Page 18 of Those Two Words

I throw Booth an unamused look, letting him know to drop it before turning my attention back to Lottie.

“How was your day, spud?” I ask.

She swallows her bite of food and sighs very dramatically for a four-year-old. Just wait until you’re thirty-four, kid.

“My best friend, Nora, ate a tuna sandwich for lunch, and I don’t like tuna, do I, Daddy? It smelled soooo bad. Then Mrs. Hargrove taught us about the rainbow. There was no pink. Why isn’t there pink in the rainbow?”

Before Booth and I can get a word in edgewise, Lottie is off again, her endless babble is a good distraction. I’m not sure she took a breath in the five minutes it took her to tell us about her disappointment in the color spectrums and how, despite disliking tuna, it would make a good pet. As Booth clears our plates, I explain the dynamics of the rainbow and tell her owning one would be a really big responsibility.

I envy how quickly she gets over things and wish I could take a page out of her book.

Once the table is cleared, Booth and I sit around the dining table, both nursing a bottle of local IPA while Lottie has an hour of screen time. From his grin alone, I know he is itching to grill me about Jo.

“Just ask,” I groan, and take a long pull from my bottle.

“How have things been with Jo this week?” Like fucking clockwork.

“Fine.” I shrug.

“Last Monday was a little tense,” he observes. I hold back my wince as I recall that awful morning. It took all my strength not to chase after her when she ran to the back, but Booth thought she might have needed some space from me. Because apparently, she hasn’t had enough already. “She seems to have taken to the role well. Like riding a bike, hey?”

He’s not wrong.

When she finally emerged from the stockroom to train with Jules, her red-rimmed eyes were a giveaway that she’d been crying. Knowing I was the cause behind those tears devastated me, and I didn’t know how to even begin to apologize to her. She didn’t let it deter her though. I watched her listen attentively to Jules, even though I knew none of this would be new to her. From that day she’s been professional, patient, and capable—just as she always has been. She’s already convinced me to install a new till system, and once Graham and I agreed it was a smart investment, she already had a technician lined up and ready to go. Discount included, because she knew a guy. Whoever this guy is, he better be fifty years old and happily married.

We shared a few words and acted professional around the team. After Booth told me about their encounter in the stockroom, I promised myself I wouldn’t be dismissive or unkind. Just…elusive.

We might have a long, unspoken history, but we’re adults and have got to learn to work with each other.

“She’s always been like that.” I know how sentimental my next words are, but I can’t seem to stop myself. I don’t look Booth in the eye, but concentrate on the label of my bottle, which I’ve shredded to pieces. “Even when we were younger, you only had to explain something to her once and it was like she’d been doing it her whole life. I always envied that about her.”

He hums in agreement. “It’s been nice having her back, and the staff likes her. She’s been getting along well with Simon.”

Now I look him in the eye. He’s not smiling, so it’s hard to work out if he’s trying to goad me again, so I keep my tone disinterested.

“How so?”

“I dunno, joking around and catching up after work over a beer or coffee. They’re both new to town, something they have in common. It’s been good for Jo to meet new people; I know she’s been getting along well with Quinn too.”

Simon is Booth’s sous chef, who recently moved back to New England from Arizona after a messy divorce. He’s not from Sutton Bay, and I found out recently he went to school with Carrie. He seems like a nice guy, hardworking, but something about him bothers me and I can’t put my finger on it.

Weirdly, my suspicions started eight seconds ago.

“Hmm.” I nod, maintaining the cool guy persona, because why should I care? Nor do I want to give Booth another reason to meddle in my life. Jo is free to hang out with whomever she wants. Totally fine with it. The finest.

“Where do they hang out?” I rush out. Okay, not so cool.

“At Lenny’s place or the bakery.”

Lenny owns one of the oldest drinking spots in town, Shirley’s, which he named after his first love. This would be a sweet sentiment if his old flame wasn’t a fishing boat from the eighties and his wife wasn’t called Edith. While the tourists love to flock to the brewery out of town, this is where all the locals come to spend their Friday nights. Everyone from fishermen, schoolteachers, the mayor, and my mom can be found there. It’s no surprise that this is where Jo ended up on her evenings off; it’s where we spent our nights off together back in the day.

“Oh, right. We should look at joining them one night, be good for morale and all that jazz.” Liar, liar, pants on fire, my conscience chants. Not that I don’t care about my staff’s morale, it’s just rare you would catch me at the bar for anything outside of family gatherings. Since Lottie entered my life, going out for a beer and playing pool with my friends isn’t as appealing. When Lottie isn’t with me, I’m usually catching up on sleep, work, or slaving over a jigsaw puzzle. Riveting, I know. I still hang out with Dex, my brothers, and a few other guys, but I’m more of a homebody now.

“Really?” Booth asks in surprise.

“Yeah, why not? Maybe we can organize a team bonding night. Some pool, darts, and food,” I suggest. “I’ll check when Carrie is free, and we can do it on a weekday and close the restaurant early.”

“Nice, okay. It’ll be good for Jo to hang out with all the staff outside of the restaurant. Leave it with me.”

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