Page 230 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
It was three days after he told me about the offer that I applied to be Stonebrook’s catering chef.
Still, I haven’t told the networkno.Not explicitly. I’ve just told them I’m not ready to say yes.
Dad’s patience is wearing thin, but I’m not going to cave.
I have never, in all of my life, made a decision about my career without Dad’s opinions weighing heavily in the conversation. Maybe I will do the tv show, but if I do, it’s going to be because Iwant it, not because Dad wants it for me. And I’ll take whatever time and distance I need to figure it out.
Fortifying my nerves, I key out a response to Dad’s messages.
Tatum:Dad, if they don’t want to wait for me, then don’t wait for me. I’m not ready for this. I’m not even sure I want it.
His response comes through with lightning speed, like he’s been sitting and waiting for my reply since he sent the first text late last night.
Dad:You’re being silly, Tatum. Eventually, you’ll get over this little farm life you’re playing at, and you WILL change your mind. But by then, it may be too late.
His words sting more than anything else he’s sent. It isn’t like him to be so harsh with me.
Toby barks somewhere in the distance, and I look up, scanning the wood line for his familiar black-and-white form. I don’t immediately see him, but he never stays out of sight longer than a moment or two, so I don’t stress as I type out a response to my dad’s last message.
Tatum:I guess that’s on me, then. I like where I am, Dad. I like what I’m doing. I’m sorry that’s not the answer you want.
Now leave me alone about it.
Toby barks again, only, this time, it sounds a little more urgent. I still can’t see him, and a pulse of alarm snakes through me. I slide my phone into the pocket on the side of my leggings and stand up. I lift my fingers to my lips to whistle, but then I freeze, my eyes locked on a black bear standing at the edge of the woods.
An actual. Real. Living. Bear.
I swear and take a step backward, climbing onto the first step of the gazebo.
Lennox said the bears wouldn’t come around if I had Toby with me.
Hesaidthe bear would be as afraid of me as I was of it.
Or did he say that about the bobcat?
Either way, he made it sound like what’s happening right now would absolutelynothappen.
That’s when I see the cubs playing at the base of a tree a few yards away.
Oh geez.
Cubs mean the bigger bear is the mama, and I’m pretty sure the expression aboutmama bearsis rooted in real, actual science. Meaning, that mama isn’t going to let anything—or anyone—harm her babies.
Maybe, if I stand here silently long enough, she’ll wander back into the woods and take her babies with her.
Maybe—
Toby comes charging out of the trees, barking like the crazy fool he is, and completely evaporates my hope. My stomach drops to my feet.
“Toby, no,” I say, and his barking cuts off, his eyes lifting to me for the briefest second. But then the mama bear ambles forward a few steps and lifts onto her back legs.
Toby backs up, a low growl sounding from his belly.
Think, Tatum. Just think!
There has to be a way to scare the bear away. With grizzly bears, you’re supposed to play dead—something I know thanks to the closed captions on the nature documentary my seatmate was watching the last time I was on an airplane—but this isn’t a grizzly bear.
What are you supposed to do with black bears? Still play dead? Yell and scream and scare them away? Whatever the answer, what Ireallydon’t want to do is see my dog get into a fight withanykind of bear. Brown, black, polar, grizzly, smoky. NONE of the bears are preferable. I want ZERO bears.
