Page 150 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
Perry
I did not driveinto the orchard expecting to take a thirty-minute taste-testing detour. Ireallydidn’t expect to hand-feed Lila slices of apple. I’m not even sure what came over me. But I think she liked it.Reallyliked it. Not even Lennox could have written a better script for how things went. For a minute, it almost seemed like I havegame.
Maybe I’m not as rusty at this whole dating thing as I thought.
But then, there’s something about Lila that puts me at ease. I spent so much time trying to be exactly what Jocelyn wanted me to be. But with Lila—it’s like she has zero expectations. She’s just happy to be with me.
Once we’re back to the lunch spot I originally picked out, we work together to spread out the picnic blanket, then I haul out the basket Lennox packed for us. “I actually have no idea what’s in here,” I say as I open it up, shifting it toward Lila.
“Did Lennox pack it?” she asks, her hope obvious.
“You ask that like you’ve met him.”
“I haven’t, but you did have me proofread his menu. Don’t hate me for being a teeny bit excited about the possibility of eating his food. I mean, the man’s reputation definitely precedes him.”
Something like jealousy swarms in my chest, but that’s nothing new. I’m never jealous of Lennox’s ability to cook. I’musuallyjealous of Lennox’s ability to make and keep friends. To have women scrambling for the opportunity to even just talk to him. It’s never been that easy for me to talk to people.
Not until now, I realize. Though I’m pretty sure that has nothing to do with me and everything to do with Lila.
“What do we have?” I say, as I watch Lila unpack the food.
“A couple of sandwiches, but they look fancy. Ohh! They’re on croissants. And then—” She pulls a container out of the cooler and lifts the edge, holding it up to her nose. “Ohh, this smells delicious. Some kind of potato salad, maybe? And then some cookies?”
“Almond pillow cookies,” I say, looking into the container Lila opens and sets on the blanket between us. “He’s famous for those.”
“Famous for cookies?”
She immediately lifts a cookie and takes a bite, leaving a tiny dab of powdered sugar on her lip that I immediately want to brush off. Or kiss off, which is a startling thought. That would be going way too fast, but feeding Lila apples was like a gateway drug, and now I can’t stop thinking aboutmore.
The fact that I’m thinking about anything at all feels big. I’ve been numb for so many years, but Lila is waking me up.
“Oh my word,” she says on a groan. “These are ridiculous.”
“Not worried about spoiling your lunch, huh?”
She takes another bite of the cookie and hands me the unfinished half. “I’ve always wondered about the logic behind that expression. It’s not as if the nutritional value of the actual lunch diminishes if we eat our dessert first.”
I polish off the last of her cookie in one bite. “I like your way of thinking. But here,” I say, reaching toward her. “You’ve got a little . . .” My hand hovers inches away from her lip. Iwantto touch her, but not if she doesn’t want me to.
“What? What is it?” She leans toward my hand—that’s permission enough for me—and I brush the pad of my thumb across her bottom lip.
“Powdered sugar,” I say, my touch lingering a second longer than necessary. This close, I can see the flecks of navy that pepper her sky-blue eyes.
I hear her breath catch as she leans back, then see her visibly swallow, which somehow makes me feel better. Maybe I’m not the only one with fire coursing through my veins.
We dig into the food, which helps alleviate some of the tension brewing, something I think we both need. Chemistry or not, I’m not making a move on Lila—at least not more than I already did when I decided to hand-feed her apple slices. We’ve both got reasons to take things slow.
Every bite of lunch is delicious. I don’t care how much my brother annoys me; this food can only be helping my cause.
We don’t talk about anything too important while we eat. The conversation is comfortable and easy, which is becoming the norm with Lila. It helps that she’s so inquisitive, asking questions about the orchard (How do we choose what varieties of apple we grow? How long does it take for an apple to fully mature?) and what it was like to grow up in such a big family.
It isn’t until we polish off the last of the almond pillow cookies that Lila leans back onto her hands, her legs stretched out in front of her, and looks at me like she has something important to say.
“I need to tell you something,” she says.
“Now would be a good time. I’m full and happy. We’ve got about fifteen minutes before I remember to be grouchy again.”
She laughs lightly. “The thing is, I’ve heard yousayyou’re grouchy more than once, but you don’t really come across that way. Not to me.”
