Page 101 of All We Need

A revelationIwasn’t prepared for.

He removes his beanie and coat, shakes out his hair, and toes off his boots.It’sthenInotice the brown paper bag at his feet.

“I’m gonna make us some dinner.”Idon’t utter a word as he strolls toward the kitchen before calling over his shoulder. “Getthe table set, beautiful.Thenwhen we’re done, you can decide what we talk about orIcan leave.Whateveryou want, butI’mfeeding you before anything.”

His tone is final, face serious, and it’s only when goose bumps tickle my arms thatIsee the door is still wide open.

“C’mon,Silver,” he hollers, propellingme into action.

With the cold sealed out and table set,Iwatch him go through the motions asIsit on the kitchen counter.

Something smoky and sweet fills the air, tickling my nose.Thegrumble of my stomach is a reminderIhaven’t eaten since this morning.

Booth doesn’t demand an explanation about whyIdisappeared.Hedoesn’t ask whyIwas withMartin.Instead, he glances at me, knife pausing mid-chop as he smiles.

I’ve never been an overly emotional person.Butthe crinkling of his eyes and those goddamn dimples make me want to burst into tears with gratitude.

Twenty minutes later, he drops two bowls on the table, ushers me to sit, and drags our chairs so close togetherI’mpractically sitting in his lap.Henudges me with his elbow and winks. “It’sa smoky sweet potato chili.Eator you’ll offend me.”

SoIeat.

When we’re done, he leads me to the sofa, drapes the fur blanket over my shoulders, and feeds the fire.Mypoor, confused heart can’t understand why he’s taking care of me.Still, he doesn’t ask questions, just pulls me into his safe, strong arms.

We startle when that hideous cuckoo clock whistles behind us.Itjump-starts my vocal chords, because whenIopen my mouth,Idon’t stop.

“I’m adopted.”

He doesn’t react to my outburst.

“I’ve always known.Itwas never a secret.Myparents—adoptive parents, butI’venever called them that—brought me home whenIwas four days old.Mybrothers are their biological children, but my mom had an emergency hysterectomy after a complicated birth with my second brother.ThefactIlook nothing like them would have clued me in, but whenIwas old enough, they sat me down and explained what adoption was, and whileIhadn’t become theirs the same way mybrothers had, it changed nothing.”Ituck a wayward curl behind my ear and take a deep breath before continuing.

“I want to preface this by sayingI’venever once felt likeIdidn’t belong.Love, security, and happiness are allI’veknown, childhood through to adulthood.It’scliché, but the idea of turning thirty and not knowing about my beginning triggered something.Whowere my birth parents?Whydid they put me up for adoption?Whereare they now?I’venever resented them,Ijust grew curious.Outsideof that, simply having a gap in my medical history started to worry me.”Itake a gulp of air. “Itwas an open adoption, but whenIturned six, my birth mom asked my parents to stop sending photos and updates.Wenever found out why.”

The steady beating ofBooth’sheart against my back encourages me.

“WhenIwas twenty-eight,Istarted looking for answers.Ittook me six months to build up the courage to request my adoption records.AllIknew about my mom was that she was sixteen when she had me and didn’t know how to raise a baby.”

Booth shifts me until my legs lie sideways over his, my head resting on his shoulder. “Andyour birth father?” he asks cautiously.

My shoulders lift. “Hewasn’t listed on the original birth certificate.”

His arm twitches from where it’s banded over my stomach.

“ButIhad my birth mother’s name.Icontacted the adoption agency and asked them to reach out to her—to see if she’d be willing to meet.WhenIheard nothing for weeks,Ifigured she wasn’t interested.Then, after almost two months, they contacted me.Shestill lived inNewYork.Howinsane is that?Shewasone houraway that entire time.”Mylaughter is flat, andBoothsenses the mood change.“Wearranged to meet in the city.ThreehoursIwaited in the restaurant for her,”Iwhisper, voice wobbly.

“Aly,”Boothbreathes against my neck and squeezes me tighter.

“It took her two days to email me and explain it was a mistake.That’sall it said, ‘Thiswas a mistake.I’msorry.’Forthe first time in my life,Ifelt likeIdidn’t belong, andIhated myself for it.Sheowed me nothing, yetIarrived at our meeting spot with my hopes held tightly to my chest.Iwasn’t looking to fill a void, but after that day,IthinkIlost a little piece of myself.Maybeshe saw me through the window and decidedIwasn’t worth the trouble.”

A rough hand cups my cheek until blue eyes gaze down at me. “You’reworth everything.”

My heart can’t cope.Notwith his words, his sincere expression, or the way his lips caress mine.There’snothing romantic or sexual about it.Wordlesslyhe tells me he’s here.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get the outcome you’d hoped for.Ican’t speak on her behalf, butIcan say with confidence that she’s missing out on getting to know an amazing woman.”Hepecks me on the nose before settling us against the cushions.

“It still left me questioning the identity of my birth father.Icouldn’t ask her and you’d thinkIwould have learned my lesson.”Craningmy neck to face him,Igive him a knowing look. “Youknow as well asIdo,Idon’t give up easily.”

His soft chuckle tickles my face.

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