25. Booth
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
booth
This.
I could get used to this.
Onyx curls tickle my nose as her head rests on my chest. Every inch of my skin tingles as her soft breathing caresses my neck.
For such a non-cuddler, she’s clinging to me like her life depends on it.
I like this.
This won’t last.
It’s hard to comprehend that reality when all I want to do is ignore it.
As cliché as it sounds, it’s never been like this before.
The funny thing is, what I thought would terrify me, doesn’t.
And maybe that’s more terrifying.
Rather than overthink it, I enjoy the feel of her body molded to mine.
The fight glimmered in her eyes when I asked her to share a secret.
They say the eyes are the window to the soul.
In Aly’s , I saw a chaos of emotions swirling in those stormy depths.
It took all my strength not to beg her to tell me why panic seized her; a reaction so ill-fitted for someone that wears their strength and confidence like silver-plated armor.
Today is my day off, and I’m not sure of her schedule.
I decide on more sleep, not wanting this to end.
But the second my eyelids close, her deadweight shifts.
Her breasts crush into my chest as she stretches, yawning quietly, before blinking up at me.
Behind the sleepy haze, a ripple of shock appears, like she forgot where she was, before serenity washes it away.
Deep satisfaction swells behind my rib cage when her head drops to my neck, a low hum vibrating from her throat as she presses her nose to my pulse point.
“You smell like smoked chicory,” she murmurs.
She shakes with my rumble of laughter.
“ Is that a good thing?”
“Mm-hmm.” She lifts her head again.
“ I have to go. Jo invited me to meet with the wine rep this afternoon.”
I tighten my arms. “ Jo is a cock block.”
She wrangles out of my hold to straddle my hips.
The barrier of our underwear needs eradicating.
“Are you working today?” She peers down at me coyly.
Lifting a hand, I twirl a strand of hair around my finger, then let is spring free.
“ Nah . I’m going to meet up with Harriet for lunch before taking Lottie ice-skating.”
Her lips tilt up, voice sickly sweet.
“ That’s nice.”
“There is nothing going on there. She’s like a sister to me.”
She grimaces.
“ A sister you gave your virginity to?”
My stomach turns.
“ Gross . Harry would tell you I’m too young for her anyway. She has a thing for older men.” A shiver runs through her when I glide my hand down her back, cupping her tight ass and grinding her into me.
“ I like you all hot and bothered over me.”
“Oh, you bother me all right,” she deadpans, then lowers her top half, aligning our fronts.
We lie together, watching the pink sky paint the snowy bluffs.
The headboard sits flush against the large window spanning the back of my house.
I have blinds but prefer nature’s alarm.
Gulls swoop and dive into the water, circling the trawlers bobbing across the bay.
Like the icicles hanging from the roof, warming under the sun’s rays, she melts into me, soft and pliant in my arms.
“I’m curious. The paintings you were selling. Was it all a ruse to spy on us?”
Her eyes narrow, chin balanced between my pecs.
“ Yes , and no. I do paint, but I rarely sell my art. Or at all, really.”
My chest expands at this tidbit of information.
She gives me a crumb that might as well be a banquet.
“Will you show me?”
Her brows hike up.
“Your art. If that’s okay?” I brush a lock of hair off her shoulder.
Aly is clandestine to her core.
So when a smile erupts, outshining the sunrise behind us, and says, “ I’d like that.” It’s as if I’ve won the lottery.
No . Better . So much better.
“I have something for you,” I rush out and lean over to my bedside table.
“ Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”
She stares at me skeptically before obeying.
Rummaging around, I find what I’m looking for and drop it in her palm.
Suddenly , I feel stupid, but it’s too late.
Aly’s mouth drops open and she raises the tiny plastic flower.
“ Is this… LEGO ?”
My face heats.
“ Yeah . Um , now you can’t say I never gave you flowers.” I scratch my jaw.
“ You don’t have to keep it, it’s more of a joke.” I go to reach for it, but she snatches her arm away.
“Hey, mitts off.” She smiles thoughtfully at the little red rose.
Our gazes clash and my heart jumps wildly.
The tension between us evolves.
If we speak, it’ll vanish.
So we stay silent, our breathing shallow as something unknown and tempting ripples.
It’s always been there, only now there’s no fighting it.
If I were to reach out and touch it, sparks would fly, colors would burst, and I’m certain there’d be no turning back.
The chime of her phone pops our tranquil bubble.
I protest when she plants a chaste kiss to my cheek and jumps off me.
The little vixen licks her lips when her eyes drop to my morning wood.
“ Do me a favor…”
“I’m listening.” I sit upright, tracking her movements as she slips out of my T -shirt and into her clothes.
“Do nothing about that little problem, okay?” Her gaze drops again.
Dark amusement flickers with her devious smile.
“Little?!” I shout and scramble to the end of the bed as she saunters to the door.
“ Come back here and say that to my face, Alessandra Argiros .”
She kisses the tips of her fingers and blows me a kiss.
“ No touching, Chef . ”
When she disappears into the bitter January morning, I bring the discarded T -shirt to my nose, inhaling her lavender and sage scent, triggering a wild obsession that refuses to be reined in.
Collapsing back into my seat, I pat my belly, filled to the brim with ten slices of cheesy goodness.
Harry eyes my empty pizza box and her half-eaten pie.
“ Where do you put all that food? It’s not normal.”
I blot my mouth with a napkin and shrug.
“ I’m a growing boy.”
“Idiot.” She laughs .
Dough is a small pizzeria in town, with only a handful of tables.
Harriet and I have been coming here since we were teens.
It’s actually where we went on our first date.
Thinking back to those two gangly teenagers, awkwardly sharing a pepperoni slice, makes me chuckle.
Closing the lid, she leans forward, her voice just above a murmur.
“ So …how’s it going with Aly ?”
My lips quiver, a smile threatening to emerge at the mention of her name.
“ Hmm , I presume she’s good. Why do you ask?”
A wad of napkins hits me in the face.
“ Don’t play coy with me. I saw you two sneak into the supply closet. Now spill.”
“There’s nothing to say.”
“You’re telling me nothing is happening?” She stares at me dubiously.
I beckon her closer and keep my voice low.
“ I swore to her I’d keep it quiet. It’s casual, so don’t get ex?—”
“Ah-ha!” she shouts and slaps a palm to the table, gaining the attention of the staff behind the counter.
“ I knew it!”
“—cited,” I finish flatly.
“ Seriously , Harry , don’t tell anyone. Our siblings have some clue, but it’s only while she’s in town. After that we’re…ending things.”
Aly has just begun opening up, so the mention of the end sits heavy and sour in my stomach.
Then a wayward thought assaults me.
It feels like betrayal talking about Aly behind her back, but something has been niggling in my head since Christmas .
Against my better judgment, I look to Harriet to fill in the blanks.
“Hey, I have a question,” I begin.
She points at me. “ Don’t think we’re not looping back to your friends-with-benefits arrangement. Shoot .”
“On Christmas Day , did you hear what Aly and Martin were discussing before she left the room? ”
She blinks in surprise.
“ Oh . Yeah . It was a little awkward between them.” Her mouth twists.
“ Aly was asking about his family. Or his son, specifically.”
“His son?” I search my brain for any recollection of him having a family.
“ Was Martin married?”
Nodding, she sips her soda.
“ Yeah , but it ended before we were born. His son is closer to our parents’ age. I think he married and had a kid young, but I remember my dad talking about him once. He said Martin was a different person before his wife and kid left Sutton Bay . From what I gather, he saw little of them after that.”
“Wow. I never knew.” I tilt my head.
“ But why was their conversation awkward?”
“Maybe not awkward, but Aly seemed really adamant on knowing whether he visited his son. Then suddenly, she was excusing herself and disappeared. I hadn’t thought about it much until now. Why do you ask?”
Debating how to word this, I drag a hand through my hair before responding.
“ She seemed…spooked. Which isn’t like her.” I take in Harriet’s smug face.
“ Shut up.”
Harriet waves down our server for the bill while I replay every interaction I’ve witnessed between Aly and Martin .
Her stiff posture, pinched face, tense words.
Martin seemed unaffected.
Which is his usual look.
His relationship with his estranged family could explain his somber temperament and sad eyes.
A chill runs through me.
Martin’s sad, gray eyes.
So pale, they’re almost silver.
“Don’t forget to stomp your feet,” I holler up the driveway to Lottie .
Patrick and Johanna are at the restaurant today, and Lottie’s mom was called into work last minute.
I’d never turn down a day out with my niece.
I’m not proud of it, but in the past, she’s been the perfect babe magnet.
Patrick never took advantage of the “single daddy” persona—so someone had to.
Today , however, when the women’s hockey coach skated over to me on the lake, I was quick to declare Lottie as my niece and myself unavailable.
Lottie halts outside the front door and pounds her little snow boots on the ground, leaving splatters of white around her.
When she’s satisfied, she pushes open the door and bounds into the house.
“Grandma! It’s me!” she shouts.
I’m close behind, mirroring her as I stomp my feet before stepping inside.
My mom greets us in the hallway.
“Did you two have fun?” she asks while helping Lottie out of her snow pants.
“Yep.” Lottie grins from ear to ear while spinning in a circle.
“ I did a pillow-et.”
Laughing, I flick her pigtail.
“ It’s pirouette . But you nailed it. Very impressive.”
That little ounce of praise has her preening—she’s a lot like me in that sense.
Probably why she’s such a cool kid.
“Are we eating dinner here?” Lottie’s eyes ping-pong between my mom and me.
“Meatballs are cooking as we speak. Why don’t you get cleaned up and then play in the den?”
Lottie nods at my mom’s instructions and zips up the stairs.
I glare at my mother, who swats me away, already knowing why I’m mad.
“ The doctor said I could put weight on it now. Quit your fussing. ”
“Light duties. Standing at the stove for hours doesn’t fall into that category. You’re a menace.”
She ignores me and hobbles into the kitchen.
“I would have cooked,” I continue.
“Sweetheart, I know that, but you’re always working such long hours. I thought you’d like a break.” To my relief, she settles on a stool and elevates her injured leg.
“I love it, Ma .” I shrug while stirring the bright red marinara, garlic and rich tomato wafting through the air.
“Do you?”
The wooden spoon crashes to the counter, sending sauce flying and staining my T -shirt.
“Of course.” I don’t face her, worried my expression holds the truth.
She’s silent for a beat, making me nervous.
“ I’ve been thinking a lot lately about you kids and how your dad would have handled all these changes and milestones. We never spoke to you about your future in the restaurant…”
A sweat breaks out on the back of my neck.
I’m exposed and slightly panicked over how to respond.
If I reveal the truth, it will break her heart, knowing my dreams don’t involve staying in Maine .
Chuckling nervously, I say, “ Well , I don’t exactly have any transferable skills to land myself another job.” I pout at her over my shoulder.
“ Aly’s already fired me once. Don’t tell me you’re giving me the boot too?”
My humor does the trick in deflecting my mother’s inquisition, and I relax when she rolls her eyes.
“Speaking of Aly …” she starts.
“ She’s a surprising young woman, isn’t she? Very successful. As is her family’s business. It makes me wonder what their interest in Our Place is.”
Yeah, you and me both.
“Maybe they’re trying out a new business venture. Small -town restaurants can be very appealing.” Unease furls in the pit of my stomach, but I can’t ignore the question sitting on the tip of my tongue.
“ Hey , do you know if Martin Willis had any other kids?”
Mom looks puzzled at my sudden change in conversation.
“ What do you mean?”
“I know he has a son from his previous marriage, but is that it?”
Her head tilts in thought before shaking it.
“ Gosh , he’s so private, but I doubt it. Since his wife left, he’s kept to himself. She was sweet and taught third grade at the school. I don’t know what happened between them, but one day she was gone, taking their son with her. I remember him. Spitting image of Martin .”
Matching gray eyes, perhaps.
“Why do you want to know?” she presses.
“No reason,” I reply way too quickly.
Giving her my back, I rummage through the pantry.
“ Do you have any pappardelle ? It will go nicely with this sauce.”
“You should ask Alessandra out.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
My siblings say I’m a busybody, but my mother is a connoisseur of meddling.
“Ooooh, like a date? Do people make kissy faces on dates?” And enters chief meddler: Lottie Sadler .
“There will be no dating,” I declare.
Lottie gasps. “ Who are you marrying?”
My hands fly to my sides.
“ How the heck did you come to that conclusion, you toad?”
The little devil tsks and uncurls her hand toward me.
“ That’s a swear. Dollar please.”
“Is not,” I mumble but quickly pull out my wallet and slap a dollar in her hand, hoping it ends this conversation .
It doesn’t.
“We’re talking about Alessandra . I’m telling your Uncle Boo he should take her out for a nice dinner,” my mom declares casually.
My mouth gapes. “ What the fu—” Lottie looks at me with dollar signs in her eyes.
“—dge, Ma ? When did matchmaking become your side hustle?”
She huffs.
“ Can’t a mother want to see her son happy?”
“Sure. Visit Pat and Graham . Leave me out of it.” I point at the two troublemakers.
“ Now , both of you sit at the table. Dinner is almost ready.”
Thankfully, they leave me alone after that, and we chat about Lottie’s friends at school and what she wants from Santa next Christmas .
Shortly after we finish eating, Patrick arrives to collect Lottie .
I help my mom with a few chores, say goodbye, and leave armed with a Tupperware full of meatballs.
When I pull up outside my house, I find a text from Aly .
She-Devil: I hope you’ve kept your hands to yourself.
Booth: You’re a wicked, wicked woman.
She-Devil: If you behave, I’ll make it worth your while tomorrow night…
I make eight typos before I string a coherent text together.
Booth: I’m listening.
No touching whatsoever.
She-Devil: My place at 7.
I’m grinning maniacally.
Lust surges through my veins at a million miles per hour at the idea of being with her again.
Then I remember the conversations with Harriet and my mom .
How do I forget the crazy theory that’s taken root?
My head spins with all the different explanations, but it’s one in particular that won’t stop popping to the surface.
Is Aly Martin’s daughter?