Page 135 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
I can’t stop thinking about her. Every time my phone pings, I wonder if it’s her, finally responding to my messages.
In all my poor attempts at dating the past few years, I’ve never met anyone interesting enough to challenge my determination to remain single. Not until now.
Objectively, I recognized my attraction to Lila immediately. The first moment I saw her getting out of the car to bring me a jack, I felt that tug deep in my gut. It was easier to ignore when I thought it was just attraction, when I believed Lila did not return my interest. But then when she arrived at the farm this morning, I’m pretty sure she called meHotty Hawthornebefore she got out of the car. And when she left after our disagreement in the field, there was disappointment clear in her expression.
If she’s interested back? I don’t think I can keep ignoring the pressure that builds in my chest whenever she’s around.
I shove away my phone, tired of checking my notifications every fifteen seconds.
I need a workout. Or maybe just a hard run. Something to distract me. Make me think about something other than the way Lila looked in the field this afternoon, clipboard in hand, her expression indignant as she told me all the reasons why I should listen to her.
She was right, of course. And I did listen to her. It only took me an hour after she left to realize she was right about the setup. I’ve already adjusted the layout to be more family friendly.
But it isn’t her ideas that keep flashing through my mind. It’s her eyes, bright blue in the afternoon light, sparking with fire as she spoke. It’s the curve of her hips as she hiked up to the ledge. The vulnerability in her eyes when she finally told me how she lost her husband.
Seized by a sudden impulse, I grab my phone and google her husband’s name. I have to pull up her profile on the virtual assistant app to make sure I get her last name right.
Trevor Templeton.
It doesn’t take long to find a few articles about his death. I skim through them, the same words popping out over and over again.Highly skilled. Highly decorated. Among the nation’s best and brightest. An insurmountable loss.
I drop my phone onto the sofa cushion beside me. See? I knew I wasn’t good enough for her, and finding out how amazing her late husband was confirms it. She was married to a national hero, while my marriage was practically a natural disaster.
Okay.It’s definitely time for a run.
It’s too dark to hit the curvy mountain road I live on, so I settle for the treadmill in my garage. It came with the house when I rented the place, and it sounds like an airplane about to take off and smells like burning rubber if I go faster than seven miles an hour, but it’s better than nothing.
I connect my AirPods to my phone and crank up my music, then intentionally leave the phone on the counter in the kitchen where I won’t be tempted to look at it every five seconds.
If Lila were going to respond by now, she would have. I have to move on.
I’m ten minutes into my run when the volume on my music decreases and Siri’s voice pipes into my ears. “Text message fromLila Templeton,” Siri says in a measured, robotic voice. “Thank you for the apology, but it isn’t necessary. You’re the boss.” I can’t decide if the text feels cold and impersonal because Siri read it like she was reciting ingredients off the back of a cereal box, or if it reallyisjust cold and impersonal.
I scramble to stop the treadmill, but I somehow miss the stop button, my fingers grazing over it without actuallypushingit.
Problem: my brain already prepared my feet to STOP.
When the treadmill keeps going, it tosses me off the back, right into the concrete wall of my garage.
I pause long enough to make sure I’m not bleeding anywhere, yank the safety key out of the treadmill to stop the stupid thing,then run to the kitchen to grab my phone. I’m going to be bruised tomorrow in so many places. But I don’t even care.
Lila responded.
She read my dumb apology and still decided to message me back.
I sit at my kitchen table and read her response for myself, imagining the words inhervoice instead of Siri’s.
Lila:Thank you for the apology, but it isn’t necessary. You’re the boss.
It isn’t terrible, exactly. But it isn’t good, either. I key out a quick response before I can overthink.
Perry:Being the boss doesn’t make me right all the time, nor does it justify forcing you to work without breaks.
Lila:Well, that’s a relief. Guess I don’t need to fill my pockets with Lucky Charms before coming to work tomorrow.
I grin at her response, happy to move even this tiny sliver past the weird tension I created between us with my earlier stupidity.
Perry:Lucky Charms?
