Page 225 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
Zach appears beside me. “I’m heading out,” he says, his bag slung over his shoulder. “See you tomorrow, man.”
I nod slowly, not looking up from the list in front of me.
“Hey, you all right?” he asks.
“Just trying to decide if we have asaltproblem or astaffproblem.”
“Ahh,” he says. “Good question.”
A door creaks across the room, and I look up to see Tatum walking toward us, a small dish in her hands. I didn’t see her again after I spotted her in my kitchen during the dinner rush, and her kitchen has been quiet for a long time, so it’s a surprise that she’s here now.
Not an unwelcome one, though, and I suddenly find myself hoping whatever is in that dish is something she’s bringing for me.
Tatum’s chef’s coat is gone, revealing a black tank that’s hugging her in all the right ways, and her curly hair is loose around her shoulders. I . . .do notremember her having those curves back in culinary school.
Zach makes a low sound of appreciation which immediately irritates me, and I grunt my disapproval.
“Hands off, Zach,” I say under my breath.
He lifts an eyebrow. “So it’s like that, then?”
I don’t know how to answer him—I’m not even sure where the warning came from. “Nope,” I say, though Zach doesn’t look convinced. “But it’s not like that foryou,either.”
Tatum pauses directly across us.
“I’m not giving back the broccolini, Elliott,” I say. “You better not be asking.”
We didn’t quite come to actual blows last time we divvied up the weekly produce, but had I not sacrificed ten pounds of brussels sprouts in exchange for the broccolini, we might have.
“You can keep your broccolini,” she says. “I came to return this.” She pulls out the picture I stuck to her apartment door the other day and tosses it onto the counter. “I found it stuck to the bottom of my shoe and thought you might want it back.”
“Come on,” I say. “You can’t tell me you didn’t laugh.”
Her lips twitch, her eyes dancing, but she doesn’t crack. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She clears her throat and lets her gaze slide away from me. “Anyway, I’m actually here for Zach.” She smiles at my sous chef, her expression warm and friendly. “I’m so glad you’re still here.”
Wait, what? Zach? She’s so gladZachis still here?
Suddenly, I’m back in middle school, watching April Henderson give my best friend Beau a valentine instead of me.
“Oh yeah?” Zach shoots me a look, then steps forward and crosses his arms, his biceps flexing. Tatum reaches out andtouches his arm, and I barely restrain myself from standing, pulling Zach away from her, and tossing him out the back door.
“I was hoping you could help me,” Tatum says. “I’ve been experimenting. Trying to come up with a new salad dressing to use for the bridal luncheon next month. I need to make a good impression, and Ireallywant everyone here at Stonebrook to like me.”
Tatum’s eyes dart to me for a split second before they zero back in on Zach. She wants everyone to like her? Why do I wish she were only talking aboutme?
“Will you try this for me and let me know what you think?” She extends the dish she’s been holding in her hands.
“Of course.” Zach puts down his bag, takes the salad dressing, and lifts it to his nose.
I watch on, my irritation growing by the second. When, in just a few weeks, have the two of them had the opportunity to get so friendly? It’s not like our schedule allows for tons of free time where we get to just stand around and make friends. Especially not Tatum’s schedule because she’s often serving three meals a day—breakfast, lunch,anddinner.
Nothing about their chumminess makes sense unless they’ve been hanging outoutsidethe kitchen. My hand curls into a fist and I press it into my thigh, the slight discomfort keeping me grounded. I amnotjealous of Zach. I haveno reasonto be jealous of Zach.
After a more thorough sniffing than Brody’s basset hound trailing a rabbit, Zach dips a finger into the dressing and lifts it to his lips.
His expression sours as he tastes it, his eyes scrunching up. “Oh man,” he finally says. “That’s—” He clears his throat and swallows. “Is it—could it be—?”
Tatum presses her lips together, watching Zach with wide, innocent eyes.
