Page 144 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
It’s possible I’ve read too many romance novels.
But COME ON. He can’t let her waltz into the reunion telling everyone her poor ex-husband is still too brokenhearted to show his face.
I pocket my phone and hurry out front where Hannah is waiting for me. I wonder whatsheknows about Jocelyn. And if there’s any possible way I could bring her up.
Except that would be meddling.
I shouldn’t meddle.
Ireallywant to meddle.
Mrs. Hawthorne smiles. “Ready?”
It occurs to me a moment too late that I still haven’t sent Perry a message, but I’m not going to pull my phone out and do it now. “Yep. Good to go.” I glance at my watch as we head down the massive front steps of the farmhouse. It’s only ten-thirty. Maybe I’ll be back before Perry comes for me, and it won’t matter.
The farmhouse steps are decorated with pumpkins, tiny hay bales, and baskets of yellow, red, and orange mums. I don’t remember noticing the decorations when I arrived, but Perry took me in through the back, so it’s possible I missed it. “Everything looks so festive,” I say once we reach the bottom. I turn and look back at the house. “It’s honestly so beautiful out here.”
“Decorating the porch is one of the few things I still like to do,” Mrs. Hawthorne says with a chuckle. “It used to be my porch, after all.”
“When did you move out of the farmhouse?”
She wrinkles her brow. “Perry was in middle school, so . . . maybe twenty years ago or so? It’s a much larger house now than it used to be. Everything to the left of the porch, all the offices, that was all added on after we moved out. We still live on the property though. On the backside, where I don’t have to worry about customers wandering into my kitchen.”
“Does Perry still live on the property too?”
She eyes me curiously, and I brace myself, wondering if she’s going to question my reasons for wanting to know. But then she just shakes her head. “He’s got his own place a few miles down the road.”
I suddenly wonder what Perry’s home is like. Does it have the same comfortable feel as his office? Does he have matching furniture? Throw pillows and art on the walls? Is his bedroom decorated, or is he more a mattress-on-a-frame kind of man?
A wave of heat washes through me at the thought of Perry’s bedroom. Hisbed.
I pat my cheeks, feeling the warmth there as an image of Perry lounging around his home pops into my brain.
Bad, brain! Now is not the time!
But my brain doesn’t care WHAT time it is or even that I’m standing beside Perry’s MOM. It’s too wrapped up imagining Perry in lounge pants and a plain white t-shirt—or shirtless—can we go with shirtless?—walking barefoot around his bedroom.
“What about you?” Mrs. Hawthorne asks, startling me out of my reverie. It occurs to me a moment too late that there was a first part to her question that I somehow missed.
The faint heat in my cheeks flames even hotter, which is stupid. Perry’s mother is not a mind reader.
I clear my throat and glance over at her. Her eyebrows are lifted, the smirk on her face saying she maybe IS a mind reader.
“I, um, I . . . ”Can’t even remember what she asked me.“I’m sorry. What did you ask?”
She chuckles again. “Do you live around here?”
“Oh. Um, not too far from here. Just up the mountain in Hendersonville. I’ve only been back a couple of years, but I grew up there, so that’s home.”
We approach the barn, and Hannah slides open a massive door that leads into a dimly lit space. Stalls line either side of the giant barn, a wide corridor running from where we’re standing all the way to the other end. There’s a hay loft overhead, the smell of hay and leather and old wood heavy in the air. I follow Hannah to the first stall where she scoops up the tiniest baby goat I’ve ever seen and, without any preamble, plops the goat into my arms.
“Oh my goodness,” I say as the goat bleats and nibbles at my ear. “What is even happening right now?”
Hannah smiles. “Her name is Sweetpea.”
I rub Sweetpea’s soft ears. “Oh, Jack would love you. Will she be a part of the petting zoo at the festival?”
“Probably not,” Hannah says. “I like them to be a few months old before they’re exposed to all the noise and traffic of the festival. Who’s Jack?”
