Page 240 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
His words are deadly serious, which makes my heart feel tight with regret.
He thinks I lashed out because I was judging him.Accusinghim.
“You’re right,” I say, quickly backpedaling.
I can fix this, right? I just have to tell him I was wrong.
“I’ve seen you with your staff, and you’re right. You’re never anything but professional.” I lift my shoulders in a resigned shrug. “I’m sorry I freaked out.”
There. Done. See? That was easy.
Lennox studies me closely, tilting his head to the side. “What’s really going on?” He takes a slow step forward. “What are you not telling me?”
I take a step backward, erasing the ground he gained, and breathe out a little laugh. “Nothing is going on.I was wrong, I admitted it, end of conversation.”
“Nope. That’s not all of it,” he says, taking another step closer. He folds his arms across his chest. “Want to know what I think?”
I back up another few steps until I bump into the living room wall. I press my palms flat against the smooth surface and squeeze my eyes closed, peeking one open to look at Lennox who is moving toward me like some sort of wild animal stalking its prey. “Something tells me I really don’t.”
He grins as he presses one hand against the wall behind me and leans close. “I think you freaked out because you got jealous.”
I scoff. Just because he’s right doesn’t mean I have to admit it. But two can play at this game. “As jealous as you were when I was talking to Zach the other night?”
He smirks, his expression completely shameless as he says, “Maybe not that jealous.”
Ohhh man.So hewasjealous of Zach.
What does that mean?
What do I want it to mean?
“So . . . I’ve been thinking,” Lennox says, his smooth voice completely melting my insides.
I cross my arms over my chest even as I start to plot my exit strategy. “Oh yeah? What about?” I could hover in the warmth of this man’s intoxicating gaze all day, but in my currently braless state, I’m feeling the need to escape sooner rather than later. It’s hard to have any kind of serious conversation when my arms are acting as permanent nipple shields.
Lennox holds my gaze. “I was just thinking . . . maybe we could try getting to know each otherwithoutarguing.”
My eyebrows go up. “What, like . . . be friends?”
He shrugs. “Something like that.” He steps back and pushes his hands into his pockets. “What do you think? I could make dinner for us.”
There is a measure of boyishness to Lennox right now that is doing strange things to my heart—a vulnerability I’ve never seen but really like.
Do I want to have dinner with Lennox? A tingle of excitement sparks in my chest, radiating out to my fingertips. I’m thinking that meansyes, yes I do.
“Dinner here?” I ask.
He immediately shakes his head no. “Come to my place. We both spend too much time here as it is.”
Oh my.Dinner at his place sounds like a date. Does he think this is a date? I saidfriends,and he saidsomething like that,which could meanYES, friends,but could it also meanmore than friends?I almost ask him, but I bite back the words before I can. One, because I’m spiraling, and two, if heisn’tthinking date, asking will only imply that I am, and I’m not ready to make that kind of a declaration when I don’t know where he stands.
I manage a nod. “Dinner at your place sounds great.”
Once we pull up the farm’s event calendar, we have to count out nine full days before we both have a night off at the same time.
There are other ways we could swing it.
We could have a late dinner in the restaurant kitchen after closing. Or we could change our plan to have breakfast or lunch when we both have an hour to spare. But now that Lennox has put the idea of dinner at his house in my head, I don’t really want to settle for anything else.
