Page 209 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
The door swings forward, creaking on its hinges, and I take a tentative step inside.
The small space could fit inside my last place fifteen times, but overall, it isn’t half bad. The kitchen looks like it’s been recently remodeled, and the furniture is clean if a little dated. Everything has a sort of rustic, mountain charm that makes me feel surprisingly at home, even though this place couldn’t be more different than what I’m used to.
Above the couch, a double window reveals the rolling pastures of Stonebrook Farm, then just beyond, the Blue Ridge mountains melting into the distance. It’s an incredible view, but I’m not sure there’s abadview anywhere on Stonebrook. The place looks like it belongs in a movie.
I press my palms into the small of my back and arch backward, relishing the stretch of my tired muscles. Toby nudges againstmy leg then nuzzles my hand with his cold, wet nose until I shift and start scratching his ears.
“This trick, huh?” He leans in, and I tangle my fingers in his silky golden doodle coat. He needs a trim—I can hardly see his eyes, his hair has grown so long—but I left California so quickly, I didn’t have time to get him in to see the groomer before I was tossing things in a U-Haul.
Moving slowly wasn’t an option. My father can be very persuasive, so I had to strike fast, before I lost my nerve, or I never would have made it out of the state.
After my run-in with Lennox this morning, I’m wondering if I should have gone a little slower. Would it have been so terrible if Dad had managed to convince me to stay home?
Home was safe. Predictable.
But it was also a life that didn’t feel like mine. At least not at two a.m. when I chased a wild hair and actually applied for this job, though I’ve second guessed myself a thousand times since then. Sheer momentum carried me forward, but I’ll admit there’s a certain comfort in knowing that if I go back to California, Dad will be waiting for me with open arms.
In fact, I think he probably expects it, something that makes me all the more determined to make this work. I love my dad. I’m grateful for everything he’s done for me, but it’s thrilling to be doing something—anything—without him holding my hand.
Even if mynew and independent lifeisn’t exactly off to an auspicious start. Honestly, I don’t think my first day at Stonebrook could have started any worse.
I leave Toby lounging on the couch like he’s king of the apartment while I head back down the stairs to get another load of stuff from the U-Haul. I stop halfway down, my way blocked by a giant box movingupthe stairs.
“Hawthorne complimentary moving service coming through,” a deep voice says.
I backpedal until I’m in my apartment, my eyes wide as the box follows me, held securely in the arms of—is that Lennox?
No, it’s only someone wholookslike Lennox. Same jawline. Same eyes. He’s a little lankier, his hair a lighter brown, and he doesn’t have a beard like Lennox does, but still. He has to be a brother. Especially since he just called himselfHawthorne moving service.
The man shifts the box onto the table, but before I can say thank you, or even hello, another man appears in the doorway, also carrying a box.
If it’s even possible, this man looks even more like Lennox than the first. His features are a little darker, and he’s maybe a little more broody? Though I could just be noticing the contrast between him and the other brother, who hasn’t stopped smiling since he walked in.
Either way, Hawthorne family genetics arestrong.
With the invasion of so much testosterone into my tiny space, Toby is immediately by my side, his body tense.
I drop my hand to his ears, giving him a good scratch and shushing him so he knows he doesn’t need to worry.
“Sorry to barge in,” the first guy says. “Olivia said you were moving in and thought you might need some help.” He extends his hand. “I’m Brody Hawthorne. This is my brother, Perry.”
I smile. “Right. Lennox’s brothers.” It’s hard not to be overwhelmed by the sheer manliness that has just entered my very tiny kitchen. Both of these men are married, wedding bands clearly visible, but that doesn’t keep me from noticing they are bothgorgeous.
Like, put them on a calendar and hang them in my kitchen gorgeous.
Almost as gorgeous as Lennoxgorgeous.
You know. In a strictly observational, not at all interested because that would be delusional kind of way.
Once, back in culinary school, I briefly entertained the possibility of Lennox beingmorethan just my publicly declared enemy. Or, I don’t know. Maybeenemyis a strong word. It’s more like we were rivals. We both wanted to be the best, and I was the one standing in his way, and he was the one standing in mine.
He was just as handsome back then, not to mention charming, frustratingly brilliant, and clearly interested in dating because he always had women with him or around him or even just following him around.
But it didn’t take long to discern that Lennox never looked atmelike he did the numerous women he dated. I could have been a robot with arms made out of rolling pins and spatulas for hands for all the attention he paid to my physical appearance.
In hindsight, I think the fact that hedidn’tnotice me in that way might have fueled my indignation and resentment, making me want to beat him even more.
But then, for a split second, when I burst into the kitchen and tumbled into Lennox this afternoon, our eyes locked and something sparked, heat growing and filling my limbs like some inexplicable force.
