Page 106 of Crossing the Brooklyn Briggs
“Only my mother is better,” I confirm. “Go put on some pajamas, and I’ll follow you home once I have what I need.”
Her eyes fill with tears again, though I don’t think she’s going to start crying. There’s something shining in her eyes that looks a lot like love. “Home,” she repeats.
I told myself I wouldn’t tell her how I feel tonight, not while she’s feeling so vulnerable. But I can’t stop myself from smiling as I tell her, “Home is anywhere you are, Queens.”
I walk her to her car, giving her one last kiss, and then promise to be at her house within the hour. It will probably be sooner, but I can’t guarantee how my impending conversation is going to go, so I want to give myself enough time to present my arguments. I wait until Brooklyn drives away, and then I pull up the number I thought I would never call again.
She answers quickly. “Hello?”
“Hey, Natalie.”
“Jordan. It’s been a long time.”
Considering we were married for several years, this last year has felt like a lifetime. She both sounds familiar and like a stranger. “It has. Listen, I know I don’t have any right to ask anything of you, but I need a favor.”
She’s quiet for a long time, and I don’t blame her for being wary. I owe her so much already for what I did to our marriage, and I’m genuinely amazed that she answered my call in the first place. “What do you need?” she asks eventually.
I breathe a sigh of relief. It doesn’t mean she’ll help me, but her willingness to listen is more than what I deserve. “Is your dad still working with the Department of Health? I was wondering if he could talk to someone for me.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Brooklyn
True to his word, Jordanarrives at my house about an hour after I leave the cemetery, laden with all sorts of fresh fruit, whipped cream, and other ingredients. There’s a certain bounce in his step as he comes inside, and I wish I could share his optimism. Then again, he didn’t lose his dream job today—his business is thriving—so he has a right to be peppier than I am.
Or maybe I have a right to be moody.
“You need all this to make waffles?” I eye the loaded grocery bags with skepticism. I’ve heard about these famous waffles of his, but I’ve never tried them. Houston swears they’re made of something magical, though.
Jordan winks at me as he starts pulling ingredients out onto the counter. “Don’t knock the process, Queens. After tonight, you’ll be begging me to make these waffles for you every day.”
“Would you?” The question comes out of me without my permission, but I absolutely want to know the answer.
Pausing, Jordan looks up at me with a veritable twinkle in his eyes. It’s like he’s remembering what he texted me earlier today and trying to decide if now is the time he wants to give me a response to what I said to him on the phone yesterday.
I don’t know why I can read him so easily right now, but I’m not mad about it. I would love to understand him this well all the time.
He glances down at the carton of eggs in his hand, a debate clearly running through his mind. “How hungry are you?” he asks.
My stomach rumbles at the question. “I’m hungry for a lot of things.” I obviously still need to work on my flirting skills, but I think he understands me because he sets the eggs on the counter and steps toward me with measured movements.
But he stops halfway across the kitchen, still several feet from me as he grimaces. “Nope,” he says, almost to himself. “If I don’t stay focused on these waffles, they’re never going to get made.” He turns back around and continues working.
A thrill runs through me, my heart beating with a little more enthusiasm. “Are you saying I’m distracting?”
He laughs without looking up from the eggs he has begun separating into a couple of bowls. “Brooklyn Briggs, you have no idea how distracting you are. I almost disemboweled a dinosaur last week because of you.”
“I have no idea what that means, but I like the way it sounds. Did you really think about me when you were in the shower?”
He snorts, again without looking at me. “Maybe.”
I swear he blushes. It’s so hard to tell with him, with his darker skin, but I definitely see some color in his face.
Considering I told him I love him yesterday and haven’t really gotten his response, I’m feeling far braver than normal. I move slowly, inching my way into the kitchen until he finally notices me. He immediately freezes, eyes darting in my direction before they jump back to the eggshells in his hands.
“You’re in dangerous territory,” he says, his voice low and rumbly.
“Yeah, well, you interrupted our last kiss.”
