He can feel gooseflesh raise in her wake as she brushes against him only to move away. Frank watches the same thing she's watching, ears pricked like a bloodhound ready for a strike. But all that comes is the insistent sound of crickets and bullfrogs and measure by measure he relaxes almost as much as he was pretending he already was, frame sinking down into his boots while he lifts the lid back up to check on their food and turn it over to give it an even char. One hand stays on his beer, drinking it fast so it doesn't go completely warm by the time he can finish, the other hand buried in Rocky's furry neck scruff.

"Sun's goin' down," he announces to no one in particular, suddenly remembering that Jessica had brought her camera but he's loathe to suggest it and pull her away from her thoughts so he chews on his lip instead before taking another swig.