Page 148 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
He tosses me a smirk. “I’ll take my chances. I know how to handle . . . crab apples.”
“Oh man, Perry. That was really bad.”
His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t smile. “Come on. Buckle up. I’ve got a point to prove, and I can hear your stomach rumbling from here.”
“Then just feed me, you monster,” I say, swatting his arm, my fingers (conveniently) lingering just long enough to confirm thatyes,his flannel is unbelievably soft.
“Nope.” Perry eases the Gator in between a row of trees, moving opposite the direction we originally came from. “You’re earning your lunch today.” He shoots me another look. “Boss’s orders.”
A surge of heat pulses deep in my gut, and a blush creeps up my cheeks. Maybe he didn’t mean to get me all hot and bothered combining hisbossinesswith such a heated look, butgood griefI can’t think straight with him carrying on like this.
Perry stops the Gator between a couple of fully matured apple trees and hops out, grabbing an apple from the lower branches of each of the two trees. He jumps back into his seat and pulls a small, folding knife from his pocket. He opens the blade and slices it cleanly into the first apple, cutting out a perfect wedge.
I had no idea cutting fruit with a pocketknife could be so sexy. But then, maybe it’s not so much the pocketknife as it is the ownership. Perry knows this orchard. This farm. And that stirs something in me. Respect, but also longing.
Still, the fear in the back of my brain has me remembering Hannah’s words from earlier.Rein it in.She meant my staring, but I probably ought to apply it generally. I could be reading this situation all wrong, turning what could be a very casual business lunch between coworkers into something it absolutely isn’t meant to be.
But then Perry lifts the slice of apple to my lips. He doesn’t justhandme the fruit. He feeds it to me, his fingers right next to my mouth, brushing my lips as he places the apple slice on my tongue.
“Close your eyes,” he says gently. “Focus on the taste right when it hits your tongue.”
I amnotimagining things.
I can’t be. Even with my limited experience, I recognize the warmth in Perry’s eyes.
I focus on the very basic task of chewing, tasting, swallowing the apple. I keep my eyes closed, willing myself to focus on the taste instead of Perry’s proximity.
“Okay, remember that taste. Think about it.”
I open my eyes and nod. “Thinking. Noting. Okay. I’m good.”
“Ready for the next one?”
I close my eyes again, parting my lips as he offers me a second bite.
Flavor explodes on my tongue, and I let out a little gasp, my eyes popping open. “It’s completely different!”
He smiles, the creases deepening around his eyes. “Why?”
I’m still not used to the full force of that smile—it really is worth a million dollars—and it takes me a moment to answer. I swallow, bringing the flavor of the first apple back to my mind, which is a challenge considering all the other sensory things that are going on here. Perry’s touch. His proximity. The heat of his gaze.Apples, Lila. Think. Apples.“It’s sweeter,” I say. “Not as tart as the last one.”
He nods. “Good.”
“Good?” I raise my brows. “I didn’t realize this was a test.”
He shifts into drive and moves us through the trees. “Tell me something you love. Something you’re good at.”
I’m not sure what he’s getting at, but I’ll play along. “Okay. Um, I like to sing. And play the piano.”
“Really?”
“You sound surprised.” A shadow of trepidation flits through me, but I will it away. Just because Trevor thought my love for music was silly doesn’t mean everyone else will too.
“Not surprised. Just impressed.”
Impressed.Such an easy thing for him to say. And he seems like he means it, too.
“Okay, so imagine you’re hanging out with someone who insists that music is basically all the same. Genre is irrelevant. A song is a song. If you’ve heard one, you’ve heard them all.”
