Cookout

It was a hot day in the kitchen. I was washing some pots when the boss came up to me.

“Ivan, I need you to work this Sunday.”

I was glad for the opportunity, a Sunday shift meant a bigger paycheck. “Sure. What’s this Sunday, Rich?”

“We’re doing a cookout for the First Presbyterian. Imma need you to cook up a bunch of franks and patties and some veggie stuff for the herbivores.”

“No problem, Rich. I’ve done I cookout with you before, remember?”

“Yeah.”

“So,” I asked without raising my head from a pan, “Reverend Johnson is going to be there, right?”

“Yeah,” Rich said and I could tell he was smiling, “And that daughter of his, too.”

“Oh. Okay,” I said.

Outside, summer was reaching its climax.

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