Page 27 of Crossing Into Brooklyn

“You could say, you’re welcome,” Brooklyn says.

I don’t think I did anything that warrants thanks. That’s the truth. Brooklyn and Jeremy both thanked me for dinner at the restaurant. I see Brooklyn’s eyebrows edge a hair higher and her lips purse with expectation. I wonder if I could refuse this woman anything. “You’re welcome,” I tell her.

“Goodnight, Carter.”

“Goodnight, Brooklyn.” I hope I manage to sleep. Between Jeremy’s epic snoring that carries through the house and the knowledge that Brooklyn is a few steps away, I’m likely to toss and turn until morning. I close my bedroom door and sigh. “What are you doing, Carter?” I ask myself. I answer my questions with a slew of excuses: I’m merely being generous. I’m acting as any friend would. I’m humoring Jeremey. It makes sense for Brooklyn to stay. Why not? I’d do it for anyone—True. I would likely extend the same invitation to any friend. That makes me feel better for about twenty seconds. Brooklyn isn’t any friend. Brooklyn is someone I’m working with—to be precise, she’s someone I’ve contracted to do work for me. That’s not the issue. I know it. I like her. I like most people. That’s not the issue either. I’m attracted to her. That’s happened plenty of times before and I’ve never had an issue controlling those impulses. So? What is my dilemma? “Don’t go there.” How long can I avoid it? I can avoid telling Brooklyn. My enjoying her company is not-so-slowly becoming an ache to enjoy her company more often. Feelings. “Get it together, Carter.” I need to get it together. Brooklyn’s a friend. Period. Maybe I should record that message and play it on repeat while I sleep. Friends.

CHAPTER FIVE

THANKSGIVING

Janet is a better cook than me. She always has been. She gets that from our mom. I’m the superior baker. I’m not sure how we arrived at the conclusion I should cook Thanksgiving dinner and she should bake. I’ll call it the illogical logic of the Riordan family. Typical. I should be tired. I think my nervous energy is keeping me awake. Why am I nervous? Jeremy spent three hours last night prattling on about how “awesome” Brooklyn is and how I’m an idiot if I don’t try to date her. I pointed out the fact that she is only a few years older than him. Jeremy? He shrugged it off and told me I was making excuses. Maybe it’s a generational thing. I imagine Brooklyn would have the same reaction—not to me dating her, to me dating someone her age. I’m not dating Brooklyn and have no intention to pursue her romantically. What I can’t explain is why I feel like I’m about to introduce my lover to my family. Lover? Ridiculous. I’m not worried about what my family will think of Brooklyn. They’ll love her. What will she think of our dysfunctional family? I like to think our family put the fun in dysfunctional. We love each other, but it can be a messy affair at times. Why does it matter to me what Brooklyn thinks?

“What did that squash do to you?” Janet asks me.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” I reply.

“Too busy committing carnage on that butternut squash, I guess.”

“Very funny.”

“Jeremy let us in the front door,” Janet explains. “It’s easier for Mom to navigate the front stairs.”

True. “Where is Mom?”

“Still standing,” my mother replies. She kisses me on the cheek. “Put the dishes on the dining room table,” she tells my nephew. “Now, what can we help with?” she asks me.

“Nothing,” I answer. “This is my last task for a couple of hours.”

“Good!” my brother-in-law chimes. “Does that mean we can open the booze?”

“I don’t know, did you bring any?” I return.

Tim holds up a bottle of bourbon. “Something I discovered,” he says. “I thought we’d save this for after dinner.”

“Well, since you came bearing gifts—there’s a cooler of beer on the back porch.”

“Carter!” Jeremy’s voice booms through the house. “Brooklyn just pulled up!”

Janet smiles at me. “I’ll take over. Don’t leave your friend in Jeremy’s hands.”

I smile back at her, wipe my hands, and make my way out the back door toward the front of my house. I greet her casually when she exits her vehicle. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Brooklyn opens the back door and retrieves a bag.

“What’s in there?” I inquire.

“You didn’t think I’d come empty-handed, did you?”

“I didn’t expect you to bring anything.”

“Well, I didn’t expect to be invited, so we’re even.”

Before I can continue our banter, Ali pulls up behind Brooklyn’s rental car. Deep breath. I pray that Ali is on her best behavior. She loves to tease me. That’s fine. The thought that she and Jeremy might double-team me makes me a little apprehensive. I don’t want Brooklyn caught in the crossfire. I also don’t relish the idea of my feelings becoming a joke over dinner. Another deep breath.

“Yo!” Ali calls to us.

“Yo?” I ask with a chuckle.

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