“I already know what you like.” He disappeared from view, and that was too bad. If he’d turned around, he would have seen something on Honey’s face he’d never seen before. Ever. Full-on, unabridged surprise.
Outside, the wind howled, and in the kitchen, Nash heard the fury of it as ice pellets continued to lash at the large building. He turned on the fryer and grill and got busy fixing a gourmet meal of his famous burgers and fries. Honey liked hers well cooked with onions and mushrooms, while he was a full-menu kind of guy and opted for the works. He grabbed some cheese curds from the walk-in and heated up some gravy. By the time he had everything ready, at least thirty minutes had passed, and he headed up to Honey’s apartment.
Hands full, he didn’t knock and looked up in surprise when the door opened just as he was about to kick the bottom of it. Honey stood there, a half smile on her face.
“You’d never make a career as a thief, Booker. I heard you coming a mile away.” She opened the door wide and indicated he should walk through. The young girl, Brooke, was sitting on the sofa, knees tucked under her body, a curious look on her face. The bruise was darker, and he had a feeling by night’s end, it would look worse. Nash set down the large tray on the counter and nodded to the girls.
“Take a seat.”
Honey and Brooke shuffled over to the island and sat down. Nash handed them each their plate, complete with condiments and cutlery.
“Wow. You made poutine?” Brooke dug in hungrily and barely managed to get her words out, considering the steaming-hot fries in there.
“I did. I figured it’s Christmas Eve, so why not dress things up a bit?”
At the mention of the holiday, Brooke’s face shuttered and she glanced down. Nash handed Honey her plate and watched closely as she inspected her burger. “You pay attention, Booker. I’ll give you that.”
It was a backhanded compliment, but it made Nash feel good. He sat down with his own plate, and t
he three of them ate. He made small talk and learned a few things. He knew Brooke’s mom, for one. She’d been ahead of him in school by a few years but had dropped out when she’d gotten pregnant with Brooke. It had been quite the scandal. He remembered her as a pretty little thing, popular and outgoing and a regular on the honor roll. After her boyfriend got her pregnant, she’d disappeared. He heard they got married way too young, and it made him wonder.
“So, Brooke. What’s your mom up to these days?” He pondered asking the question because he knew it was none of his business. But something about the young girl tugged at his heartstrings. She had attitude, that was obvious, but her center was soft and mushy and easily hurt, which meant her bravado was a mask. She was in a bad place, and he wanted to help.
Brooke wiped at a spot of gravy on her mouth and shrugged. “Well, she doesn’t work, if that’s what you’re asking. My dad died in some freak accident when I was like, five, so she gets some kind of insurance payment every month. I think my grandparents set it up that way. They tell folks it’s because she’s bad with money, but that’s a lie. She’s bad with booze. She’s an alcoholic.” She sounded bitter. “She spends all her cash on bourbon or weed or worse.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Brooke made a sound of disgust. “Don’t worry about it. She’s a loser.”
Nash had been brought up a certain way, and calling your mother a loser, regardless of the circumstance, wasn’t in his makeup. “That sounds a little harsh.”
Brooke nailed him with a look and didn’t bother to hide the anger in her eyes. “You don’t know anything. You don’t know me. You don’t know her.”
“No.” He sat back and kept his voice soft. “You’re right about that. I haven’t seen your mom in years. But I remember who she used to be. Some people have a hard time navigating life, you know? They need help.”
“Not everybody wants it.” Brooke shook her head. “Her boyfriends are more important than I am. Getting drunk or high is more important than I am.”
He believed her. Of course he did. Nash knew not every family on the planet was like his. And Lord knows, the Bookers weren’t perfect either. But this right here wasn’t right. This young girl feeling this way, wasn’t right. What could he do to ease her pain? In the end, he figured there wasn’t much, unless cooking a meal counted.
“I hope one day, your mom gets better.” Nash tossed his napkin and took a moment. This wasn’t anywhere near his wheelhouse. “For her and for you.”
“That will never happen.” Brooke sounded sure of herself, and Nash let her have that. She was young. Only sixteen, if he remembered correctly. What did a kid that age know? Sometimes too much…but even then, young kids rarely saw the big picture. They dwelled in the here and now and all the pain that went with it.
Nash looked at Honey and found her gaze on him. He thought of the things she’d shared a few days earlier and knew the reason she’d bonded with the young girl. Brooke obviously reminded Honey of herself.
Brooke pushed her plate away. “That was really good. Thanks.” She looked at Honey, and in that moment, her exhaustion was palpable. The skin beneath her eyes was paper thin and bruised. “I’m going to crash, if that’s okay.”
Honey got to her feet. “Of course. Come on, I’ll show you where everything is. You can take a shower and get some sleep.”
Nash cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, which wasn’t much considering he’d done all the fixing in the bar kitchen. He’d just finished wiping down the island when Honey appeared.
“She’s already asleep. Didn’t make it to the shower.”
“Good. She needed it.”
Her hair was down, and she’d changed into a simple white T-shirt and loose pants. The woman had not a stitch of makeup. Nothing to plump her lips or emphasize her eyes. She didn’t need any of that stuff. She looked so damn good. So damn off-limits. With his heart thudding against his chest, Nash turned and looked for his jacket. It was time for him to go.
“She’s a great girl. She just needs some time and some direction.” Honey sounded small and subdued. Slowly, Nash turned back to her. Her big eyes shone in the light.