Chapter Nineteen
Bodhi
Gemma won’t stop talking about Honor and Puck, and I know the feeling.
The good news is that my daughter’s obsession with the redhead and her canine means I can use it to my advantage.
I already did. Despite what I told Honor, Gemma never remembers who picks out pumpkins and usually doesn’t request anybody come over to carve them unless I suggest it.
But does Honor need to know that? No. I want her in my space.
I want her to tell me things about her past without deflecting or changing the subject.
I want her to offer me the information instead of me having to ask for it.
That all comes with time, and I’m willing to give her as much of that as she needs.
“Are they here yet?” Gemma asks for the third time, getting on her tiptoes to peak out the window.
Just like the last four times she asked, I say, “No, Cookie Monster. Not yet. Soon.”
The house smells like cinnamon from the amount of baking I’ve done, and the table is covered with old newspapers to protect it from the pumpkin guts that’s about to blanket it.
I woke up feeling way more excited to carve pumpkins than I have been any other year.
Usually, it’s a mundane task that I end up finishing when Gemma gets bored and goes off to do something else in the middle of it.
But this year, we have Honor.
And Puck.
Let’s be real. Puck will be the main reason Gemma’s attention is pulled away from the pumpkin she’s talked about nonstop ever since picking it out of the field.
When a car pulls up out front, I half expect to see Sylvia in the driver’s seat. Not a young brunette. I also don’t anticipate her getting out and following Honor up to where I’m standing in front of the door.
The girls are whispering back and forth, and Honor shoots her a look of warning as they stop a few feet away.
“Hi,” I greet, looking at Honor, then her friend. I stick my hand out to her. “I’m Bodhi.”
Her friend beams, quickly taking my hand between hers and shaking it. “Oh, I know. You’re on my hall pass list.”
That isn’t the first time I’ve heard that statement, oddly enough.
“But,” the woman adds, still not introducing herself, “my best friend has dibs on you, so I’ll scratch your name off in solidarity.”
Honor groans as she palms her face. “Mila!”
The girl, Mila, grins at her. “What? I’m being a good friend by sacrificing one of my top passes for you. You should be thankful.”
Honor doesn’t say anything.
“I’m Mila, by the way,” she tells me, dropping our hands. “I’m bisexual, but I’d like to think it’s an eighty-twenty split with women favoring my taste.”
That’s probably more information than I needed to know, but I return it without thinking twice. “It’s nice to meet you, Mila. I’m heterosexual. My particular taste in women has narrowed in on one person in particular, but since she’s currently as red as a tomato, I won’t name names.”
Mila’s grin turns mischievous. “I like you.” She turns to me. “I like him. More heterosexual men should come out as straight to people in their first introductions. It’s very Love, Simon of him.”
Her name finally registers with me. “Your parents own Mila’s Bistro in Brooklyn, right?” I ask, regaining her attention.
Approval flashes across her face. “Right. Have you been? My father is a big fan of your team, so I’d be shocked if you were there and he didn’t know. He would have either passed out or fangirled. There’s no in between.”
Honor finally joins the conversation. “Your mom wouldn’t have let him do either,” she says, getting a thoughtful nod from Mila.
“You’re right,” Mila relents. “She would have hit him upside the head with her oven mitt if she saw him ogling a famous customer.”
I’ll have to make a point to go there again and say hi now that I know he’s a fan. “Maybe Honor and I can go together one of these days. It’s been a while since I’ve had their food. It’ll give me an excuse to take her out.”
If it’s possible, Honor turns redder.
“I approve,” Mila tells me. “Well, I’m just dropping her off. I’ll get out of your hair. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t. That should leave your options wide open. Wear protection, eat your vegetables, and all that good stuff.”
All I can do is stare in amusement as Mila walks back to her car with a wave of her hand.
“Your friend is…”
“Embarrassing,” Honor finishes for me, glaring at the brunette pulling away.
I chuckle. “I was going to say eccentric.”
Honor sighs. “Yeah, she’s that too. Sorry about…her. She insisted on meeting you. The first time I told her about you, she—” She stops herself, wincing.
I, on the other hand, am flattered. “You told her about me, huh?” I ask, eyebrow arching with interest. “Was this after you ditched me at the aquarium? Or when I made you have dinner with me while we went over how my career works?”
There’s a lot more I’d like to know, but something tells me I’m not going to get any answers.
All she says is, “Neither,” in a quiet tone.
And that only makes me more curious, but I drop it for now. “Come on in. Gemma has been waiting for you and Puck since she woke up. I had to bribe her to get changed and brush her hair.”
Honor follows me in, stopping in the foyer with the same hesitancy as usual when she’s in my space. Her eyes go to the spot I’d backed her into the wall, and her cheeks flush. What I would give to get in that mind of hers right now…
She clears her throat. “What did you bribe her with?”
I watch as she takes her shoes off and carefully places them off to the side. “A chocolate bar. That was after she ate the last pumpkin donut and had half of a cinnamon roll.”
Honor’s eyebrows go up silently.
“I know. I’m a shit dad,” I joke.
“Daddy!” Gemma says from where she’s sitting on the couch watching a cartoon. “You’re not supposed to say that word. It’s bad.”
At least she stopped repeating the bad words she hears. Once, I said the dreaded F-word when I was with Sebastian, Tori, and Beckham, and Gemma came up to me and said, “We’re not supposed to say ‘fuck’.”
Sebastian spit his beer out.
Tori’s eyes watered as she laughed.
Beckham had no idea what was going on.
It took a while before it was drilled into her head not to say the words, but to remind me—and others, since she’s corrected Sebastian a handful of times—not to say them at all.
Instead, we’ve come up with new versions.
‘Fuck’ turned into ‘puck’, which was a random play on words that appeased her corrupted ears and amused the adults around her.
“You’re right, Cookie Monster. I’m sorry.”
I guide Honor into the kitchen, where a fresh tray of snickerdoodles are waiting on a plate. “Have one,” I tell her, sliding them closer to her. “There’s no pumpkin. Promise.”
“You didn’t have—”
“I wanted to,” I insist before she can finish her sentence. “I would have made more brownies since they’re your favorite, but I didn’t have the right ingredients. I debated on blondies, but they’re not as good in my opinion.”
She shifts her weight from one foot to another. “You don’t need to buy my friendship with food, Bodhi.”
It’s not your friendship I want, I almost say.
“I know,” I tell her instead. “But I enjoy baking for people I care about.”
It’s a neutral statement. Not too flirty to make her uncomfortable but blunt enough for her to understand she’s one of the few people I care for.
Apparently, she doesn’t understand. “Is that an extensive list?”
I shake my head, watching her pick up a cookie. “No. It’s exclusive. I’m particular about who I let into my life.”
She stares at her cookie. “I’m honored then.”
I smile easily. “You should be.”
She rolls her eyes and takes a bite. I watch her a little too closely, and just about come when I hear the soft moan of approval. “These are…” She covers her mouth as she chews, shaking her head in disbelief.
Annnnd I really need to stop staring at her mouth before I have a full-on erection all day.
Clearing my throat, I jab my thumb toward the dining room. “We should start carving before Gemma loses interest…”
Honor watches me for a second before nodding, finishing off the small cookie. “Okay.”
Having her in my space is a turn on I never thought I’d feel. The last time I got this hard this easily was during puberty. Someone could sneeze and my dick would react. Honor makes me feel like a goddamn teenager.
And I both love it and fucking hate it.
*
Hearing the girls giggling in the other room as I finish cleaning the table off hours after we finish our carvings is a beautiful sound to my ears.
It may be up there with Gemma calling me “daddy” for the first time, or seeing Honor, Gemma, and Puck all running around the back yard playing tag, or even watching Gem ask Honor for help doing literally anything when she normally asks me.
Honor looks like she belongs here, and that thought sticks long after Gemma gets washed up and falls asleep on the couch from her morning festivities that wore her out.
I give Honor a onceover when she comes into the kitchen to see if I need any help.
“She got you good, huh?” I ask, grinning at the orange stains on her Rangers tee.
This is the third time I’ve seen it on her, and I’m wondering if she did it on purpose.
“I hope that’s not your favorite shirt, but I’ve got stain remover in the laundry room if it is. ”
She tugs on the hem to examine herself. “I chose something old, so I’m not worried.”
Somehow, she has pumpkin stains on her face as well as her hands. “You’ve got…” I step forward to swipe at her jaw lightly, but it doesn’t come off. “I think you touched your face when you were taking the guts out.”
Her fingertips brush the spot I stroked like an idiot. “Oh.”
I gesture toward the stairs. “You can take a shower if you want. I can give you something to wear while I wash your clothes. If you want a chance at saving your outfit, it’s better if I put it in the washer now.”