Page 131 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
All over the north field, clipboard in hand, making notes while Perry walks through the logistical layout for the harvest festival, tape measure and flags to mark the distance between each vendor location in hand. Retail booths. Food stalls. Food trucks.Ticket booths for the hayride and petting zoo. There are so many things to consider. Foot traffic flow. Access to bathrooms. The length of food lines and how that might interfere with access to surrounding booths.
Perry is methodical, quick in his decision-making, and needs very little input from me. In fact, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t actually need me here at all. He could be jotting things down on this clipboard just as easily as I am.
“Okay,” he finally says after what feels like hours and hours of traipsing around the field. “I think that does it.”
My stomach growls as I look over the layout. It’s pushing one o’clock, and we didn’t stop for lunch. If we were still in the orchard, I’d have grabbed an apple from one of the trees ages ago. “Are you open to suggestions?” I say.
Perry’s eyes widen, like he’s actually taken aback by the question, but he recovers quickly. “Does the layout really need suggestions? I feel like we covered everything.”
“We did. And this will probably work fine. But as someone who’s attended the festival with a small child, I might reconsider a few things.”
He folds his arms across his chest. “Like what?” he asks, his tone sharp.
Well, okay, Mr. Defensive. You don’t have to have an attitude about it.
Looks like the nice, easygoing Perry I spent the morning with got swallowed up by a grump.
I walk forward and hold out the clipboard, flipping the top sheet over to the map of the field printed on the back of the vendor list. “Look at these four things,” I say, pointing to four different things on the map. “For anyone coming to the festival with children under five years old, these are the attractions they’re going to be most excited about. The petting zoo, thehayride, the ‘Make Your Own Caramel Apple’ booth, and the face painting.”
“Okay. I’m still not seeing the problem.”
“Perry, none of these things are close together. It almost feels intentional. Like you’re trying to make people walk far on purpose.”
“But they’ll be walking past craft booths and food stalls. People can shop on their way from one thing to another.”
“You’ve clearly never been anywhere with a three-year-old.”
His frown deepens, his hand moving to his jaw, but he doesn’t respond.
“I know you can’t move the location of the petting zoo,” I say, “but you could shift the caramel apple booth and the face painting so it’s on this end of the field, next to the ticket booth for the zoo and the hayride. Parents with little kids are all about optimizing the brief, magical hours when kids are happy. And by happy, I mean not tired or starving. Don’t make them walk all over everywhere. If they finish the kid stuff and everyone is still happy, then they can go browse and shop. But I promise parents with cranky toddlers aren’t meandering through stalls looking for hand-carved cutting boards or homemade apple butter. They’re just trying to get home without losing their minds.”
Perry huffs. “You seem to know a lot about cranky toddlers, but I’m not sure that qualifies you to make decisions about something this big.”
I take a step backward. “Are you implying my child is cranky? Because you’ve spent time with him, and you know how charming he is. But he’s ahuman child,which means I dohave more experience with cranky toddlers than you do, and as such, my opinion has some merit, whether you want it to or not.”
Perry’s expression is stern, like he can’t quite believe I spoke so freely.
I bite my lip. Hewas the one who got defensive first. And my suggestion did have merit. Possibly I could have presented it with a little more tact. But that doesn’t make me wrong.
Whoa.Speaking of cranky toddlers.
I don’t know who’s behaving worse right now. Me or Perry. “I’m sorry,” I say, quickly backpedaling. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I think I might be a little hangry.” I give him a pointed look because, let’s be real, I’m not the only one in this situation who might be hangry. I won’t call him out directly, but if a lifted brow helps him make the leap himself, I wouldn’t mind.
His face immediately shifts. “You haven’t eaten?”
I glance at my watch. “When would I have? I packed a lunch, but it’s back in my bag. In your office.”
His shoulders drop, and he runs a hand through his hair, mussing it in a way that shouldn’t be quite so adorable but absolutely is. “Of course you wouldn’t have. I’m sorry. I’m—” He shakes his head. “Come on. We can be done here. I’ll drive you back to get your stuff, and you can head out for the day.”
Unease swirls through my gut. “I still have an hour before I have to leave,” I argue, not liking that I suddenly feel so dismissed.
Perry is already walking toward the Gator we’ve been driving all over the farm. “You’ve more than earned the right to leave early, Lila. Don’t worry about it.”
Perry is polite but distant as we make the short drive back to the farmhouse. He waits in the hallway outside his office while I retrieve my bag, and I think he’ll let me leave without saying anything else at all. But then he stops at the back door, a pained look on his face.
“Can we try this again tomorrow?” he says. “I promise I’ll let you eat. And take any other breaks you need.” He clears his throat. “I appreciate you being here today. It was—” He pauses, like he can’t find the right word. “Helpful,” he finally manages.
I didn’t particularly feel helpful, and the afternoon definitely ended on a more sour note than it started. But I find myself nodding anyway. “I can come back tomorrow.”
