Page 118 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
Jack finally twists the first lug nut all the way off, and it drops into my waiting palm. “Great job. Want to do the next one?”
He nods, his face determined, and moves to the next lug nut. This one needs a little more muscle, so we work together, holding the lug wrench until the nut is loose enough for him to twist it off by hand.
“Mommy explained what a jack was on the drive over,” he says as he works. “I was confused because when she said she needed to bring you a jack, I thought she was talking about me.”
“That makes sense.”
“How much do you think your truck weighs?”
My eyebrows go up. “I don’t know. A few thousand pounds, probably.”
“Is that too much for you to lift with your muscles?”
I take the lug wrench and position it over the next nut. “Yep. A little too much.”
“What about the tire? Could you lift the tire?”
I look up and make eye contact with Lila whose expression clearly readsI told you so.“I could lift the tire,” I say.
“Could I?” Jack asks.
“When you’re my age, I bet you can.”
He purses his lips like he needs to catalog the information. “How old is your age?”
“Jack. Come on,” Lila says softly. “You’re asking so many questions, Mr. Hawthorne can’t get his tire changed.”
I wink at Jack and motion toward the lug wrench with a tilt of my head.
He grips it in his hands and twists, letting out a little grunt that nearly makes me laugh. “Just turned thirty-three,” I say as I catch the third lug nut.
“Thirty-three?! You’re even older than my mom. You’re maybe as old as my grandpa.”
“Not quite,” Lila says, correcting him. “And he’s barely older than me, kiddo. Just four years.”
“Four years is forever,” Jack says matter-of-factly.
The questions don’t let up until the tire is fully replaced and the truck is back on solid ground.
Why do I drive a truck instead of a car? Is that the name of my work on the side of the truck? Do we grow apples? Is that why there’s an apple tree next to the name? Am I a dad? Do I have a wife? Do I have any brothers or sisters? Or a dog? Or a cat? Or a horse since I live on a farm, and horses can live on farms?
I do my best to answer with a straight face, but by the time I’m handing the jack back to Lila, I’ve been holding in the laughter so long, I’m ready to burst.
“Okay, little man. Back into the car with you. We’ve got to let Mr. Hawthorne get back to Stonebrook Farm.”
Jack looks up. “Is that far away from here?”
I shake my head. “Just a few miles down the road. About twenty minutes.”
“OnePaw Patrollong?” he asks.
Lila smiles. “About that long.”
“Speaking of Stonebrook,” I say, before I can stop myself. The idea of inviting Lila out to the farm popped into my head a few minutes ago, growing more and more insistent the closer we got to finishing the tire. I have no idea what I’ll do if she agrees. Butsome part of me wants to see her again. I’m not really sure I’m ready to admit what that might mean, but I’m also not willing to let her drive away and disappear behind her old lady avatar. “If I were to, uh . . . that is, if I had some things I needed you to do at the farm, in person, would you be willing to come out some time?”
I clear my throat, hoping it doesn’t sound like I’m asking her on a date. Though, maybe that would have been a better idea. I have no actual clue what kind of work I’ll have Lila do in person. If she even agrees to come.
Except,I can’task her on a date. She just told me about a too-forward boss and how uncomfortable he made her. I can’t be that guy.
