Ryan was pacing the length of his parents' backyard, kicking at stray pebbles and occasionally glaring at the grill like it had personally wronged him. To the casual observer, he might have looked like a man deep in thought, but in reality, he was running a mental marathon of self-doubt, frustration, and, annoyingly, Ava Lee.
"Stop pacing," his mom called from the porch, where she was arranging plates on the picnic table. "You're wearing a trench into the lawn."
"I'm not pacing," Ryan shot back, though he very much was. "I'm… thinking."
"Thinking about Ava?" his dad chimed in, strolling over with a pair of tongs in one hand and a bottle of BBQ sauce in the other.
Ryan froze mid-step. "What? No. Why would you say that?"
His dad raised an eyebrow. "Son, you're muttering to yourself and just kicked a pebble into the potato salad. Pretty sure that's a sign."