Chapter Text
Fadel adjusted the collar of his jacket and glanced at the shopping list in his hand. The bustling supermarket was loud and chaotic, but he navigated it with precision. Years of keeping Bison in line had taught him to find structure even in disorder. The list was short—just enough to stock up the essentials for their burger joint. As he reached the meat section, his attention was drawn to a conversation nearby.
“You can’t just slap it on the grill,” a deep, cheerful voice declared. “You’ve got to let the steak rest. That’s where the flavor’s at.”
Fadel turned to see a man with a salt-and-pepper beard passionately discussing steak techniques with the butcher. He was holding up a ribeye like it was a trophy, his animated gestures making the butcher smile. Intrigued despite himself, Fadel couldn’t help but step closer. Steak-grilling was an art he prided himself on mastering, and it wasn’t often he came across someone as passionate about it.
“Let it rest for how long?” Fadel found himself asking, his tone calm but curious.
The man turned, his grin widening as he spotted Fadel. “At least ten minutes after it’s off the grill. Anything less, and you’re wasting good meat.” He extended a hand. “Name’s Max. You?”
“Fadel,” he replied, shaking Max’s hand. “You sound like you know your way around a grill.”
Max chuckled. “Been cooking since before you were born, son. What about you?”
“I run a burger joint. Comes with the territory.”
Max’s eyes lit up. “Now we’re talking! A man who respects the craft. Tell me, what’s your secret for the perfect sear?”
The next few minutes flew by as they exchanged tips, discussing everything from marinades to grilling temperatures. Fadel, usually reserved, found himself enjoying the banter. Max had an infectious energy that was hard to ignore. By the time they finished, they’d swapped recipes and grilling philosophies, and Max had managed to coax a rare smile from Fadel.
“Listen,” Max said as they wrapped up, “I don’t meet many people who take steak as seriously as I do. How about a barbecue sometime? I’ve got a backyard setup that’ll blow your mind.”
Fadel hesitated. Socializing wasn’t his forte, especially with strangers. But Max’s enthusiasm was hard to refuse. “I’ll think about it,” he said, slipping the last steak into his cart.
“Great. And hey,” Max added, as if an afterthought, “I’ve got a son about your age. You should meet him. Could use someone like you in his life.”
Fadel stiffened. “I’m not exactly in the market for friends.”
Max laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Relax. No pressure. Just keep it in mind. He’s a good kid, though a little rough around the edges.”
Fadel nodded noncommittally and walked away, the conversation lingering in his mind. A “good kid” wasn’t exactly what he needed, but Max had been decent company. It wouldn’t hurt to indulge in a barbecue, would it?
Later that evening, Fadel returned to the burger joint, arms laden with groceries. Bison was sprawled on a booth, flipping through a magazine and munching on fries. He looked up as Fadel entered.
“You were gone forever. Did you fall into the freezer or something?” Bison quipped, his tone light but teasing.
“I ran into someone interesting,” Fadel replied, setting the bags down on the counter.
Bison raised an eyebrow. “Interesting how? Please tell me you’re finally making friends.”
“Just a guy at the supermarket. We talked about grilling.”
Bison snorted. “You mean you bonded over charred meat. Classic Fadel.”
Fadel ignored the comment and started unpacking the groceries. “He invited me to a barbecue.”
Bison leaned forward, a grin spreading across his face. “Wait. You, Mr. Lone Wolf, got invited to a social event? Please tell me you’re going.”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“You’re going,” Bison said firmly. “It’s about time you had some fun. You might even meet someone who doesn’t think you’re a total buzzkill.”
Fadel sighed but didn’t argue. He knew Bison’s teasing came from a place of love, even if it grated on his nerves.
A week later, Fadel found himself standing in Max’s backyard, surrounded by the smoky aroma of grilling meat. Max was in his element, flipping steaks and chatting with neighbors. Fadel stayed near the grill, keeping the conversation light and avoiding the small crowd that had gathered.
“So, what do you think?” Max asked, handing him a perfectly seared steak.
“Not bad,” Fadel admitted, taking a bite. “Could use a touch more garlic.”
Max laughed heartily. “You’ve got a sharp tongue, kid. I like that.”
As the evening wore on, Max introduced Fadel to more people, but one introduction caught him off guard.
“Fadel, meet my son, Style,” Max said, gesturing to a man striding toward them.
Fadel froze. Style. The shameless mechanic who’d danced around his auto shop, mocked his lack of insurance, and flirted with him just to get a rise. The same Style who had annoyed him to no end and left a lingering sense of chaos in his wake.
“Style,” Fadel said flatly.
Style’s grin widened as recognition dawned. “Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Stoic himself. This is going to be fun.”
“You two know each other?” Max asked, surprised.
“You could say that,” Style replied, his tone dripping with amusement. “I fixed his jeep. Or tried to, anyway.”
“And annoyed me every step of the way,” Fadel muttered under his breath.
Style leaned closer, his grin turning mischievous. “Come on, you loved it.”
Max, oblivious to the tension, clapped his hands together. “Perfect! You already have history. This will make things easier.”
“Make what easier?” Fadel asked, dread creeping into his voice.
“Your date, of course!” Max said cheerfully. “I told you, Fadel. My son needs someone steady in his life, and you’re just the guy.”
Fadel stared at Max, then at Style, who was clearly enjoying the situation. “This isn’t a date,” he said firmly.
“It is now,” Style quipped, grabbing a plate and piling it with food. “Relax, old man. Let’s eat and see where the night takes us.”
Fadel glared at him but didn’t leave. Out of respect for Max—and maybe a touch of curiosity—he stayed, wondering how he’d let himself get roped into this madness.
As the night wore on, Fadel found himself engaging in light banter with Style despite his better judgment. Style, for all his bravado, had moments of surprising insight, and Fadel couldn’t help but notice the way his laughter lit up the room.
By the time the barbecue ended, Fadel’s walls were still firmly in place, but there was a crack—a small one, barely noticeable. Style had gotten under his skin, and Fadel wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or the beginning of a disaster.
All he knew was that life had just gotten a lot more complicated.