of fancy marshmallows at the co-op for good measure, and dusted off the denim jacket he never got to wear in the kitchen.

“Just for a little while,” he told himself.

Maybe he wouldn’t stay long.

Maybe he’d just grab a plate, say a polite hello, and disappear into the dark with a drink in hand.

Or maybe—just maybe—he’d finally stop thinking about work for a few hours.

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The dirt path crunched beneath his boots as Nathan made his way toward the lake, the soft glow of hanging lights flickering like fireflies through the trees. Music drifted on the breeze—an acoustic guitar, low and easy, threading through the night air with a rhythm that matched the pulse of the summer heat.

But it was the smell that hooked him.

That unmistakable scent of open flame and seasoned meat, smoke curling lazily into the dark sky. Sweet and savory all at once—caramelized onions, charred fat, a hint of mesquite wood. A proper barbecue, by the smell of it. One that wasn’t phoning it in.

Nathan’s pace slowed as he approached the clearing. The lake shimmered to the side, black glass under moonlight, but his attention was fully captured by the makeshift cooking station at the heart of the gathering. Several grills hissed and sizzled in rhythm, their lids lifted in turns by a barefoot woman in orange—her movements confident, practiced, like she knew the timing without looking.

And damn, did it smell good.

He caught the tang of a citrusy marinade just as a puff of steam rushed up from one of the grills. Then came the scent of fresh vegetables—cut sharp and clean—followed by the mellow warmth of sautéed onions hitting hot metal. His stomach gave a low, traitorous growl.

This wasn’t like a cookout you'd find in a backyard on 4th of July. It was someone’s passion project.

Nathan lingered at the edge of the food area, one hand in his jacket pocket, the other holding a sweating bottle of mineral water he'd picked up along the way. He didn’t make a show of it, didn’t try to interrupt—but his trained eye swept across the spread.

The grills were clean. The prep station was organized. Skewers arranged by color and cut. Whoever was in charge here cared. A lot.

He couldn’t help but smile.

A few guests milled about, laughter rising here and there, the crackle of the firepit mixing with the low strum of music and clinking glasses. Someone offered him a cup of punch in passing, and he gave a polite nod, but didn’t take it—his feet were already moving toward the grills, as if drawn by instinct alone.

That was always how it worked. He didn’t follow crowds. He followed flavor.

And right now, something on that grill was calling his name.

Once again, Lyra found herself wandering aimlessly, her violin case clutched tightly in her hand as she strolled through the warm summer air. The summer holiday, which was supposed to be a time of relaxation and leisure, had instead become a source of stress for her. The more she stayed at home, the more anxious she became, largely due to her mother's persistent requests that she resume her piano lessons. Lyra had never been fond of playing the piano; in fact, she harbored a deep-seated hatred for it. The thought of spending hours practicing scales and arpeggios filled her with a sense of dread.

The reason she felt obligated to continue with the piano lessons, despite her distaste for them, was because her mother had been paying for her college tuition. Her mother was not just a parent but also a significant benefactor, and Lyra felt beholden to her. This sense of obligation weighed heavily on her, and she resented her mother for it. As she walked, her feelings of resentment simmered just below the surface, and she couldn't help but feel trapped in a life that wasn't of her choosing. She hated the piano, she hated the pressure her mother put on her, and most of all, she hated the feeling of being controlled.

In an attempt to clear her head and escape the confines of her stressful thoughts, Lyra continued her aimless wandering. She walked towards the lake, the serene surroundings and the sound of the water lapping against the shore providing a calming balm to her frazzled nerves. As she strolled, she became aware of a faint melody carried on the breeze - the soft, melodic tune of a guitar. Curiosity piqued, Lyra followed the sound, her feet carrying her towards the source of the music.

As she drew closer, the melody grew louder and more distinct, and she found herself swaying slightly to the rhythm. The music was beautiful, and it seemed to match the rhythm of her heartbeat. Along with the sound of the guitar, Lyra's nose picked up on another enticing scent - the smell of grilled food wafting through the air, mingling with the smoke from a barbecue. Her stomach, which she had neglected throughout the day, suddenly growled with hunger. Lyra realized, with a start, that she hadn't eaten anything that day, a fact that didn't usually bother her as she often skipped meals. However, the savory aroma of the BBQ had awakened her appetite, and she felt a pang of hunger.

Guided by the sound of the guitar and the tantalizing smell of food, Lyra continued on her way, her senses leading her to the source. As she rounded a bend in the path, she caught sight of a girl expertly grilling meat over an open flame. The girl's eyes were focused on the task at hand. Lyra felt a flush rise to her cheeks as she hesitated, unsure of how to approach.

"Hi, sorry... it smells good, so it led me here," Lyra said, breaking the silence. "Your guitar playing is good too." She nodded towards Hannah's guitar and smiled tentatively. Before she could say anything else, she would nod toward Nathan when their gaze met.

A slow sip was taken from her cup. She caught the scent of others that seemed to be close by as the breeze carried their scent around the small gathering. A steady and warm smile curved her lips upward as she turned over to glance toward the first person who seemed to approach. He seemed to follow something but she didn't really stop him from coming too close to the grills. As long as the food wasn't removed too early, she would be happy. "Good evenin', foods almost ready if yer hungry." Words were slow and unhurried, a Southern accent clear in the sweet tones of her voice as she addressed the man. Her drink was placed down and out of the way as the second grill lid was lifted. A set of tongs were picked up, the chicken strips and bone-in chicken were flipped to a different side. A brush of BBQ was applied as she knew it would be done within five more minutes.

The dark sauce was homemade, of course. Everything here that could be made from scratch, was. Tongs were set back down where she had them as the woman stepped over to the third grill to open it's lid. Smoke rose and took with it a deeply savory scent as it wafted upward. The hamburgers were finished just as the timer for them went off. She didn't need the devices, but they were there in case someone pulled her to the side for a moment. With spatula, the thick patties of beef were lifted and placed onto a clean, empty plate she had ready. This was only the first batch, of course. The plate was set to the side as the grill was briefly cleaned and was ready for more. Hands were washed, dried and she placed the next batch of thick beef patties onto the grill. She made sure her hands were washed again before light seasoning was applied. These burgers would be spicier than the previous batch.

When she heard a woman's voice, Hannah glanced up and smiled warmly. "No need to apologize, sweetheart. Ain't nothing wrong with followin' a smell that appeals to ya. Yer just in time. Got some hot dogs, and burgers right here. Help yerself, there's plenty and more comin'." Hannah looked from Lyra to Nathan and gave them both essentially a warm invitation to eat as much as they pleased if they chose to. She closed the lid, started the timer once more and then moved over to the first grill as she could smell the steaks were finished at last based on scent alone. The timer for it barely had time to go off as she was already next to it. She turned it off a second before it sounded and soon the lid was lifted up to reveal the steaks. These were thick, juicy and seasoned with a hint of spicy to it. Not overpowering and slow cooked to hold the juiciness within. Her own mouth watered.

Similar to the hamburgers, these were placed onto a clean plate of their own she had ready ahead of time. The plate was set down next to the hamburgers. One of the steaks, of course, was put on a smaller plate as she claimed it for herself. Had to feed the inner bob cat! Her plate was set off to the side along with her drink. The grill was briefly cleaned as she prepped it up with practiced ease and had it ready for more. The skewered veggies she had made were placed evenly onto the grill as they wouldn't take long to cook. Soon enough, they were done, placed neatly on a large plate and set next to the other side dishes. There was coleslaw, baked beans, mashed potatoes, yams, turnip greens, okra, squash cornbread... She had made it a point to include as many choices as her kitchen could prep at the time. Again, everything was made from scratch if it could be. The grill was cleaned down and the next round of steaks were placed onto it. "If anyone wants their steak a certain way, best tell me now." She called out over the small crowd of gathered folks.

For a brief moment, Lyra paused and took a sight at how dangerously good looking the meal that the girl prepared by herself was. The aroma wafting from the grill was tantalizing, and Lyra's eyes widened as she took in the spread before her. It looked nice! yes and maybe she was being too generous with the amount of food she was grilling, Lyra thought to herself. The sizzling burgers and hot dogs seemed to be calling her name, and her stomach growled in anticipation. And when Hannah talked to her, she offered her a warm and inviting smile.

Lyra's stomach grumbled in protest, as if it couldn't wait any longer to be fed. "I'm sorry," Lyra said, her cheeks flushing slightly, in case anyone had caught the sound of her tummy rumbling. She was mortified, but the hostess didn't seem to mind.

But, the hostess was nice and cooked the meat with skilled hands, expertly flipping the beef patties as they sizzled on the grill. Lyra wondered if she did the grilling every time, as she seemed to be a pro at it. She also had a nice dialect when she talked. As Lyra's eyes swept across the table, she was taken aback by the sheer variety of foods on offer. There were squash cornbread, more burgers, another burgers which looks spicier, and more, and Lyra was a bit confused on what she should take in first. Her eyes landed on the skewered veggies, and she started gulping, her mouth watering at the sight of the tender vegetables. The mashed potato and turnip greens also made her mouth water, and Lyra couldn't help but feel a little overwhelmed by the spread.

She didn't want to look like a bad kid, her mother had always forced her to have some table manner, and out of habit, she was now attached to it. Lyra took a deep breath and composed herself, trying to look as civilized as possible despite her growling stomach.

And when Hannah asked about how she would like the steak to be cooked, Lyra raised her hand. "Oh! Uhm... Could I have a well-done steak? Thank you," she said honestly, not wanting to take any chances with undercooked meat. And then she showed Hannah her violin case, which was slung over her shoulder. "While you're grilling, would that be okay with you if I company with some music?" she asked, hoping that Hannah wouldn't mind. Lyra was eager to play some music to accompany the meal, and she hoped that Hannah would be okay with it.

Nathan had barely finished cataloging the grill setup in his head when a soft voice broke through the mingled haze of BBQ smoke and guitar strings. He turned his head in time to catch the girl—violin case in hand, cheeks pink from either the heat or nerves—speaking to the hostess. She offered a compliment and an apology in the same breath, the kind of polite awkwardness he recognized instantly. He offered her a small, side-glance nod of acknowledgment when their eyes met, paired with the faintest quirk of his lips. Friendly. Not intrusive.

Before he could decide whether to retreat or jump in, the woman at the grill—Hannah, he assumed—called out to both of them with a Southern lilt that made everything sound easier than it probably was. Her confidence around the grill was magnetic. Nathan watched the way she moved, with that intuitive rhythm you only saw in people who really knew their way around heat and seasoning.

He stepped in closer once the invitation was made clear.

“The balance in the air… sweet, smoky, savory—whatever’s in that sauce, I’m stealing it in my dreams tonight.” He wasn’t being sarcastic. He meant it. There was sincerity in his tone, the kind of compliment a chef gave another when they recognized the work behind the plate.

He glanced toward Lyra when she made her steak request, noting the way she clutched her violin case like a lifeline. “Well-done?” he teased, gently, a glimmer of mischief in his blue eyes. “Bold choice. I respect it. Goes against every culinary gospel I was taught.” And when she offered to play, Nathan raised a brow in interest.

“A violin with barbecue? That’s a hell of a pairing,” he said, then offered Hannah a look of amused approval. “You always get this kind of talent showing up at your cookouts, or is this a special occasion?”

He moved over to the table where the plates were laid out, eyeing the vegetables and sides with real curiosity. His fingers hovered over a skewered veggie set before gently selecting one—testing texture, gauging balance. A soft hum escaped him after the first bite. “Jesus. That squash is singing,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

Then, louder—directed to Hannah: “You do everything from scratch? Seriously?”

His posture stayed relaxed, one shoulder cocked, forearm braced lightly on the edge of the table as he sampled a bit of cornbread next. Still fully present, still listening, especially now that a violin might be entering the mix.

Nathan popped the last bite of squash off the skewer and let out a soft, approving exhale through his nose. He could tell by the way the edges of the vegetables were seared just enough to tease out their sweetness without turning them to mush. This woman, Hannah, knew exactly what she was doing.

But when Lyra lifted her violin case slightly and asked if she could play, Nathan turned his attention fully back to her, taking in the mix of nervous hope and that kind of quiet eagerness artists carried when they offered a piece of themselves.

He smiled, stepping just slightly closer—not intruding, but present.

“You should eat first,” he said gently, gesturing toward the table now loaded with hot food. “Seriously. You can’t play from an empty stomach—at least not well.” He tilted his head, eyes narrowing playfully. “Trust me, that’s the chef in me talking, not the critic.”

Then, more softly: “Feed your body before you feed everyone else’s soul.”

The words weren’t dramatic, just sincere. He knew what it felt like to give too much without refueling first.

He gave a small, encouraging nod toward the steak plate. “Get yourself that well-done steak before someone snags the last one. I won’t judge. Much.” A half-smile curved his lips, teasing but without bite.

His gaze flicked briefly to Hannah again. “And maybe you should be charging admission,” he added dryly. “Between the food and a live violin set, I feel like I wandered into a secret pop-up.”

With that, Nathan took a step back, letting Lyra have the space to decide. He didn’t pressure. Just waited, casually sipping from the bottle of water he hadn’t even realized he was still holding.

Hannah was used to the heat. Even as the summer warmth beat down as it did, she was used to it. She was used to the kitchen and made everything by scratch as she'd been taught to by both parents. The family loved to cook. Besides, work on a ranch required a lot of energy which equaled a lot of food made! She heard the requests for the steaks. Some well-done, some extra spicy, and a few medium rare. The information was locked in her mind with ease and the meats neatly spaced out as she seasoned each with different spices. Her homemade BBQ was applied as well as a different one applied to the ones designated for extra heat. Her head turned slightly as she heard Nathan's reaction followed by his sincere remark about the sauce. It did bring a warm smile appear. "The recipe has been in the family fer years, darlin'." In other words it was a family secret and Hannah wasn't one to tell them. Many trusted her with their secrets as these would go to the grave with her someday.

She heard the girl's stomach aside from what was spoken. An understanding smile tugged at the woman's lips and her head motioned toward the table of food as a gentle nudge to try anything the girl wanted to. "No need to be sorry 'bout anything, sweetie." She could see the flush in the girl's cheeks so she remained steady, calm and maybe it might help any awkwardness. As for the man, she noticed his reserved stance and still offered a warm smile all the same. People came in from all walks of life and different backgrounds. That was just fine! To Lyra's request, "There's some well-made steaks there in the front, honey. Take as many as ya like. Dun worry yerself none, ok?" She turned fully toward them both, a warm and unhurried expression showed. Though her last statement was more of a gentle ask if the girl would eat, because those stomach growls didn't go unnoticed. And honestly, there was more than enough food being made that both of them could have seconds, thirds or more if they so chose to.

"There's more food comin' so please, eat as much as ya both like." As for the amused approval in the man's eyes and what he said next, Hannah grinned. "Not many folks 'round here play violin. But I'd be sure happy to hear the melodies that be comin' from those strings." She then closed the lid of the grill with the raw steaks, set the timer and stepped back a little to cut a piece of her own steak to pop it quickly into her mouth. The wild bob cat within purred in the back of her mind and she couldn't agree more! The steak piece was juicy, tender with just the right amount of spiciness to it in addition to the BBQ flavor. She groaned in appreciation before the bite was finished. She heard the soft hum and Nathan's words, even if it had been more to himself. It couldn't be helped though because of Hannah's supernatural sense of hearing while the man was within range of it. She took a drink from her cup before it was set down as she heard him ask her something directly this time.

The woman turned toward him fully, a hand steadily on the table as she leaned slightly. "Yes, seriously. Everything that can be made from scratch, is. Including the punch, if yer thirsty." A hint of amusement, yet honesty sparked in her eyes. She did notice the bottle of water in his hand while he sampled what he pleased. It warmed her heart knowing folks liked her cooking. There was a certain amount of satisfaction she felt. As Lyra asked if she minded the violin being played, Hannah lit up with genuine delight. "Course ya can play. As much as yer heart wants to, hon. Though I need to agree with the young man here. Maybe eat something first?" She knew the body needed to stay fueled in order to work. It was just a simple fact of life. One that Nathan seemed to recognize, too, as she gave him a quiet, knowing look. Now as for the comment about charging admission? She cracked a smile and laughed a little with amusement.

"Maybe a secret pop-up is what folks need? I wouldn't feel right to charge a dime. 'Sides, I only get to do this once a year fer the townsfolk here." Which was true! The summer soiree only came around once a year. Just before the timer went off, she stepped over to the second grill, turned it off literally a second before it could ring out loudly. The lid was lifted, the bone-chicken rotated, and the chicken strips were placed onto a clean plate. Since it was filled up, she set it down next to the steaks that had finished. With another clean plate, she picked up bone-in chicken and set them neatly onto it and set the tongs back down where she had them. The plate was then placed next to the others as various aromas wafted through the air like a beacon of fresh cooked food, spices and BBQ flavors. Hannah cleaned the grill and placed more chicken strips and several chicken thighs with bone still in it. She made sure there were choices available for everyone.

Some liked chicken with the bones in, others didn't as she kept this in mind, seasoned the poultry and soon had the lid back down. Hands washed, timer set, she cut another slice of her steak and popped it hungrily into her mouth before she switched to the third grill with the hamburgers. The lid was lifted, burgers flipped over and she made it a point to sauté some additional onions while she was at it. All the while, she listened to the banter, conversations that floated around and the occasional laughter from the other folks who were present. But as something else dawned on her, her head turned briefly toward both the man and the girl. "I'm Hannah, by the way. Pleased ta meet ya both." A warm smile appeared. It was always genuine and unhurried. If they chose to give their own names, that was completely up to them as she wouldn't pressure them. That wasn't her style. The atmosphere was meant to be relaxed and carefree while it lasted. Not rushed or rigid. Hannah checked on a few of her supplies and made mental notes.

Lyra was not often met with comments about her grilling preferences, but on this occasion, Nathan broke the silence by remarking that her decision to chose her meat well-done was quite bold. The way he expressed his opinion suggested that he was well-versed in the culinary arts and Lyra couldn't help but wonder if he was a professional chef. Although he looked a bit young to be in the profession, his air of confidence and the way he articulated his thoughts hinted at a deep understanding of cooking and taste. It was also possible that he was simply an enthusiast who had a passion for food and cooking. Lyra wasn't sure what to make of him, as this was their first meeting and she didn't know much about his background.

As the conversation flowed, she was taken aback by Nathan's interest and felt a bit self-conscious about her abilities. "Well... Uhh... I'm still a student, so I'm not really an expert at playing the violin... I mean, it depends on what kind of violin playing you might enjoy," she replied, trying to downplay her skills and avoid coming across as boastful. She smiled and added, "It's just that I brought my violin with me, so I thought I'd play it as a gesture of gratitude towards our hostess," attempting to appear nonchalant and casual about her talents.

As Hannah encouraged her to help herself to the food, Lyra nodded in appreciation and walked towards the buffet, carrying an empty plate. She served herself a moderate portion of mashed potatoes and a well-cooked steak, admiring the appetizing sauce that accompanied the dish. Upon reflection, she agreed with Nathan's earlier comment about her meat choice, thinking that the well-cooked steak was indeed a good decision. The fact that Hannah had prepared everything from scratch, including the glazing sauce, spoke to her culinary skills, and Lyra felt grateful to be enjoying such a delicious meal. After serving herself, Lyra planned to take some punch and then head to an empty spot to sit down and enjoy her food. She would eat her steak with a fork and knife, savoring the flavors and textures.

Although she occasionally glanced at Nathan, Lyra couldn't shake off the feeling of nervousness that had settled in. She wondered if he would react to her formal table manners, which might be considered too proper for a casual picnic. Nevertheless, her hands moved with a practiced ease, as if guided by a deeply ingrained memory of etiquette. She ate slowly and deliberately, pausing for a moment when Hannah introduced herself to the group. Lyra took a sip of her drink, feeling a sense of relief wash over her as she continued to enjoy her meal.

When Hannah introduced herself, Lyra took the opportunity to introduce herself as well. "Oh, sorry, I haven't introduced myself yet. My name is Lyra Lewis. Just... call me Lyra," she said, pronouncing "Lewis" a little softer, hoping that no one would recognize her surname and associate her with her father, the renowned violinist Oliver Lewis. She preferred to keep a low profile, as she didn't want anyone to take advantage of her family connection or treat her differently because of her father's fame. Lyra continued eating, her ears growing warm, possibly due to the heat or her nervousness after revealing her name. She felt a sense of vulnerability, but also relief, at having introduced herself without drawing too much attention to her family background.

Nathan watched the interaction unfold between the two women, silently appreciating the easy grace Hannah brought to hosting. There was a rhythm to her movements—flip, season, check, smile—like she was orchestrating an entire kitchen symphony without missing a single note. And when she confirmed that everything was homemade, down to the punch, he gave a soft whistle under his breath.

“Hell of a standard you’ve set,” he said with a crooked smile, his voice low but not unreadable. “No shortcuts. I respect that.” His fingers rested briefly on the edge of the table as if anchoring him there, eyes following the line of sizzling burgers and freshly placed chicken. God, he hadn’t realized how hungry he was either until now.

At Hannah’s suggestion that Lyra eat before playing, and that amused look she tossed him, Nathan smirked, just slightly. “See? Told you,” he said to Lyra with a quick glance and a glimmer of humor in his tone. “You’ve got two kitchen folk backing you now—means you really oughta listen.”

He stepped back to allow Lyra easy access to the spread, folding his arms casually. The violin case hadn’t left his mind, but food came first. Always did.

When Hannah mentioned she only did this once a year, he gave a small nod of understanding. “So this is one of those ‘blink and you miss it’ kind of nights,” he said, more to himself than to anyone in particular. His voice carried a trace of reflection—he wasn’t usually the guy who stumbled into moments like this. But maybe it was exactly what he needed.

As the scent of charred onions and BBQ danced through the air again, Hannah finally introduced herself, and Nathan’s head tilted slightly. That same easy smile returned.

“Nathan,” he replied. “The pleasure is all mine, Hannah. If I’d known there’d be food like this and a violin concert by the lake, I might’ve dressed nicer.” He gave a self-deprecating chuckle, tugging at the hem of his soft, worn t-shirt. “But I’ve got good manners, a decent palate, and I clean up after myself—so hopefully that earns me a second helping.”

There was something about this gathering that peeled a layer off him—the pressure, the constant planning. Out here, with smoke in the air and warmth in the host’s voice, he could just be Nathan, not “Chef Jang.” And that felt like a rare gift.

He glanced toward Lyra again, his tone softening a notch. “Play whenever you’re ready,” he added. “No pressure. But if you’re anything like me, food settles the nerves.”

Then he moved toward the plate of bone-in chicken, grabbing one and giving Hannah a knowing look. “Also—this smells like it’s gonna be a spiritual experience. So if I pass out from bliss, just roll me toward the fire pit.”

He said it dryly, but the glint in his eye gave away the joke.

Nathan waited a moment after Lyra moved toward the buffet, letting her have the space to choose her meal without the weight of anyone watching over her shoulder. He knew that feeling—eyes on you when you’re just trying to eat in peace—and he wasn’t about to intrude. Still, he couldn’t help but notice the way she handled herself: the careful way she served her plate, her posture, the precision in her movements. Table etiquette like that didn’t just happen. It was taught. Reinforced. Maybe even expected of her.

That, combined with the violin case and the soft murmur of “I’m not an expert,” made Nathan wonder. He knew how tightly perfection could be wrapped around identity—and how often it came with strings.

He turned back toward the table.

Time to eat.

He grabbed a clean plate and helped himself to one of the bone-in chicken thighs—skin beautifully rendered, edges darkened with a just-right char. The mashed potatoes beside it looked impossibly fluffy, and the turnip greens glistened with what he guessed was either bacon drippings or smoked turkey stock. He added a square of the squash cornbread, almost as an afterthought. The scent alone told him it would be a sleeper hit.

Fork in one hand, chicken in the other, he took a bite.

Crunch.
Then juice.
Then—smoke.

The skin cracked perfectly under his teeth, giving way to tender meat, the kind that still clung slightly to the bone—not dry, not stringy. The BBQ sauce was the real magic though. It didn’t scream for attention with sugar or heat, but hummed—low and rich—with molasses, black pepper, apple cider vinegar… maybe a hint of ancho chile for that smoky edge? He tilted his head slightly, chewing slower as he mentally deconstructed it.

Tomato base. Garlic for sure. Clove? No… not clove. Cinnamon, maybe—barely there. Just enough to make you question it.

He took a bite of the mashed potatoes next. Creamy, but with texture—no food processor here. There was a whisper of nutmeg in it, he was almost certain. Most folks wouldn’t notice. But Nathan did. Then came the turnip greens. Earthy, bright, and deeply savory. Balanced out with vinegar, just a splash. Not bitter. Not heavy. This was soul food with restraint. Technique in every forkful.

And the cornbread is… moist. It held its shape even as the squash inside gave it a soft, almost custard-like interior. He let out a quiet breath of approval as he finished it in two bites.

As he ate, Nathan glanced briefly in Lyra’s direction again. She’d settled into her seat with the formality of someone who’d grown up under a microscope. The way she handled her utensils was careful—precise. Like someone still listening for the invisible click of a metronome. Her “I’m just a student” line lingered in his mind.

He wasn’t going to say anything—not yet. Whatever she was carrying, it wasn’t his business unless she wanted it to be.

When Hannah introduced herself and Lyra followed suit, Nathan gave a simple nod, his voice even. “Lyra,” he repeated, tasting the name like he would a new ingredient. “Pretty name. Suits you.”

He didn’t press further.

But as he took another bite of the chicken thigh, he made a mental note: try replicating that sauce when he got back to the city. He’d never nail it exactly—family recipes were like fingerprints, impossible to duplicate—but he could get close enough to stir the memory. Maybe make it his own.

And hell, maybe he’d throw a violin on the speakers next time he plated it.

Adrian hadn’t planned to be here tonight.

Originally, the weekend was supposed to be a quiet one—no grading, no lesson planning, no emergency Zoom meetings with panicking first-years about jury prep. Just him, the beach, and a weathered paperback copy of The Count of Monte Cristo he’d been trying to finish for months. But when Autumn had gently kicked him out of the house with a smirk and told him he was “starting to smell like work,” he took the hint. A change of scenery couldn’t hurt.

So, he hit the road.

A detour through wine country turned into a nap under a tree, which turned into a drive with the windows down and a playlist of old jazz and alt-rock humming through the speakers. That’s when he saw the flyer. It was the “just food, no drama” part that sold him.

Next thing he knew, Adrian was pulling off a dusty road toward a glowing scene by the lake. Warm yellow lights hung between the trees like lazy stars, music floated in and out from an acoustic guitar, and the air was thick with smoke and spice—the kind of smells that reminded you of potlucks, homecomings, or nights spent talking past midnight with people you liked.

He parked, shrugged into a light jacket, and approached with the casual energy of someone who wasn’t sure how long he’d stay—but was curious enough to find out.

The first thing he noticed was the food. That was always his weakness—he could play twelve instruments, sure, but couldn’t grill a damn burger to save his life. Yet whoever was manning the grills tonight was clearly no amateur. From his spot on the edge of the gathering, he saw her—the hostess, he guessed—confident, steady, flipping chicken like she was born beside fire.

And then—

he saw her.

Lyra.

Seated by herself, her violin case resting close by like a faithful companion, a plate balanced on her knees as she ate with quiet precision. She didn’t notice him. Not yet.

Adrian blinked, not sure if he was seeing things at first. Lyra? Here? At a lake barbecue in the middle of rural nowhere? It was… unexpected, to say the least. Back at USC, she was the serious one. Talented, of course—sharp ear, good phrasing—but held herself like someone who had grown up needing to be five steps ahead. She didn’t miss notes. She didn’t miss class. She also didn’t really talk about herself. And here she was, summer evening painting her profile in warm light, eating BBQ and looking—normal. Like a college kid at a picnic.

He adjusted quickly. A soft exhale. His professor brain ran a dozen protocols before relaxing. This isn’t campus. This isn’t a studio critique. You’re not “Professor Hunter” tonight.

So he kept it easy.

He didn’t wave. Didn’t call her name. Didn’t even let on he recognized her just yet.

Instead, he headed toward the food, keeping his distance at first, surveying the spread like any other guest. The chicken looked damn good. So did the squash, cornbread and greens. And from what he could hear, the conversation was relaxed, casual. Exactly the kind of night he needed.

Still, he kept half an eye on Lyra, both surprised and a little impressed to see her outside of the world he associated her with. Maybe, for once, she wasn’t the tightly-wound honors student trying to live up to a last name.

Adrian had just finished piling a modest portion of greens, potatoes, and cornbread onto his plate—he was pacing himself, the night felt long in the best way—when Lyra caught his attention again. Soft but audible, that familiar tone she used when she was trying not to take up too much space. She was speaking to the hostess—Hannah, he’d gathered by now—about maybe playing a little violin to accompany the evening.

His ears perked up, and a wry smile tugged at his lips. Of course she brought her violin.

He lingered by the table for another second, then turned and casually approached, just as Hannah warmly approved of the idea, and the tall guy with chef’s hands and sharp eyes, chimed in with a teasing but supportive suggestion to eat first.

Adrian took a bite of the cornbread—holy hell, was that squash in there?—and then, with the easy confidence of someone who wasn’t trying to make a scene, stepped into the edge of the small circle, holding his plate in one hand and raising the other in a light gesture.

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” he said with an affable grin. “I just heard something about live music and figured… why not join in?”

He glanced toward Lyra briefly—not in a way that would give anything away, but just enough for her to know he knew.

“I don’t have my sax on me or anything,” he continued lightly, “but I’ve got a decent voice and I know my way around a guitar if someone’s willing to share. If not, I’ll just stand behind the fire and look supportive.”

He looked to Hannah with a nod of appreciation. “This spread’s incredible, by the way. Might be the best cornbread I’ve had in a decade.”

Then, glancing at Lyra again—this time with the faintest hint of a smirk he usually reserved for late-night ensemble rehearsals—he added, “I’m looking forward to hearing the violin. Don’t worry—I won’t grade you on it.”

Lyra savored every bite of her steak, delighting in the explosion of flavors on her tongue. The rich, velvety sauce was a perfect complement to the tender meat and she couldn't help but feel that it was truly exceptional. The fact that it was homemade only added to its appeal, imbuing each bite with a depth of flavor that was hard to find in restaurant food. As she chewed, she could almost feel the love and care that Hannah had poured into the dish, a quality that was often lacking in mass-produced cuisine. It was a bit like the taste of a mother's cooking, although Lyra wasn't sure if that was a fair comparison, given that her mother had never actually cooked for her. Instead, it was their maid who had taken care of their meals, or they would simply order takeout from Holland's restaurant.

Just as she was fully immersed in the culinary experience, Nathan's voice broke into her reverie, reminding her that she was free to play her violin whenever she was ready. Lyra smiled in response, her eyes never leaving her plate as she continued to savor the last few bites of her steak. Her cheeks flushed a soft pink when Nathan complimented her name, saying it was as pretty as she was. It wasn't often that she received praise for her name, and she had to admit that she had always been fond of it. In fact, one of the few things she was grateful to her mother for was giving her a beautiful name with a meaningful origin.

As she finished half of her steak, Lyra reached for her punch, taking a refreshing gulp that left her throat feeling chilled and invigorated. The ice-cold drink was a perfect accompaniment to the rich flavors of the meal, and she couldn't help but feel that everything Hannah had prepared was truly exceptional. Seriously though, it was almost unbelievable that one person could produce such a wide range of delicious dishes on their own, without the benefit of a professional kitchen or team of chefs. If Lyra had been in charge of cooking, the result would likely have been chaotic, even for a simple picnic.

As she sat back and glanced around at the other guests, Lyra's eyes landed on a familiar figure in the crowd. At first, she didn't register who it was, but as her gaze swept back to the corner of the gathering, she caught a glimpse of Professor Adrian's distinctive profile. Her heart skipped a beat as she coughed accidentally, on her punch. Her eyes widened in surprise as she took a second look, confirming that it was indeed her professor standing among the guests.

Professor Adrian Hunter? What was he doing here? Lyra's mind racing with questions and concerns, she tried to duck down, or hide her presence, anything to make herself less visible to her professor. It wasn't that she didn't like him; on the contrary, she had a deep respect for him as a teacher and mentor. But the thought of being discovered in a social setting, outside of the formal atmosphere of the university, made her feel awkward and self-conscious. Her face burning with embarrassment, she felt like a ripe tomato, her skin reddening to an alarming degree.

Before she could react further, however, Professor Adrian caught her eye and smiled, saying that he wouldn't grade her for playing violin. Lyra felt a surge of heat spread through her body, unsure whether it was due to the summer heat, the proximity to the grill, or the unsettling presence of her professor. She cleared her throat, attempting to compose herself and offered an awkward smile in return. "Hi, Professor... didn't expect to meet you here," she stammered, trying to sound nonchalant despite her evident discomfort. "Hahaha..." The forced laughter trailed off, leaving an awkward silence in its wake.

Onions were finished as they were sauteed, burgers were flipped once more before that lid came back down and the timer set. All the while, she continued to listen in on the banter between everyone. It was a bit chaotic while her hearing as everyone's voices almost seemed to merge into a mess of background noise. Yet it didn't bother her in the slightest. The country woman could pick out individual conversations. Provided they were within range of her. As everyone introduced themselves, she nodded casually with a warm smile. To Lyra's comment about being a student and that she brought her violin alone, Hannah nodded quietly. The tone of the girl's voice said more than her words, though. Still, the hostess didn't pry but instead gave plenty of room for comfort.

For Nathan's humor, there was a quirk in both corners of Hannah's lips. "I might do more than roll ya." Then her shoulders shook a little with an easy laughter that escaped her. "And eat as much as ya like, hon. There's more arrivin'. Seriously." A cursory glance was made toward the man with both steadiness and sincerity in equal measure. And as if on cue, a truck pulled in. Soon, her twin brother, Charlie, hopped out and took some coolers from the back. These were brought over to the table, opened and... More raw steaks, in containers were removed from them! She glanced over quickly. "No, leave 'em in fer a min. I got some steaks on the grill already. Keep those in there a mo' longer." He shrugged and placed them back in. She turned back around while her brother moved things a little bit. They both had blonde hair hair, same eyes, same skin tone.

They were identical twins, but it was easy enough to tell them apart at least. Hannah had long hair, Charlie had short. While a third person seemed to join in, she gave the newcomer a warm smile before she encouraged him to eat, too. "Help yerself mister." The way the man looked at the girl, and based on the way Lyra seemed to react, Hannah got the impression either the girl was trying to hide from this man or was nervous over something else. She wasn't no mind reader, after all. A glance was made as she noticed the bowl with the turnip greens was nearly empty. A move over to one of the other tables and another container was removed from a cooler that had been brought over. There was more turnip greens inside as she carried it over. She made sure to be on the other side of the table so as not to be in anyone's way.

The second man's comment made her smile though as the large bowl was replaced. "Not intrudin' far as I can tell. Now the sax, I haven't heard that be played since ol' man Jackie. Been a few of 'em years." Then she indicated toward a spare guitar that leaned against the chair she had previously been seated in. "Play if ya like. Just gotta return it when yer done, 'course." She picked up the empty bowl and scooted back over to the other table. There were going to either be leftovers, or a bunch of dishes. She didn't mind though. "Make sure these are packed. Dun need none o' these bowls ta break." She murmured to her twin as he took it and she turned back toward the grill. A hand reached up just before the timer was set to go off. A click sounded, the lid lifted, she listened to the banter between the three individuals. Though Lyra's reactions, Hannah heard the spiked heartrate and brows knitted slightly.

She gathered by this point the older gentleman was apparently the girl's professor. A glance was made toward Nathan briefly before the chicken was brushed with a layer of homemade BBQ to keep the skin from drying out and to retain a juicy flavor. Tongs rotated the poultry, then were set to the side as the lid closed once more. Timer was set and she took a moment to look over from Adrian to Lyra and back. Hannah quickly washed her hands, dried them and went to pick up her plate again. "Charlie, git ya somethin' ta eat, too." She called over to her brother as that unmistakable rumble of the stomach from him was heard by sharp ears. With plate in hand, a slice of cornbread, a helping of greens and mashed potatoes was put onto it. There was homemade gravy as just enough was poured over the fluffy starch. With that, she picked up her cup and sat down in the seat closer to Lyra. Almost as if to give a silent form of ease and comfort. Yet not invasive, either. The forced laughter hadn't gone unnoticed.

Adrian didn’t miss the subtle shift in Lyra’s posture, the quick dart of her eyes, or the awkward burst of laughter that felt more like a misfire than amusement. She was rattled. He’d seen that look before. Usually in first-year juries or midterm recitals when the pressure hit too hard too fast. But this wasn’t the stage. This was a lakeside BBQ with fireflies and real food and people who weren’t expecting a performance.

So, he took a small step back—just enough to loosen the invisible tension string between them—then offered her a quiet smile that softened the lines around his eyes. “Hey,” he said gently, the tone lower now, like he was passing along something only meant for her. “You don’t have to call me ‘Professor’ here. It’s just Adrian tonight, alright?”

He kept his voice casual, light.

“This isn’t campus, and you’re not in the spotlight unless you want to be. I’m off-duty. You’re off-duty. No pressure. Just good food, good company… and maybe a little music if the mood strikes.”

He let the words sit for a beat, watching her with the ease of someone who’d learned not to push too hard. And then, as if sensing her discomfort might still linger, he gave her an out—a gentle offramp away from the awkwardness.

“But if this feels weird, no worries. I can wander over and chat with this guy—” he nodded toward Nathan, who was finishing off his plate nearby with the casual poise of someone comfortable in his own skin “—seems like someone who knows his way around flavor. I’ve got a few questions about that squash cornbread anyway.”

His eyes flicked to Hannah momentarily. “And maybe snag a second helping before the grill’s wiped clean.”

He turned slightly, just enough to signal his readiness to leave the conversation if that’s what she needed but not without first offering her a way to feel like an equal. A person, not a student. A musician, not someone being graded. He’d be happy to let her have the firelight, food, and freedom.

But Adrian didn’t leave just yet.

Even as he angled his body slightly away, giving Lyra room to breathe, he paused—plate still in one hand, the other casually tucked into his pocket. His tone was soft, but with just enough levity to remind her they weren’t in a classroom anymore. “Also,” he added, glancing over his shoulder at her, “if you do decide to play…”

His eyes met hers again, and this time, his smile held a little more warmth—no pressure, just a musician talking to another.

“…let me know before you start. I’ve got the sax. Wasn’t planning to play tonight, but—” he gave a light shrug “—I don’t mind dusting it off if you’re up for a duet.” He said it plainly, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Doesn’t have to be fancy. Just… something easy,” he added, voice dipping slightly in volume. “Whatever you feel like playing.”

Then, finally, he turned with a small nod. Not waiting for a yes. Not expecting anything. Just leaving the moment as gently as he’d stepped into it. He made his way back toward the food table, nodding briefly at Hannah as she passed with a fresh bowl of greens and made her way to sit near Lyra. He respected that. Quiet support was its own kind of strength.

Adrian approached Nathan then, the scent of the still-grilling chicken thick in the air, and offered a half-laugh as he looked at the table.

“You were right about the squash,” he said, breaking the silence between them. “I think it’s unfair that someone can cook this well and host a gathering without losing their mind.”

He took another bite of cornbread and gestured toward Nathan with his fork.

“You seem like a man who appreciates the details. Mind if I join you for a moment?” A pause, then a chuckle. “I just saved a student from dying of embarrassment, and I think that earned me a second helping and maybe a conversation with someone who doesn’t call me ‘sir.’”

Nathan had just finished the last bite of his chicken thigh—bone cleaned, sauce wiped clean with a bit of leftover cornbread—when he noticed Adrian approaching. The guy had an easy gait, but Nathan could tell from a mile away that this one had seen structure. Years of it. Probably an academic. That shirt wasn’t stiff, but the way he wore it? Yeah. He was a teacher. Or at least something that involved shaping young minds.

Still, he had a laid-back quality that didn’t come off as preachy. Nathan appreciated that.

He raised an eyebrow and gave a crooked half-smile when Adrian spoke.

“You mean this squash cornbread that probably broke six culinary laws and still somehow ended up perfect?” Nathan gestured to the plate with a faint huff of appreciation. “Yeah, I noticed. It’s unfair, really.”

Then, at the offer to join him, he nodded toward the nearest open seat. “Please. I was about to start talking to the grill if no one came by.”

As Adrian sat down, Nathan grabbed a nearby napkin and wiped his fingers clean with slow, practiced precision, then rested his forearms on his knees. There was a calm in him—not idle, but tempered. Like someone used to the rush of dinner service and the silence afterward.

“You’ve got a good eye,” Nathan said, picking up on Adrian’s earlier observation. “And yeah, I can usually make pretty accurate guesses about what goes into a dish. Years in the kitchen will do that to you.” He tapped two fingers lightly on the side of his water bottle. “But I’ll be honest—it’s a hell of a lot easier when you can see what’s going on.”

He gestured subtly toward the grills, where Hannah, a force of nature in denim and boots, was orchestrating the flames like a conductor with a baton.

“She’s not hiding her prep. Everything’s out in the open—fresh cuts, spice bowls, sauce brushes. I caught whiffs of molasses, maybe some ancho chili in that sauce, vinegar for sure, and something floral—maybe cinnamon leaf? Could be a stretch, but…” He gave a modest shrug, “that’s the fun of it.”

Nathan leaned back slightly, tone shifting just a little toward invitation.

“I run a place in L.A.,” he said casually. “Nothing massive—just a restaurant with a small kitchen, tight crew, and high standards. Farm-to-table kind of joint, seasonal menus, and I’ve got a thing for building entire courses around mood.”

He looked over at Adrian, studying him without judgment. Just curiosity.

“You ever find yourself missing this kind of food—soulful, messy, made with both hands and instinct—come by. I’m always happy to cook for someone who pays attention to what’s on the plate.”

A beat passed, then he added with a faint smirk, “And hey—if you bring that sax, I’ll even clear the patio for a live set.”

It was half a joke, half a real offer.

Because Nathan didn’t extend those often.

But when he did—it meant something.

Raiden hadn’t planned on stopping. In fact, he hated unplanned stops.

But the minute the scent hit him—oak-smoked heat, vinegar and char, spices softened by sweetness and slow flame—he found himself slowing the black matte bike to a crawl. His boots met gravel just past the trees, the roar of the engine dying into the summer dusk as he eyed the glow ahead.

Laughter. Music. A lakeside cookout.

He slid the helmet off his head and hooked it onto the handlebar, exhaling slowly. A muscle in his jaw ticked.

Shit. It smelled too good to ignore.

He didn’t come dressed for a party. Jet-black tee stretched across his shoulders, sleeves rolled slightly to reveal full-sleeve ink. The chain at his neck caught a low gleam from the string lights. His storm-gray eyes scanned the gathering, sharp and unhurried. He wasn’t here to mingle. But damn if the food didn’t pull at something primal.

That kind of cooking wasn’t common anymore. It wasn’t restaurant fare or flashy street vendor fusion. This was heat, sweat, patience. Firewood and soul. Raiden had grown up eating this kind of food—when he had any to eat. Back before the nights got cold and the fists started flying. The kind of food that filled you up in ways that had nothing to do with hunger.

He moved quietly across the clearing, nodding once to a stranger who tipped their drink his way. His presence was like pressure in the air, heavy enough to notice. His tattoos caught flickers of firelight as he passed the grill, pausing briefly to watch the woman at work.

Whoever this Hannah was, she knew what she was doing.

He stood back, observing the setup with quiet approval. Everything was clean. Everything was timed. Raiden exhaled again, deeper this time, like the tension in his shoulders eased just enough to allow him to be present. At least he wasn’t the one holding a damn cookout this year. That responsibility usually fell to him in August—his crew expecting fire-grilled perfection and an open bar.

He finally moved toward the table of finished dishes, grabbed a clean plate, and helped himself to a steak—one with a deep crust and glistening center, clearly rested, clearly done with care. He added baked beans, a modest spoonful of slaw, and just a piece of cornbread. He didn’t pile his plate. He respected the food too much for that.

Then he caught a familiar face in the low light.

Raiden stopped in his tracks. Tilted his head slightly. A quiet smirk pulled at one corner of his mouth.

Nathan.

He hadn’t seen the guy in a while—not since that pop-up in Koreatown, if he remembered right. Small crew. Blistered vegetables. One hell of a lamb shank. Raiden never forgot flavor. Or the people who made it. He stepped closer, his voice low and unmistakably gravel-edged. Not a greeting. Just a statement.

“I know you.” He motioned slightly with his chin, still holding his plate steady. “Your food’s good.”

And coming from Raiden, who rarely gave praise without blood or battle, that said more than it sounded like.

Lyra tried to steady herself, her mind racing to process what she was witnessing. Her thoughts were a jumble, yet her eyes couldn’t help but drift toward the approaching truck that slowed down as it approached their gathering spot. She watched in quiet curiosity as a man stepped out from the vehicle and began unloading boxes. The boxes looked heavy, maybe filled with more of that delicious meat they had been eating earlier. That’s when her gaze caught an unexpected sight. The man looked strikingly like Hannah, as if they were mirror images. Her eyes widened in surprise, noticing the uncanny resemblance. The only difference she could see was that Hannah’s hair was longer, flowing past her shoulders, while the man’s was shorter and tidy. Was this some kind of twin resemblance? Could they be twins, perhaps? Lyra’s experience with identical twins was limited; she hadn’t encountered many in her life. That made this moment all the more fascinating, like witnessing a rare phenomenon right before her eyes. It felt almost surreal, an unexpected joy to see such a perfect mirror of someone she knew.

As she observed, Hannah offered with a gentle smile and offered her some of the plentiful meal. Lyra nodded eagerly, her face lit with a polite smile that hid her excitement. The portion she received was larger than what she’d normally eat, but hunger had sharpened her senses. She had already took her plate and have finished eating. The steak was tender, juicy, just enough to fill her stomach with a satisfying fullness. She ate quickly but deliberately, feeling the warmth of contentment spread through her. Her mind, for a brief moment, drifted away from her surroundings, lost in the simple pleasure of sharing good food.

While she was focused on her meal, her attention flickered back to Adrian. His presence was still in her mind, a constant pull she couldn’t ignore. Despite the casual atmosphere, she knew he wasn’t her professor tonight. Just someone she liked, maybe more. That thought sent a strange thrill through her, mingling excitement with nerves. Still, she kept her distance, unsure if her feelings were safe to acknowledge. She felt uneasy with so many people around, worried about being read or judged. Her heart started beating a little faster, as if it was trying to tell her something she didn’t want to hear. Then she noticed Adrian take a small step back, engaging with Nathan instead. That simple gesture made her breathe a little easier, her shoulders loosened and her chest relaxed. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until she finally exhaled deeply as the tension melting away.

Having finished her meal, Lyra retrieved her violin. It rested against her side. She looked at Adrian, a gentle smile forming on her lips. “I’m going to play it,” she said softly, her voice steady and calm. She moved confidently toward the patio, glancing at the space where she would perform. She preferred standing beside it rather than in the spotlight, a quiet witness rather than a star. The setting felt intimate, perfect for what she had planned. She waited patiently for him to get his sax, knowing their music would blend perfectly. She cast a grateful glance at Hannah. “Thank you, Hannah, for this wonderful feast,” she said softly before she started with the first note, the opening line of River Flows in You.

Adrian had been mid-laugh with Nathan when he heard her voice again.

He turned just in time to see Lyra rising, violin in hand, her posture finally unburdened by the nerves she’d worn earlier. The firelight brushed against her profile as she moved, casting her in warm hues, making her appear less like a student and more like what she truly was—an artist.

Adrian’s lips curved into a smile you'd reserve for witnessing a moment that feels quietly important. He glanced at Nathan briefly and set the remainder of his cornbread down on his plate. “That’s my cue,” he murmured with an easy breath, then excused himself with a light clap to the chef’s shoulder. “Save me some insight on that glaze—we’re not done talking shop.”

As he crossed the space between the table and the firepit, the voices around him began to fall into a hush in anticipation. The stillness that settles when something beautiful is about to begin.

He spotted Hannah near the chair where the saxophone rested, and motioned toward the instrument. “Mind if I borrow what I asked earlier?” he asked, though there was a familiar glint of mischief in his tone. After she responded, Adrian knelt, opened it, and lifted out the case.

Worn at the edges. A well-loved thing.

He snapped it open with a fluid motion and pulled the instrument free. No tuning needed. No warm-up. His hands already knew what to do. He met Lyra’s gaze from across the patio, giving her a subtle nod as a partner.

The moment her bow touched the string and the first notes of River Flows in You stirred the air, Adrian stepped in with gentle restraint—sax slipping into the melody not as a lead, but as an echo. A harmony. A second voice finding the spaces she left behind.

Conversations quieted naturally, like a breeze sweeping through the gathering. The murmur of casual chatter, the clinking of glasses, the crackle of the fire—all softened into a kind of reverent stillness as the first delicate notes of River Flows in You floated across the lakeside.

At first, most of the guests weren’t sure what they were hearing.

But then the violin sang with the gentle honesty that made people pause mid-bite. It wasn’t just the melody itself—it was how it carried, how it threaded through the air like a lullaby meant just for this moment. Something tender. Private.

And then the saxophone joined in.

Someone near the firepit whispered, “Is that live?”—and another answered by nudging their cup silently toward the patio where Lyra and Adrian stood. Their silhouettes were framed by string lights and the golden glow of firelight, two figures speaking through sound. Their bodies moved slightly with the rhythm—Adrian with practiced control, Lyra with fluid expression, the bow gliding effortlessly across the strings.

They were in sync.
Not rehearsed.
Not forced.
Just… aligned.

People leaned forward in their seats. A couple curled closer on their shared blanket. Someone paused mid-toast, lowering their drink as if it would be rude to clink against something this beautiful. When the piece finally reached its final note and drifted into silence, there was a heartbeat of stillness and then soft applause. No whistles. No loud claps. Just a warm appreciation in which you feel in your chest more than your hands.

Someone whispered, “Damn…”

Another added, “That was beautiful.”

And someone near the back said exactly what most were thinking, in a hushed, awed tone:

“That felt like something we weren’t supposed to witness.”

Nathan had just parted his lips to respond to Raiden’s gravel-thick greeting, the glimmer of recognition mirrored in the slight tilt of his head, when a single note stopped him.

It started like a ripple.

Soft. Barely there. A whisper of resonance that threaded its way into the space between conversations and clinking glasses. Nathan turned his head slightly, caught off guard by the stillness it carved into the air that only emerges when something sacred is taking place. Adrian had stepped in. The saxophone’s timbre folded itself into the melody and moved like a breath does through an open room: unnoticed until it fills the lungs.

Nathan went still as the music gripped him gently, then wholly.

He heard nothing else. Not the soft scrape of boots against gravel or the faint rustle of cornbread being broken or forks setting down. The world muted itself. Even Raiden, towering at his side, became a blurred shape at the edge of his periphery. Instead, he found himself somewhere else.

In the narrow kitchen of his first apartment, ten years and three cities ago. A cast iron pan on the stove, oil sizzling under cheap lighting, while a secondhand radio played a pirated instrumental version of this same song. A time when cooking wasn’t yet a craft for business or survival… It was an escape. A salve for the loneliness of coming home to no one and pretending that the flavors he plated could stand in for conversation.

He remembered the woman who once sat on the counter, barefoot and laughing, watching him prep onions like it was a miracle. He remembered her absence more, the silence she left behind more articulate than any goodbye. And somehow, this song—this impossible, aching, human duet—stitched that version of himself to the man he was now.

Nathan reverently exhaled slowly through his nose. As the final note dissipated, he stood suspended in it. His fingers still curled loosely around his plate as if he had forgotten about it, but his mind was left with the memories the song had rooted from the depths of his mind. The spell broke like mist thinning in sunlight.

He turned to Raiden, his voice quieter now, as though he didn’t want to disturb the echo still lingering in the trees.

“…Sorry,” he said, the word carrying a rare gravity. “That got me.”

He offered the ghost of a smile, something introspective and wry, a little worn at the edges.

“That was… something people don’t usually share unless they mean it.”

His eyes flicked back to where the two performers still stood but then remained still for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the space where the music had just lived—no longer vibrating through the air, but still suspended in memory. There was a fragile quiet in his chest now, a gentle ache that had nothing to do with hunger.

He let out a slow breath and finally looked back at Raiden, the corners of his mouth lifting with something like appreciation though it didn’t quite reach the surface as a smile. More like the lingering warmth of one. “Truth is,” he murmured, adjusting the plate still nestled in his palm, “I think I’ve had my fill for the night.”

He didn’t just mean the food.

There had been enough flavor, silence, and music that pierced deeper than most conversations ever dared to reach. Enough humanity to remind him that he was more than the kitchen he lived in. He glanced around briefly, eyes sweeping over the low golden string lights swaying gently in the night breeze, the quiet shifting of guests still half-wrapped in the spell of the music, and the table now crowned with half-eaten dishes and full bellies.

His eyes passed once more over Lyra and Adrian, neither of whom he interrupted. What they had just given didn’t require applause or gratitude. Only space.

Nathan stepped back with slow, unhurried grace, the same way a man leaves a chapel. He returned his plate quietly to the designated bin, wiped his hands on a napkin folded too precisely to be accidental, and tugged on the edge of his sleeve like an afterthought. Then, with a final glance toward Raiden—silent, steady, and acknowledging—he murmured just loud enough to be heard:

“See you around, man.”

Raiden had heard a lot in his life.

Gunshots behind rusted warehouse doors. The hard crunch of knuckles against bone. The reverberating silence of hunger in a dark motel room with paper-thin walls and a broken lock. The shouts of men who didn’t know how to be fathers and the quiet tremble of a sister trying not to cry. He knew the world through sound… how it warned, how it threatened, how it failed.

When the violin began to speak—delicate, unassuming, yet oddly fearless—he didn’t flinch. But something in him stilled, like the coil of tension that usually lived in his spine had paused to listen.

There was pain in the melody that lingered in the places no one sees. It smelled like cold pavement and hospital antiseptic, like a bruised childhood pressed between glass. It reminded him of the night he left Remi sleeping alone on a stranger’s couch, and stepped into a ring with men who swung fists like survival depended on it. And yet there was something else too.

Adrian’s saxophone folded like an arm around the shoulders. An understanding. An echo of an emotion you didn’t have the words for. Raiden stood at the edge of the firelight, plate in hand, but he didn’t eat. Didn’t blink. The steam rose slowly from his food, forgotten, as the melody carried through the trees and curled around him like smoke.

It took him somewhere he didn’t expect to go.

Back to the room he and Remi shared when they were still just kids. When she’d fall asleep clutching a worn-out stuffed animal and he’d sit awake on the floor, watching the door. Listening for footsteps. Listening for her breath to stay steady.

He remembered humming to her.

Badly. Off-key.

Because there was nothing else to give.

And somehow, this music brought that all back like a hand brushing against a scar without pressing too hard. When the final note dissipated into silence, Raiden exhaled slowly through his nose. His chest rose, then settled. A slow blink. He looked down at the plate in his hands, as if seeing it for the first time. He hadn’t taken a single bite.

A shift of movement caught his eye—Nathan, gathering his things, folding into the night like a man who’d already said what he needed to without words. Raiden didn’t stop him. He watched, the corner of his mouth lifting faintly as the chef vanished. Then, just loud enough for a few people nearby to hear, Raiden muttered around a smirk:

“You serve one emotional breakdown with a side of greens and the guy ghosted like we dated.”

It was just that dry, disarming humor of a man who rarely let himself feel anything this openly and needed to pivot before the moment got too honest. He looked once more toward the patio, where the two musicians stood, still lit by the soft blush of string lights. Raiden waited a moment longer after the applause faded, letting the night settle into its next breath. The music still lingered like spice absorbed into smoke.

He finally took a bite of the steak he’d been holding, the meat still warm and impossibly tender despite his delay. The flavor rolled over his tongue with the kind of depth that didn’t come from recipe books but from memory. Molasses and smoke, with something earthier underneath—maybe paprika, maybe ground mustard, maybe just love. He didn’t usually use that word. Too heavy. Too soft. But it sat on the edge of his thoughts anyway.

His boots made barely a sound as he crossed the grass toward the grills. The firelight flared and shifted as he passed, casting flickers of movement across his inked arms and the curve of his jaw. He was quieter now, tempered even. Wherever Hannah was, he found her.

“That was something else.”

His voice was firm—low and sure, like gravel being turned by wind.

“Your food,” he said, holding up his plate slightly before gesturing around the clearing, “the atmosphere, the timing of it all.” He took a breath, eyes scanning the space again. The fading wisps of music. The fire burning low. The way people lingered. “There’s a kind of hospitality people think can be bought—clean tablecloths, curated playlists, some catered bullshit with balsamic reduction and barely-warm sliders.”

His gaze came back to her.

“This is something people will remember.”

Then, almost casually, he added, “And I say that as someone who’s tried to create it—once a year, like a ritual. Never gets this quiet, though. Never gets this warm.” His mouth twitched, something like amusement behind the gravel. “People usually show up to my barbecues half-drunk and carrying bad decisions in Tupperware.”

He looked at her again—really looked.

“I don’t know who taught you to cook like this. Or throw a night like this. But if they’re gone, you’re honoring the hell out of them. And if they’re still around…” A wry lift of his brow. “Tell ‘em they raised a damn good one.”

The banter continued around the firepit as flames flickered and popped. A few logs were added to keep it strong yet still gentle enough. Hannah's twin sat down in a nearby chair. The steak was nearly finished on her plate. The aroma of food that still cooked wafted from all three grills. The string lights cast their warm glow while flames cast shadows that seemed to dance. When Adrian came over to take a saxophone that had been propped up next to her acoustic guitar, she did briefly wonder how it got there. A brow quirked but the subject was chalked up to random magic. Stranger things could happen! "By all means, darlin'." She replied to the man with an easy gesture of the hand. An amused smile crossed her lips as she was about to continue to eat but paused when Lyra spoke. With a glance toward the girl, "Happy ta have ya here."

A warm smile was made at both of them. Had she noticed Raiden's presence? Of course. She had glanced over toward him and noted the inked skin and how he seemed to tower over Nathan like a giant. The difference between the two men was like seeing a picture with two halves for sharp contrast. The breeze carried many of the folk's scent. She could pick out many humans, a few shifters and...something else? She turned back toward her plate. Well, this world was vast with many different folks. Another bite was taken, this time from the greens. The simplicity of the flavors wrapped around like they always did when she made them. There was barely enough time to swallow before the melody of bow to string pierced through the easy ambiance of the gathering. A blink. Then a slow second blink. Hannah subconsciously set down the fork as eyes moved up toward the violinist.

The notes were beautiful, emotionally charged as memories were snagged to the surface of the mind... Sitting on the porch at sunset. Curled next to her fiancé on the wooden swing as it rocked slowly. Her head had been on his chest, his strong arm around her frame to hold her close to him. There was an easy grace to him. A quiet strength, sure hands and the way he grounded her despite the wild nature of her being. Life with him had been brief, beautiful and taken too soon... It was a memory. Something special. Almost sacred, even. A hand reached up and touched over the locket that rested around her neck as the tone of the melody reached deep. Then the notes of the saxophone entered with ease. It didn't overshadow. It weaved through the gaps and held the notes to accompany those of the violin.

The way they both worked was as if they had become one and the same. Artists who worked well, their melodies meshed together like first nature. As if it were instinct. Hannah was mesmerized by the song that the duet played as music filled the atmosphere with something words couldn't do enough justice to. Her eyes became slightly glassy. This would only be brief as more fond memories came and went. The time spent with her fiancé on horseback riding. Work at the ranch. Watching him put in fence posts while she teased him and helped stubbornly despite gentle protests from him. It had been a few years now, though. The grief had long since left her. But as the music arched in pitch and settled slow, some of the best memories of him came back to her in that moment. As the song came to a close, she let out a silent exhale of breath.

Whatever tears had gathered at the corners of her eyes were blinked away as they vanished. A soft clap of the hands was given. Even though the strings were silent and the saxophone ceased, there was still the murmur of their vibrations that lingered momentarily in the aftermath. Like a reminder. A whisper. A gentle memory. The remainder of the food on her plate was forgotten. Fingers still touched the platinum locket at her neck. Eyes stared into the fire, lost in thought for however long it was until someone nearby seemed to speak to her. A few blinks were made as she realized that tall man she had seen earlier was now next to her chair. Neck craned a little as head tilted back to meet his gaze. How long had he been standing there? "Hm? Oh. Yes it was somethin' else." A friendly grin reached her eyes as she glanced around briefly. Nathan seemed to have left. Adrian and Lyra seemed fine as they played their instruments.

Her gaze went back to the man next to her as she made a motion for him to take a seat next to her if he liked to. With an easy lean back into her own seat, the woman reclined there with her body slightly angled toward him as he had her attention. Mind still had old memories that came to the surface unbidden, but fond. With a warmth in her smile, there was a small weight that clung to her eyes. Thoughtful, even. But as the man spoke, she did genuinely listen. The hand over the locket left as she took another bite of steak while he spoke, hand gestured around them briefly. A slight nod was made, but she was happy with the turnout of events for the evening. The song Lyra and Adrian played together had brought a new level of comfort to the folks that had gathered. While the food that had been made filled bellies and provided that warm feeling of home.

Hannah couldn't help but feel a little more at peace. By the time the man seemed to finish, there was a quiet smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. Warmth was still present. The weight that had been in her eyes was lessened a degree. "I'll be extra sure to host this again next year about the same time as now. And who knows? Might even have some swimmin' goin' on?" A playful quirk of the lips as she even leaned up and looked toward the lake. Sure, some folks had dived in for a bit. But the surface of it was lightly rippled only by wind now. She settled back and returned her gaze toward him. "I learned ta cook by my folks. Mom, dad even my uncles and aunts. Gran parents, too. Each one had recipes of their own. An' I experimented. Alot." She cracked up a little with laughter. "But I'll tell ya said that. It'll make 'em happy an' thank ya. I'm Hannah, what's yer name, hon?" An elbow came up to rest against the wooden armrest.

Whether he chose to answer with his name or not, she wasn't one to push nor judge. Either way, "I think this year turned out much better than I expected. Quite a few folks came in. If it helps anyone find a bit o' peace then I'd say ta hard work be worth it." She glanced to the guitar which leaned against her own chair. "Maybe I'll even play again 'fore the end of things tonight. If ya plan to stay a little, I might even sing a bit, too." Then playfully her head turned slightly as she eyed him. "Can ya play or sing?" A quirk of the brow. Playful, maybe a little teasing even. The warmth in her tone never left as she remained grounded. Yet the wild never truly stayed down for too long as it stirred. Hannah felt the inner bob cat inside mentally stretch out it's limbs. Maybe after this was done for the night, she could return home and let it run freely for a few hours.