He moves over and props himself against the counter next to me and frowns. “What do you mean?”
Poking mindlessly at the pancake bubbles with a spatula, I reply, “Like, if you were to tell me my most obvious traits, what would pop into your head?”
“A great cook,” he grins dopily.
“Anything else?” I’m trying not to be too pushy, but I’m feeling a titchy bit anxious.
He nods earnestly. “‘Course! You’re fun. Upbeat.”
“Like…bubbly?” I ask, my smile dropping.
“Maybe a bit…but it’s more than that.” He looks away like he’s trying to form his words. “You’re funny…but not in a joking way…More like you laugh really easily…which makes you a great time to be around.”
I nod. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“It’s brill.” He turns and opens the double fridge, placing the cream inside and grabbing the fresh berries. He walks them to the sink for rinsing. “You’re a bit soft, though, which I don’t know how the bloody hell that happened since you grew up around all men.”
I eye him seriously. “More like a pack of wolves. I’m probably emotionally scarred.”
He chuckles. “I don’t mean the soft thing in a bad way. You just feel everything very deeply. You’re protective like Gareth, but in a different way. You take shit personally on behalf of the people you care most about, ya know? Like, remember that red card I got in Liverpool last season. The one when—”
“God, don’t speak another word about it! I swear that call was complete fucking shite,” I seethe with a scathing glance over my shoulder. “I could spit just thinking about it! I very nearly got that referee sacked, ya know.”
“Don’t spit! We’re making pancakes!” Booker laughs, “You did get the bloke suspended, though.”
“Well, he was rubbish!” I exclaim as I turn and toss the spatula into the sink.
“See what I mean? You’re passionate about something that happened to me, and you’re not even a coach or a teammate. You don’t even play football yourself. You’re just my sister.”
I nod thoughtfully. He makes a pretty good point. “Maybe I just don’t make good first impressions.”
Cutting his eyes at me speculatively, he asks, “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
I shrug. “I just…I met this bloke that’s sort of a friend of a friend and I don’t know. I thought we hit it off, but then he got all awkward and his description of me just leaves me feeling a bit…poorly.”
“What did he say?” Booker’s brow furrows.
I squint and look up at the ceiling, hoping I’m quoting him right. “A beautiful, bright, bubbly, blonde distraction.”
Booker’s face freezes, as do his hands on the berries. “I want his fucking name.”
“Stop, Book. You’re supposed to be different.”
“I’m not messing about, Vi. He needs to be talked to. Only two of those adjectives are relevant. The other two are utter codswallop. You are so much more than those things.”
“I know. Just calm down. I think we’re just friends anyway.” Or at least that’s what I’m trying to decide. I’m not sure I can handle being with Hayden.
Booker shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s a great idea to be mates with the bloke, Vi. Especially one who obviously has his head up his arse.”
I hear voices in the hall and quickly shush Booker just as Camden, Tanner, Gareth, and our dad come strolling in, laughing heartily about something.
“My Vi,” Dad says loudly, coming around the counter and scooping me up into a big bear hug while rubbing his scruffy chin on my cheek. Vaughn Harris is legendary status in the world of English football. But to me, he’s just the guy who sneaks a sausage before it’s time to eat. He’s wearing his usual Bethnel Green polo with cream trousers, looking the picture of a man who lives his passion. His salt and pepper whiskers cover his chin and match his greying hair perfectly. “Happy birthday, my darling.”
“Oi! Let go of me, Dad,” I giggle and squirm out of his embrace, rubbing the area that he purposefully whisker-burned.
“Oh, happy birthday, my darling,” Tanner coos in a high-pitched voice mimicking the Queen.
“Do just look at her, Tanner,” Camden starts in a high, nasally tone and claps his hands together in adoration. “She’s got her boobies. Our little girl has gone and got her boobies now that she’s all grown up.”
Gareth roars with laughter as Tanner picks up where Cam left off. He grabs two lemons out of the bowl on the table and holds them to his chest saying, “Oh, fiddle fettle, she won’t fit in the beach ball jumper I got her for her birthday. She’ll look like a proper tart!”
“Shut it, you prats!” I exclaim, rushing over and shoving them hard while giving Gareth a swift kick for laughing. Camden grabs my wrists and restrains me as I continue throwing kicks at Tanner who’s wresting to grab my ankles.
“Enough,” Dad says, his husky voice booming. “The pancakes are going to burn.”