Page 237 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
Oh, fabulous.This is exactly what I need. It’s like I wished him into existence with the force of menotwanting him here. The universe clearly has a sense of humor. Or it hates me.
With the way the evidence is piling up, it’s probably that one.
I glance down at my ridiculous outfit and scowl.
What is Lennox even doing here so early? Henevercomes to the kitchen this early.
“Toby!” I call, quickly moving toward the stairs. “Come on! Let’s go inside. You want breakfast? Let’s go get breakfast!”
Toby woofs and moves toward the edge of the parking lot, crouching low in the grass like he’s a mountain lion stalking his prey. With a playful wag of his tail, he leaps forward, landing on a fallen leaf.
“Toby!” I call again, but it’s pointless now. Lennox is already out of his car and walking toward me.
I fold my arms across my braless chest—it’s cold outside and the girls are in full salute—and act like it’s absolutely no big deal for me to be standing outside in the freezing cold in nothing but my pajamas.
Lennox eyes me as he approaches, his expression neutral. He totally caught me off guard when he asked me for helpyesterday. When he followed me into the pantry, I’d expected some sarcastic remark, but then he’d asked for my opinions and offered a real and genuine thank you.
I almost fell over on the spot from the shock of it.
Now that we aren’t trading barbs all the time, I have no idea what to expect from him. Will he still needle me and tease me? If I start flirting more openly, will he reciprocate? Do I want him to reciprocate? Do I really, truly want to pursue something with Lennox Hawthorne?
It isn’t why I came out to Stonebrook at all. But as I take in how good he looks—even at this ungodly hour—and think of how safe I felt in his arms, it’s hard to remember any of the reasons why I wouldn’t.
He pauses across from me and takes a long sip out of the travel mug he’s holding. I catch a faint whiff, and my stomach grumbles. Whatever coffee he’s drinking, it smells delicious.
“Tatum,” he says by way of greeting. His eyes drift over my outfit, and his lips quiver like he’s fighting a smile, but he doesn’t say anything.
I lift my chin and give him my haughtiest glare. “Lennox.”
He looks down his front, surveying his own outfit, which is fabulous, even in its simplicity. Jeans. A dark wool pea coat. The man can wear anything, apparently. Chef’s whites. Jeans. All of it looks equally delicious.
“It’s a little cold outside,” Lennox says.
I shrug casually. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m pretty comfortable.” Another breeze cuts through the air, lifting my hair, and I suck in a breath.
“Tatum, come on. You’re freezing.” Lennox holds out his coffee cup. “Here. Hold this.”
I take the mug, loving the warmth that seeps through to my fingers.
Before I can fully process what’s happening, Lennox pulls off his scarf, and steps closer, close enough for me to feel the heat of his body and catch his clean, masculine scent.
He drapes the scarf around my neck and ties it loosely at my throat. “I don’t know how they do March in California,” he says softly, “but out here, it usually means cold.”
Oh my. WHAT is even happening right now?
Who needs a scarf to feel warm? All I need are Lennox’s words delivered with that smooth baritone, and I could stand out here in the cold all day.
“I must have missed the memo,” I say. “You should have Olivia add a section to the employee handbook.”
Feeling bold, I lift his mug to my lips and take a slow sip. The coffee is delicious, warm, and perfectly creamy.
Lennox watches, eyebrows raised, but makes no move to stop me. In fact, the way he’s tracking my movements makes me think he doesn’t mind at all.
I don’t know what to make of it.Of him.A month ago, I thought Lennox Hawthorne would barely tolerate my existence when I showed up on his family’s farm. But now he’s looking at me with bedroom eyes while I drink his coffee, making my body feel warm all over.
What does he really think about me being at Stonebrook?
What does he really think ofme? Not just as a chef, but as a person?
