That One Moment (Lost in London #2) (14 page)

“My sous chef, ready and waiting!” I announce proudly, finding Booker reading a hardcover at the large wooden island that sits parallel to the galley style kitchen. “Where is everybody else?”

“They left this morning to check out a university player. They rang and are twenty minutes out.” He shoots up from his stool and rushes over to grab the supermarket bags from my hands.

“Always a gentleman,” I tease as Bruce noses Booker in the leg, excitedly begging for some affection. “Where did you learn that anyway? It surely wasn’t from Cam and Tanner.”

Booker places the bags on the island before squatting down to give Bruce a hearty cuddle. “Probably all those girlie films you made me watch growing up,” he laughs. Then he strides over to the large patio door and lets Bruce out for a coveted romp around the fenced-in grounds. It’s Bruce’s favourite thing about coming here.

I prop my hands on my hips. “I never made you watch them!”

“Well, it was either that or get my arse kicked by Cam. I took my chances with you. And look at me now,” he beams proudly, stretching out his sculpted arms and shooting me his boyish grin. “I’m a proper gentleman. Did you bring stuff for Swedish pancakes?”

“Of course.”

Booker’s smile grows as he ducks into the walk-in pantry to plug his phone into the overhead sound system. The notes of U2 fill our kitchen as we wash our hands and make quick work of prepping today’s meal.

For several years, it has been tradition that the Sunday meal following Mum’s and my birthday include Swedish pancakes. The recipe is one I stumbled upon during my cooking quest. It had special Swedish notes in Mum’s handwriting that I couldn’t even read. That box of cookbooks ended up having a lot more than old recipes inside, that’s for sure.

Swedish pancakes have become a favourite amongst my brothers. They’re served extremely thin—similar to a French crepe—with homemade cream and berries or lingonberry jam…if you can find it. And I have just the place I go to in Shoreditch for the jam.

After a while of quiet companionable prepping, Booker breaks the silence. “So what’s new, Vi?” He’s eying me hopefully as he whisks the cream vigorously by hand.

“Oi! I forgot to tell you! I won a weekend getaway to Barcelona at a charity gala I attended Friday night. It’s a trip for two and I was going to see if you want to come along. It’s in like nine weeks’ time. Think you can manage?”

Booker’s eyes alight. “Timing should be all right. Training will have started, but I think I can get away for the weekend.”

“Brilliant!”

“Are you doing all right, otherwise?” he asks, eyeing me curiously.

“‘Course I am,” I frown as I pour oil onto the griddle. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Shrugging, he replies, “It’s just…you seemed a bit emotional on your birthday a couple of days ago. I wanted to talk to you about that before everybody gets here.”

I stop what I’m doing and look at him. “I was just trying to make a daft point. Don’t read too much into it.”

“Well…you haven’t dated anyone since Pricky Pierce and I was wondering if you are okay. You aren’t still holding candles for the prat, are ya?”

Pricky Pierce.
I’d laugh if I didn’t think it’d only encourage him. “No candles I assure you.”

“If you ever did, you can talk to me about it, ya know. I’m not as stupid as the rest of ‘em. I won’t go completely mental.”

I shoot him a sardonic smile because I’m not sure I fully trust that. However, Booker always did have a special fondness for me that superseded my other brothers. They always seem to put protection above affection. But with Booker, it’s more often affection first and it’s why he’s got a special place in my heart.

Hayden’s face flashes in my mind as I consider whether talking about my situation with him is a good idea or not. “Booker, how would you…describe me?” I grab the prepared pancake batter and pour it onto the hot griddle.

He moves over and props himself against the counter next to me and frowns. “What do you mean?”

Poking mindlessly at the pancake bubbles with a spatula, I reply, “Like, if you were to tell me my most obvious traits, what would pop into your head?”

“A great cook,” he grins dopily.

“Anything else?” I’m trying not to be too pushy, but I’m feeling a titchy bit anxious.

He nods earnestly. “‘Course! You’re fun. Upbeat.”

“Like…bubbly?” I ask, my smile dropping.

“Maybe a bit…but it’s more than that.” He looks away like he’s trying to form his words. “You’re funny…but not in a joking way…More like you laugh really easily…which makes you a great time to be around.”

I nod. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“It’s brill.” He turns and opens the double fridge, placing the cream inside and grabbing the fresh berries. He walks them to the sink for rinsing. “You’re a bit soft, though, which I don’t know how the bloody hell that happened since you grew up around all men.”

I eye him seriously. “More like a pack of wolves. I’m probably emotionally scarred.”

He chuckles. “I don’t mean the soft thing in a bad way. You just feel everything very deeply. You’re protective like Gareth, but in a different way. You take shit personally on behalf of the people you care most about, ya know? Like, remember that red card I got in Liverpool last season. The one when—”

“God, don’t speak another word about it! I swear that call was complete fucking shite,” I seethe with a scathing glance over my shoulder. “I could spit just thinking about it! I very nearly got that referee sacked, ya know.”

“Don’t spit! We’re making pancakes!” Booker laughs, “You did get the bloke suspended, though.”

“Well, he was rubbish!” I exclaim as I turn and toss the spatula into the sink.

“See what I mean? You’re passionate about something that happened to me, and you’re not even a coach or a teammate. You don’t even play football yourself. You’re just my sister.”

I nod thoughtfully. He makes a pretty good point. “Maybe I just don’t make good first impressions.”

Cutting his eyes at me speculatively, he asks, “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

I shrug. “I just…I met this bloke that’s sort of a friend of a friend and I don’t know. I thought we hit it off, but then he got all awkward and his description of me just leaves me feeling a bit…poorly.”

“What did he say?” Booker’s brow furrows.

I squint and look up at the ceiling, hoping I’m quoting him right. “A beautiful, bright, bubbly, blonde distraction.”

Booker’s face freezes, as do his hands on the berries. “I want his fucking name.”

“Stop, Book. You’re supposed to be different.”

“I’m not messing about, Vi. He needs to be talked to. Only two of those adjectives are relevant. The other two are utter codswallop. You are so much more than those things.”

“I know. Just calm down. I think we’re just friends anyway.” Or at least that’s what I’m trying to decide. I’m not sure I can handle being with Hayden.

Booker shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s a great idea to be mates with the bloke, Vi. Especially one who obviously has his head up his arse.”

I hear voices in the hall and quickly shush Booker just as Camden, Tanner, Gareth, and our dad come strolling in, laughing heartily about something.

“My Vi,” Dad says loudly, coming around the counter and scooping me up into a big bear hug while rubbing his scruffy chin on my cheek. Vaughn Harris is legendary status in the world of English football. But to me, he’s just the guy who sneaks a sausage before it’s time to eat. He’s wearing his usual Bethnel Green polo with cream trousers, looking the picture of a man who lives his passion. His salt and pepper whiskers cover his chin and match his greying hair perfectly. “Happy birthday, my darling.”

“Oi! Let go of me, Dad,” I giggle and squirm out of his embrace, rubbing the area that he purposefully whisker-burned.

“Oh, happy birthday, my darling,” Tanner coos in a high-pitched voice mimicking the Queen.

“Do just look at her, Tanner,” Camden starts in a high, nasally tone and claps his hands together in adoration. “She’s got her boobies. Our little girl has gone and got her boobies now that she’s all grown up.”

Gareth roars with laughter as Tanner picks up where Cam left off. He grabs two lemons out of the bowl on the table and holds them to his chest saying, “Oh, fiddle fettle, she won’t fit in the beach ball jumper I got her for her birthday. She’ll look like a proper tart!”

“Shut it, you prats!” I exclaim, rushing over and shoving them hard while giving Gareth a swift kick for laughing. Camden grabs my wrists and restrains me as I continue throwing kicks at Tanner who’s wresting to grab my ankles.

“Enough,” Dad says, his husky voice booming. “The pancakes are going to burn.”

Shaking my head, I eye him like a petulant child. “You raised them,” I jokingly accuse.

“That’s debatable,” he replies, grinning proudly. “I could smell the sausage from outside. It looks great, darling.” He dips his finger into the batter and licks it, closing his eyes appreciatively.

“It’s almost ready,” I reply. “Cam…Tan…Why don’t you two stop being little sods and make yourselves useful by setting the table.”

In no time, we’re sitting down at the high-top table and devouring the feast of pancakes, sausages, fresh fruit, and jam. I am certain we are all probably internally musing over what they would taste like if our mum actually made them for us…just once.

BOX OF SECRETS

H
unched over the workshop counter, I rub the sanding block against the dark Philippine mahogany, smoothing the surface and wiping away the excess sawdust. With every touch, I grow more and more excited about the fact that I’m nearly finished with the final one. It feels good working with my hands. It’s therapeutic. In the past I’ve only worked on the books and the appointment side of Theo’s business, C. Designs. Theo’s talents cannot be disputed, but I’ve since found that I too have some abilities I wasn’t even aware of.

Theo comes strolling into the workshop. “Hey…Marisa just went down, so I think Leslie and I are going to turn in early. She’s knackered from all the wedding shite. Are you making more?” he asks, gesturing to the keepsake box in my hands.

“Uh…yeah,” I look down awkwardly, rubbing my hands down my navy T-shirt covered in sawdust. My tattered work jeans don’t look much better. It’s been three days since I last saw Vi and instead of calling her like I want to, I’ve been keeping myself preoccupied.

“Are these for Vi, perhaps?” he asks knowingly and adjusts his glasses while inspecting the three I’ve already completed. After I finish sanding the one I’m currently working on, they all just need to be stained and varnished. I shrug and his brows rise knowingly. “Want to talk about it?”

Shaking my head dismissively, I reply. “There’s not much to talk about. Except for the fact that I sort of agreed to do this ridiculous countdown challenge for Doc, but it’s a horrid idea.”

“Why is that?” Theo grabs one of the metal stools. He drags it up to the counter and sits down.

I pause what I am doing and reply, “It just is, all right.” I glare at him, annoyance dripping from my features as I grab my leather cuff and nervously unsnap and re-snap the clasp.

“Easy, sport…No need to get testy. If it’s a bad idea, why are you working on more boxes?”

“I don’t bloody know.” I stand up straight and toss the sanding block on the counter in a huff. Leaning back on the opposite counter with my arms crossed I continue, “Maybe I’m just trying to be a nice bloke for a change.”

Chuckling, Theo replies, “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“No, it doesn’t.” I slice my hands through my hair and then scrub them down over my face. “I’m just feeling confused by her. She’s so good, you know?”

Theo balks. “How do you know she’s good? What do you actually even know about her?”

My eyes find his. Christ, he’s right. I hardly know her. We sort of went from cake to suicide in two seconds flat. I know sod all about her and I feel like a proper jerk for just now realising. “I guess I don’t know that much, but that’s part of the stipulation of the challenge.”

Theo rises. “Well, I don’t think it’d hurt you to get to know the girl a bit if it helps you finish your mission. You’ve never been one to back down from a challenge, mate.” He touches the box closest to him and smirks. “And look, you went to all this trouble.”