Page 36 of Booked on You
My mouth falls open. “Excuse me?”
“Who is she?”
“Aunt Millie,” I say with a laugh.
She narrows her eyes, and I swear, nothing gets past her. “Well? I don’t have all mornin’ to be hee-hawing around with ya. I gotta get to the bakery and help open. You look like someone turned you inside out.”
I stiffen.
“What about the woman staying in the cottage? Is it her?”
“She’s only here for six more days,” I explain, but that answer is clearly not good enough for her. “She’s a writer from New York City and is on averytight deadline.”
Millie raises an eyebrow. “Lord help us all. You’re falling for her.”
She says it like it’s a fact.
“What? Millie, come on. I’ve known her for four days.”
“And?”
I scrub a hand over my jaw. “It’s really not like that.”
She plucks a mug from the cabinet and pours herself some coffee.
“Ezra, I’ve known you since you were born. You’ve gotthatlook.”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” I tell her as she pulls the sugar from the cabinet where my mama always kept it. Same container and all.
She gestures toward me. “You’re in love.”
I scoff. “Four days,” I remind her.
“So? Your mama fell in love with your dad in two,” she says.
“You mean my sperm donor? Millie, I don’t want to talk about this today.” I lean against the counter, watching as she adds a splash of milk from the fridge and stirs it with a butter knife. The sound is soft, repetitive, and familiar.
She freezes me in place with that give-no-fucks expression she’s had perfected since I was a kid.
“Look,” she says, “when you know, you know, okay?”
Her words settle deep, but she doesn’t stop there.
“Tell me about her,” she continues, her tone gentler now.
I hesitate, because saying it out loud makes this feel like something more than it already is.
“She’s smart and snarky,” I say. “Funny, but only when she wants to be. She has this way of looking at me, like she sees more than she should. And she doesn’t let anything slide. Not bullshit or compliments.”
Millie nods, her mouth curving like she’s already figured out the rest. “Pretty?”
“Gorgeous,” I admit. “But not in a way that’s trying too hard. She’s real, like she’s only trying to impress herself.”
Millie takes another sip. “Sounds like you’ve got it bad.”
“I don’t know,” I say.
“You’ve been careful for a long time,” she replies.
