Page 8 of Crossing the Brooklyn Briggs
“Are you hungry?” Oh good, I don’t sound as dumbstruck as I feel.Win. “I can make you some lunch.”
She narrows her eyes, as expressive as always. Since the day I met her—one of the better days of my life—Brooklyn Briggs has always been the most easy-to-read person I’ve ever known. It’s strange to think she’s twins with Houston, who can hide pretty much anything, because unless she’s gotten better at it over the years, Brooklyn broadcasts every single emotion on her face. Every thought.
Right now, she’s thinking I’m full of it by offering to make her food.
“You cook?”
“Always the tone of surprise,” I say, sighing deeply. “Are you hungry, or not?”
“I’m fine,” she says right as her stomach growls so loudly that I practically feel the rumble.
I have to try really hard not to laugh as I jump to my feet. “Uh huh.”
She looks around for a second, pressing a couple of fingers to her temple, before she says, “Oh, I left my phone in my room. If you go grab it, I can order us some food.”
“Ha!” My laugh makes her jump, and instead of going to her room, I head back into the kitchen. “I’ll make something if you say it’s okay that I raid your kitchen.”
“You want to cook for me?” She sounds completely incredulous. “Okay, Gordon Ramsay.” Hopefully it’s not because the idea of someone like me cooking is ridiculous. Although, I’m not sure it would be any better if she’s surprised by the idea ofanyonecooking for her. She’s had boyfriends before. I know she has. Have none of them ever made her lunch?
Have I always been this interested in someone else’s business?
Pretty sure I’ve never been this nosy in my life, thank you very much, though I’m not sure what it says about me now when I’m itching to do some more exploring of her nearly empty cupboards. I guess I’ve always had a weakness for Brooklyn, one that hasn’t grown tougher by a decade apart.
That could be a problem.
Nope.I won’t let it become a problem. That’s old news.
“I really will sit quietly in the corner if that’s what you want,” I remind Brooklyn, looking over at her and fighting my smile when she stares back with utter bewilderment on her face. “But if you’re hungry, I will happily make you something to eat. Say the word.”
She blinks once. Twice. For being Houston’s twin, she’s far warier than her brother, who wouldn’t have thought twice about it if I’d offered to make him food. Okay, so he may have found it a little strange the first time I did it, but the minute he tasted my risotto, he changed his tune. Maybe it’ll be the same with Brooklyn. We just have to get over the initial awkward stage. At some point, she has to realize that I’m not an eighteen-year-old kid anymore.
Though her eyes jump toward her bedroom, probably in search of her phone, she seems to be considering the idea until she says, “You really don’t have to cook. I can eat some cereal or something.”
Oh, she did not. I saw the kinds of cereal she has in her cupboard when I searched for the bag, and it barely classifies as food. The first ingredient in every single one of them is sugar. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”
“I’m pretty sure I don’t have anything you can use. I don’t do a lot of cooking.”
“Oh, ye of little faith. You and your brother have that in common, and I’ve cooked for him plenty of times.” At least Houston has an excuse, being on the road all the time. “What do you say?”
She shrugs, which I take to be a sign of agreement. Good enough for me!
As I dive into her tiny pantry, Brooklyn watches me but pretends she’s fully focused on icing her ankle. I let her watch without interruption, knowing she probably needs some time to get comfortable with the idea of me being around as her temporary roommate. A weekend isn’t very long, but if she’s anything like she used to be, she likes her own space. It’s probably why she lives in this dank basement instead of living with her half-sister, Micah. Then again, Micah even makesmefeel moody. She’s like putting a million fireflies into a sparkly balloon that catches every little breeze. She was only in school with us for a year before we went off to college, the twins and I, but I remember well how much energy that girl has.
“So…” Brooklyn almost doesn’t speak loudly enough for me to hear her, like she’s hoping I won’t respond. “How did you and Hou become business partners?”
Though I have my arms full of ingredients, I pause and consider that question. There are a whole lot of things I could tell her, but what do I actually want her to know? The truth, obviously, and I’m really trying to get better about not holding on to things I should share. But telling Brooklyn anything is also telling the rest of her siblings, which is…daunting.
I’ve always wanted to be a part of the Briggs clan, but they’re so close and connected that it has always felt like an impossible club to get into. Plus, I’ve never had an interaction with Chad that made me feel good about myself. The oldest Briggs is both terrifying and intimidating, and he knows it.
“When I moved back to New Mexico, I needed a job,” I say slowly. “Houston got me on the maintenance team at the stadium, but I realized pretty quickly that I could start my own company and be a lot better off. And since your brother is loaded, he offered to help.”
Byhelp, I mean he tried to give me the startup money as a gift, and it was a back-and-forth battle for weeks before he finally agreed to call it an investment. He still gets mad every time I share the profits, small though they may be, but a deal is a deal.
I’m not especially fond of talking about myself—not with Brooklyn—so I change the subject before she can ask any more questions. “How do you feel about crab cakes?”
I don’t think I could have confused her more if I tried. Okay, maybe I did try. “You’re…you’re making crab cakes?” She lifts up her head, trying to see over the counter.
“Would you be impressed if I said yes?”
