Kyoko watched as Yukio poured half a sack of briquettes onto the grill. There was a lot more soot and black hands compared to Urufu's handiwork just a metre away. Apparently even something as simple as preparing the barbecue was a learned skill.

It taught her two things she hadn't thought of before. That what's mundane for one person is exotic for another, and that Swedes spent far too much time burning food and eating outdoors during summer.

If they're frantic enough to learn all this, what are their winters like? A picture of Hokkaido came unbidden to her mind, and she shivered despite the warm summer's evening.

“What time is it?” Yukio asked after looking at his hands and his mostly white shirt.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Urufu grinned and helped wipe his hands off. Then he looked at the sky. “Nine, give or take fifteen minutes.”

Yukio shook his head. “And the sun still gives warmth. This place is a miracle.”

“You're just unused to it. Just like I was back then during the beach trip.”

Do you mean the first or the second one? Kyoko thought. I wonder if you really remember very much of the first one to that Wakayama place. She was overflowing with memories, and along those memories followed the intense infatuation she had shared with Yukio. But it grew to real love, didn't it? she thought and hugged her husband from behind.