18. Booth
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
booth
“Lottie.” I peer down at my niece lovingly.
Quite the contrast to her sulky pout.
“ You have to eat your vegetables.”
“They’re yucky.” She gags dramatically.
Lottie enjoys hanging out with me when I’m cooking.
She’s good company, even though she eats half the ingredients and asks a hundred questions per minute.
For the last couple of hours, I’ve been sweating my ass off in my mom’s kitchen finishing Christmas dinner.
With her leg still in a cast after her fall, I offered to cook again like I did at Thanksgiving .
“If you don’t eat them, your dad won’t let you have any of Aunty Quinn’s apple pie.”
Her head whips side to side until she gets dizzy, nearly toppling over.
“Okay, okay, you little toad.” I kneel so we’re eye level.
“ If you eat half your green beans and all your sweet potato casserole, we can sneak the rest to Curly .”
“Will not!” calls a deep voice.
Lottie snickers behind her fingers.
“ Uncle Graham doesn’t like us feeding Curly . ”
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” I ruffle her hair.
“I’m literally right here. Listening to you both conspire.” Graham walks in with his Dachshund , Curly , trotting behind him, tail wagging.
“Curly!” Lottie squeals and dives to her knees, rolling around with the dog, who eats up the attention.
“Stop teaching her bad habits!” He punches me in the shoulder.
“Um, ow. And no. I’m the fun uncle. It’s my job. Right , toad?”
“Uh-huh.” She nods, while avoiding Curly’s sloppy kisses.
“ Last week, Uncle Boo showed me how to get chips from the vending machine. We got a dollar, some string, and then?—”
I slap a hand over her mouth, silencing her.
“ And that’s enough talking for today.”
“Perfect. You’re teaching my daughter how to be a kleptomaniac.” Patrick walks in.
“Oh, come to join the party?” I turn to Lottie and blow a raspberry.
“ As the pooper!”
Her laughter is contagious.
Even Patrick’s scowl shifts to a smile as he watches her vibrate into a fit of giggles, wheezing, “ Daddy poops.”
When she calms down, he plucks her off the floor and slings her over his shoulder.
“ Let’s leave Uncle Boo to it or we’ll never eat.”
I straighten and head back over to the stove, checking on the potatoes and cranberry sauce.
“Smells good in here,” Graham says.
“ Thanks for doing this again.”
“My pleasure. Your girlfriend helped on the dessert front.” I point a wooden spoon at him.
“ Don’t fuck it up.”
He sits on a stool at the island, expression contemplative.
“ Never . Trust me. She’s the best thing to ever happen to me.”
His face goes all gooey, eyes hazing over.
Usually his lovey- dovey show triggers nausea.
Not today. Today it pulls at something deep in my chest…
He’s not wrong, though.
Quinn brought him back from the shadows after he dubbed himself unlovable thanks to his wench of an ex.
Same for Johanna and Patrick .
My oldest brother had given up on the idea of love, and buried himself in work, but he never forgot Jo after she up and left town suddenly.
When she returned, she gave him a new lease on life; along with raising Lottie , she filled his heart.
My brothers haven’t changed; they’re the best versions of themselves.
Because of a silly four-letter word?
“The water is boiling over!” Graham shouts.
I jump back, spinning the dial to kill the flame.
“ No need to shout.”
“I said your name three times. You were miles away then.” Deadpan , he asks, “ Finally , find your brain?”
“Hilarious.” Steam billows around me as I drain the potatoes and set them aside.
“ I was distracted. Still need to catch up on my sleep.”
“Did you not get enough at The Nook ?” His tone is suspicious.
Not nearly enough. Plus , last night, a certain woman infiltrated my dreams.
But I don’t tell him that.
“Meh. The storm kept me up,” I reply casually.
Then in walks Dex .
And boy, do I have a bone to pick with him.
I gave him an earful yesterday about the double-booking situation and his response: my bad.
“What are we talking about?” Dex looks between us.
Graham jerks his head in my direction.
“ He’s whiny because he didn’t get enough sleep at the cabin.”
“Hard to sleep when you’re sharing a bed with the owner, you mean?” He smirks and knocks his shoulder into mine .
My eye twitches as I fight the urge to pummel him.
“New rule. Holidays are for family only,” I grit out, right as Graham gapes at me and says much too loudly, “ You slept with her!”
Pinching my nose, I sigh.
“ For over thirty years, you’ve been the quiet one. Now you decide to be a loudmouth?”
Graham shrugs.
“ I’m not the one sleeping with the enemy.”
“Jesus.” I turn to Dex , making sure he can read my lips.
“ Isn’t there some confidentiality rule you’re breaking by disclosing your guest’s identity?”
“Sue me. Now spill.” Fingers steepled under his chin, he beams at me.
“Oooh, tea.” My sister strolls in with a pair of reindeer antlers on her head.
“No. No . One hundred percent no.” I point at each of them, ending on Florence .
“ There is no tea. The cup is dry. Go about your lives, stop interfering in mine, and let me finish dinner.”
They’re all silent for a beat before they bark with laughter.
Graham is the first to speak.
“ Rich coming from the guy who makes it his life’s mission to stick his nose into our business.”
I ignore him, spoon a knob of butter into the potatoes, then angrily mash them.
“So who’s going to tell me what’s going on?” Florence chirps.
Dex is the one to respond.
“ Booth appears to have changed alliances and has finally charmed Alessandra into bed with him.”
“You fucked the boss?!” Harriet —who I didn’t even hear come in—shrieks.
Harriet is Johanna’s younger sister and my high school girlfriend.
We gave each other our virginities and then promptly realized we were better off as friends.
Even though she lives in Tennessee , we’ve remained close .
Right now, however, she’s the straw breaking the camel’s back.
“Everyone out! A kitchen is no place for gossiping.” I throw a handful of uncooked cranberries at them.
“ For the record. I didn’t sleep with her. Yes , we both got stuck in the cabin together, but we were forced into that situation. She left, then probably jumped on the next flight out of here. End of story. Now , leave me in peace or I’ll throw the food in the trash.”
To my relief, a chorus of sighs and one “ You’re no fun” meet my ears before they reluctantly traipse into the dining room.
With a deep breath, I shut my eyes, collecting myself.
Dex is getting laxatives in his serving.
I finish the potatoes, glaze the ham, plate up the sides, and forget all about Alessandra .
Twenty minutes later, the table is crammed full of food, and we’re all fighting for a seat.
“Mom, what’s with the extra place settings?” Patrick points at two empty chairs.
“Did I not tell you? I invited a couple of friends who are alone this Christmas because of the storm.” She glances down at her watch.
“ They’re running late.”
As if on cue, the doorbell chimes.
My siblings and I exchange curious looks.
It’s not unusual for my mom to invite people over.
For the last two years, Martin Willis has joined us.
“Booth, sweetheart, would you answer that, seeing as you’re up?” my mom says.
“Sure, Ma .” I set the gravy dish down and head to the front door.
To no surprise, Martin stands on the other side of the threshold.
Only, he isn’t alone.
Shoulders back, face impassive, and chin held high, Aly stares at me, completely unbothered.
The only giveaway to her discomfort is the white-knuckling of her hand around the paper bag she’s holding.
Me? My heart is ready to punch out of my chest while my brain simultaneously tells me to slam the door shut.
Neither of us speaks.
The silence drags as the cold air claws at my face.
I grip the door so hard, the wood creaks.
“You okay there, Booth ?” Martin’s eyes dart between Aly and me.
I lose the staring contest and gesture inside.
“ Yeah , sorry. Come in.”
“Ladies first,” Martin says to Aly , who barely glances at him as she hurries through the door.
I take three seconds to calm myself before turning to our new guests, a smile plastered on so tightly, my cheeks ache.
“ Martin . Merry Christmas . Good to have you again this year. Everyone is in the dining room. Why don’t you head in, I need to speak to Alessandra .”
Martin doesn’t question me and ambles away.
“There’s nothing to discuss,” she snaps once he’s out of earshot.
Folding my arms, I give her a once-over.
Which is a mistake. Her beige duster coat is unbuttoned, giving me the perfect view of the forest green dress molded to her body.
My teeth clench as I’m transported back to the cabin.
With her. Sans dress.
Lean legs spread. Dusty pink nipples rising and falling with her moans.
Taut tummy contracting as she comes.
Only this time there is no toy.
Because she’s riding me to the finish.
Huffing, she storms away, but I snatch her by the wrist to gently tug her back.
“There’s plenty to discuss.” I drop her hand, our glares inches apart.
“ I’ve asked this of you plenty—but why are you here?”
She sucks in a long breath, like the answer keeps getting stuck in her throat.
“ Your mom is the sweetest manipulator I’ve ever come across.”
“Sorry, my mom?” Then it hits me.
Her guests. “ She invited you?”
A throat clears, and we spin to find Mother dearest at the end of the hallway.
Throwing daggers in my direction.
“ She did, Booth Elias .”
“Elias,” Aly titters.
I don’t look at her.
“Alessandra, so lovely of you to join us. I’m sure my youngest son was offering to take your coat.”
Because I value my life, I do just that.
My gaze sticks to the back of her head as she shrugs out of her coat, letting it drop into my arms without a backward glance.
With the paper bag in hand again, she pulls out a Tupperware and a bottle of wine.
“It’s really kind of you to have me. It’s not much, but I had time to make some melomakarona —a family recipe. It’s a traditional Greek dessert.”
“Oh, how lovely. Let me take you through.” Baked goods are the way to my mom’s heart.
She loops her arm through Aly’s and escorts her away, chatting happily.
What the fuck is my fucking life?