Page 243 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
Is that why she invited me to eat lunch with half his family in the first place? Because she knows we might be a thing?
Or maybe she knows nothing and she’s just hoping?
Or . . .maybeit’s time for me to get my wayward brain under control and stop with all the questioning. I can almost feel myself spiraling, which absolutely isn’t like me.
Also, it’s incredibly presumptuous for me to be asking these questions in the first place.
Dinner with Lennox isjustdinner. Not even a date.
And this is probablyjusta meal to welcome me to the farm as catering chef.
I lift my hand and offer Lennox a little wave, then follow Olivia to the door of the studio. She disappears inside, but I pause when Lennox calls my name.
“Hey, Tatum?”
I turn to face him.
“Make them go easy on me?” He props his hands on his hips, accentuating the breadth of his shoulders and his tapered waist. “And don’t believe everything they tell you, all right?”
I bite my lip, suddenly liking this power I have over him. “Oh, I’m going to believe every word.”
I love Hannah Hawthorne’s studio almost as quickly as I love Hannah Hawthorne.
Despite the chilly temperatures outside, inside the studio is light and bright and full of warmth. Art supplies and a variety of easels and differently sized canvases fill one half of the space, and beyond that, it looks like there’s a kitchen, but the back corner feels more living room than studio.
An overstuffed sofa is pressed against the back wall, a striped afghan in every color of the rainbow draped over the back. Several mismatched chairs sit opposite the couch, all in funky colors and textures, and piles of throw pillows are stacked in every corner.
The room has the same easy, welcoming vibe as Hannah herself. Everything about her seems to say she’s happy in her own skin—in her own life. Her soft gray hair hangs in easy waves to her shoulders, framing her face and accentuating her warm, friendly eyes. An ache forms deep in my chest. I want this for myself. I want to belong somewhere like Hannah belongs in this room, surrounded by her art, her family, and so many other reminders of her place in the world.
After a round of introductions and a hello hug that makes my heart squeeze, Hannah motions me toward the couch. “You come sit with me, Tatum. I want to know everything about how you’re settling in.”
“Start with the bear attack,” Olivia says as she unloads the picnic basket. “I want to hear your perspective.”
“Perry told me something about that,” Lila says, leaning forward, her dark hair cascading over her shoulder. “Were you terrified? I would have been so terrified.”
It’s a dangerous subject, because I can’t talk about the bear without talking about Lennox, and I’m not sure I can talk about Lennox without my crush bleeding through.
“Forget the bear,” Kate says. She pulls her legs up and folds them crisscrossed in her chair. “I want the dirt on what Lennox was like in culinary school.”
Olivia looks at me, a question in her eyes. She has to know something of the tension that existed between me and Lennox because she was there the day we met and Toby chased Penelope through his kitchen. But we haven’t really talked about it since, so I have no idea how much she truly knows—how much any of them know.
“Ignore that question, Tatum,” Hannah says. “I didn’t invite you up here to grill you about my son. I just want to get to know you.” She eyes the other women around the room. “That’s what we all want, isn’t it?”
I smile gratefully, appreciating the course correction, and easy conversation carries us through lunch. The women talk easily—about their lives, their jobs, their kids. Olivia's son, Asher, just started walking, and we all ooh and aah over the video she has on her phone, then Lila shows us a video of her son, Jack, at his first piano recital. All of it feels effortless and natural. These women really like each other. Like, I'm pretty sure they would be friends even if they weren't related.
And the food—it's absolutely delicious. Thick slices of ham and gruyere cheese on soft sandwich bread, with fresh greens and some kind of homemade honey mustard that is bright and flavorful. There’s also a winter vegetable salad with sweet potatoes, brussels sprouts, and pecans, with this balsamic glaze dressing that makes me want to cry.
I hate to admit it, but Lennox probablycouldmake liverwurst taste delicious.
After we polish off half a plate of almond pillow cookies—these make me cryfor real—I don’t miss the way all three of the younger women shift in their seats, leaning forward the slightest bit when Hannah’s questions turn more personal.
“So, tell me, Tatum. Did you leave anyone special back in California?” she asks. “A boyfriend, maybe?”
“Oh.” I hold up my hands. “Definitely not. My schedule was too crazy. I dated occasionally, but nothing ever really stuck.”
Hannah reaches out and pats my knee. “Well maybe the move will be good for you in that respect, too. Sometimes, we need to shake things up a bit. Get a change of scenery, if you know what I mean.”
“Well I definitely managed that. This place couldn’t be more different than L.A., and I mean that in the best way possible.”
