Page 101 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I recognize that, by definition, Stonebrookisa corporation. And a multifaceted one. There’s a farm store, the event center and catering kitchen, and now Lennox’s farm-to-table restaurant that should open—despite numerous delays—by the end of next month, just before the start of the holiday season. Not to mention the hundreds and hundreds of acres of apple orchards that gave my parents their start when they bought the place thirty years ago. We’re now the second-largest apple wholesaler in the state of North Carolina and employ more than seventy-five full-time and seasonal staff.
“Perry. Stonebrook is growing,” Brody says, echoing my thoughts. “You can’t do this by yourself. Not with Olivia on maternity leave and Mom and Dad stepping back like they are. You need help.”
“Then I’ll hire more help,” I grumble. “But I don’t need an assistant.”
“Olivia guessed you’d say that.”
Of course she did. “And how did she tell you to respond?”
He clears his throat and tosses his voice up a couple of octaves in a surprisingly accurate imitation of our little sister. “Perry, thefarmdoesn’t need more help, you do. It’s your schedule that’sa mess. Your calendar. Your inbox. Hiring an extra farmhand won’t solve those problems.”
“But it might solve the Buttercup problem.”
“I’ll solve the Buttercup problem tomorrow. I just need to modify the latch.” He slaps me on the back. “Think about it, all right? That’s all I’m saying.”
I shoot him a look, and he grins.
“That’s all Olivia is saying,” he amends. “But I agree with her. You could use some help.”
I climb out of the Gator and push my hands into my pockets. “Hey, how’s the baby?” I went to see Olivia and her husband Tyler in the hospital when Asher was born, but I haven’t been by since.
Brody’s expression softens. “He’s great. Perfect.”
I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “Does it . . . make you want one?”
“What, a kid?”
I nod.
He shrugs. “Sure. I mean, I did before. But yeah. It makes me a little more excited about kids. Not yet though. You?”
I wave a hand dismissively, a little too quickly judging by Brody’s expression. “Nah. You know me. I’m fine being the grouchy uncle.”
Brody raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t contradict me.
I must be worse off than I thought.
“Maybe you wouldn’t be so grouchy if you weren’t so busy,” Brody says. “If you had someone to help organize your life. It’s a shame they don’t have people who do that sort of thing.”
I turn and walk toward my truck. “No assistants,” I yell over my shoulder. “End of discussion.”
It’s possible I’m being unreasonable, but even just having the conversation feels like picking at a scab. If I don’t have to open this wound, I’d rather not.
“Not every assistant will be like Ryan,” Brody calls after me.
I stop in my tracks, my jaw clenching no matter the years it’s been since the only assistant I’ve ever had ruined my marriageandmy business all at once.
Fine. I’m being dramatic. He didn’tpersonallyruin my business or my marriage. But hefacilitated.Chose sides. Betrayed my trust.
I turn around. It’s brave of Brody to bring him up. My family has gotten pretty good at pretending thedark year,as I like to call it, when my life imploded and I came limping home, didn’t happen. Mostly because whenever they bring it up, I tend to bark and growl and behave like an imbecile.
Grouchy uncle. Yep.That’s me.
“But that’s the trouble,” I say. “It doesn’t matter ifallassistants aren’t like Ryan. It would only takeone. And with people like that, you never know until it’s too late.”
Brody drops the subject, probably because he’d rather drive home to his wife than sit around and listen to me grumble. But I know better than to think this argument is over. If I know my sister, she’ll hit me with round two before the end of the week.
Though, if I can battle it out with Buttercup and come out unscathed, surely I can fend off Olivia’s attempts to meddle.
