Page 116 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
But this is Lila. My apple-pun-wielding assistant. (Probably?) Not a woman I’m trying to charm or impress.
Even if Ididhave any idea of her relationship status, which I don’t, she’s my employee. I just need to treat this like I would any other business meeting. Like she’s Preston Whitaker givingme a bushel of apples. Or Calista, Stonebrook’s event manager, giving me an update on the weekend’s schedule.
I can do this.
Ihaveto do this.
And right now.
I might still be awkward, but not as awkward as things will be if I stay in my truck.
I take a stabilizing breath, then climb out.
The woman smiles as she approaches, jack in hand, sparking another flare of attraction in my gut.That smile.My eyes flit to her SUV because otherwise I’m going to stare at her, and that would just be weird.
“I guess you’re Perry?” she says as she holds out the jack. “I’m Lila. Nice to finally meet you in person.”
So sheisLila.
Her accent is clearly Southern, but it isn’t twangy like you often find along the Appalachians. Instead, her words are soft around the edges, rolling into each other in an easy, unhurried way. She’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt cinched up at the waist, accentuating the curves that are, for the record, highly distracting. I am not a man who needs a reminder to keep my eyes up, but this woman is the ultimate test, and it’s taking all my willpower not to fail. I fasten my eyes to her sunglasses, but that hardly helps. Now I can’t stop wondering what color her eyes are.
Lila’s expression shifts to one of confusion, and she pulls the jack back toward her. “YouarePerry, right? Would you rather I call you Mr. Hawthorne?”
“Right!” I say a little too loudly. “I’m Perry. You can call me Perry.”
She eyes me warily. “Okay.”
We stand there awkwardly for what feels like a solid minute before I finally blurt out, “You aren’t old.” I cringe at theharshness of my comment and immediately wish I could take it back. My frustration with Lila has everything to do with me and nothing to do with her.
She presses her lips together. “Sorry about that. The avatar . . .” She scrunches up her nose in a way that’s almost adorable enough to make me forget my irritation. She shrugs. “It seemed like a good idea at the time?” She gives her answer like it’s a question, like she alreadyrealizesit isn’t a good explanation, but she’s hoping I’ll buy it anyway.
“It was a good idea to give me the wrong impression?”
She winces. “Yes? I mean, no. But . . .” She looks back toward her SUV. “I wasn’t trying to give you the wrong impression. I actually changed the photo before you hired me, so it was more a general thing. To be fair, I didn’t really expect to ever meet in person.” Her hands move to her waist, where she props them on her hips in a way that shouldn’t be so enticing. “Does it matter that I’m not in my sixties?”
“Yes,” I say reflexively.
Because you’re beautiful. And I noticed. And I’m feeling things I haven’t felt in years, and now, every time you message me an apple joke, it’s going to land differently.
“No,” I quickly amend. “No. Of course not. I just don’t understand the point.”
She sighs. “It was Marley’s suggestion that I make my avatar something a little less personal.”
She pushes her sunglasses up onto her head, revealing eyes the same blue as the autumn sky above us. I didn’t think it was possible, but her eyes make her even more beautiful.
“My first virtual client wasforward,” she says, her eyes shifting to the side. “Pointed in his very personal questions. It only took a week or so for him to be so blatant, I immediately quit, and Marley severed his relationship with her company. But the whole thing made me a little more leery. Using an olderwoman as an avatar seemed safer.” Her gaze turns back to her car one more time, where it stays long enough that I half-wonder if she’s going to make a break for it. But then she looks back at me, her expression surer than it was only seconds before. She takes a deep breath. “I have a son. And I’m a single mom. I have to protect myself, but more importantly, I have to protect him. The reality is, an old lady avatar makes that a little easier.”
The unfounded frustration simmering inside me immediately quiets. She has a kid? He’s probably with her. That’s why she keeps looking at her car. And she’s single?
This point, which matters to me much more than it should, is quickly eclipsed by a sudden and intense desire to find whatever “first client” she had and punch him for crossing a line, for doing anything to make Lila—or any woman—feel unsafe.
“That client was a jerk,” I say, almost without thinking.
She nods. “He was.”
“I’m not a jerk.”
She cocks an eyebrow and grins. “I wouldn’t be here if I thought you were. Marley vouched for you. For your whole family, really.”
