Page 122 of Crossing the Brooklyn Briggs
The smile that lights up his face is so much brighter than the sun overhead, though he looks a little bewildered. “You’ve already caught me, Queens. You caught me years ago. I’m sorry it took me so long to come back.”
“I’m sorry it took me so long to let you in.”
He catches my mouth with a kiss that makes me forget everything around me but him. This, right here, is perfection.
Chapter Forty-Four
Brooklyn
October 31
“This may never come outof my hair.” I tug at the pumpkin string that’s halfway plastered to my forehead, the rest of it tangled up in my locks. Using the microwave as a mirror isn’t really helping me get it all out, but I guess that’s what happens when you get in a food fight with a bunch of grown adults.
Chad’s poor kitchen looks like a war zone.
“Need I remind you, dearest sister of mine?” Houston says behind me. “Youstarted the food fight.”
I gasp, spinning to face him. But since the kitchen floor is covered in spinach dip and pumpkin guts after we sort of massacred the place, I practically spin off my feet, tumbling right into Houston’s arms. He grunts at the impact, and I struggle to right myself.
“Sorry,” I say. “Thanks. And I didnotstart the fight!Youthrew the first seeds!”
Houston smirks, way too proud of himself for that. “I sure did. But only because you cheated.”
I am not going to get into the details of jack-o’-lantern judging with my brother right now, mostly because I’ve barely talked to him since Jordan came clean about us last weekend. I don’t want to spend what little time I get with him arguing, and we still have a lot to clean up to get Chad’s kitchen back to its pristine state.
Glancing at Jordan, who is helping Houston’s date, Darcy, pack up any edible food left on the table, I tug Houston into the living room. Chad is out on the porch with the woman he has supposedly fallen in love with, though none of us have seen her for more than a few seconds after she showed up out of the blue after dinner. And I’m pretty sure Micah and Fischer are busy making out in the bathroom instead of cleaning themselves up like they said they were doing. That means we’re alone, at least for now.
“Hou, I’m sorry.”
He frowns. “For starting the food fight?”
If only this conversation could be that easy. “Of course not for that. I’ll start a fight with you any day, and I’ll win. I mean for everything with Jordan. I wasn’t trying to keep it from you, I swear.”
His hands ball into fists at his sides as he keeps his gaze locked on a point on the wall behind me, right above my head. “I know you weren’t.” He’s lost pretty much all of the expression on his face, which isn’t going to help me judge his feelings on the matter. He’s good at hiding when he wants to be. “We really don’t have to talk about this, Blondie. You can love whoever you want.”
I know this is a serious conversation—one we need to have—but I make the mistake of glancing down and seeing the sheer amount of food caught in Houston’s tutu. The poor thing is torn in several places and barely hanging on, and there is nothing dignified about the way my twin looks right now.
I take a step back, giving myself a better view of him. “I wish I had my phone right now,” I mutter, picturing the look on Kit’s face if he caught sight of Houston smothered in barbecue sauce and whipped cream. Kit was already overjoyed to see how thoroughly Houston followed through on the bet from trivia night, but this mess is so much more hilarious. I’m sure my own tutu and leotard are equally trashed, but I genuinely don’t care what I look like.
Houston wrinkles his nose. “Knowing you, you’d probably end up accidentally putting that picture on the internet and making me a global laughingstock,” he grumbles.
He’s not wrong. “Are we okay?” I ask once the distraction of his outfit has worn off. “I hate thinking I hurt you with this whole thing.”
“You didn’t hurt me.” Tilting his head, Houston looks over into the kitchen right as Jordan bursts into laughter with Darcy. “You promise he’s not annoying you?” He looks almost pained despite what he said, but at the same time I think he’s come to terms with the idea of me being with Jordan. It’s been almost a week, after all. “I mean, you’re happy with the way things are going?”
“Of course I am. I’ve never met a guy who makes me feel as loved as he does.” I shrug and pick at some dried pumpkin on my arm. “He helped me get my dream job.”
Houston’s eyes snap back to me. “Jordan didn’t tell me much about the job, but you in a lab makes so much more sense than teaching. I always wondered why you left.” He narrows his gaze. “Whydidyou leave the lab back then?”
I know he knows there’s more to the story that I gave him years ago—he thinks I left willingly—but I’m not sure I’m ready to open up about James. So I ask my own question. “Why does Jordan keep hinting you might be done with baseball?”
That cracks his mask, his eyebrows pulling together. I expect him to argue, but his mouth stays shut. Is he really leaving the sport that has been his life for so many years?
“We don’t keep secrets from each other.” The way he says it almost sounds like a question.
He’s one to talk. I’m more convinced than ever that he’s keeping a huge decision a secret, not just from me but from himself too. He rarely hesitates—probably why he’s so good at baseball—so I don’t know what’s holding him back with whatever this is. Doesn’t he know that I can help him get through it? (I know, I know. Hypocrisy.)
“No, we don’t,” I say and give him as intense a stare as I can muster.
