Page 244 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
I think of my last interaction with Dad, and I have to fight the urge to cringe.
“Do you think you’ll ever go back?” Olivia asks. “Is that totally rude of me to ask?”
“You should probably clarify if you’re asking as her employer or as her friend,” Lila says gently. “Otherwise, you’re kind of putting her on the spot.”
Olivia’s eyes widen. “Oh. Oh my gosh. You’re right. I’m totally asking as a friend,” she says to me. “I mean, as your employer, I want you to stay forever. But even when I hired you, I doubted that would happen. You're Christopher Elliott’s daughter. I thought we’d be lucky to hang onto you for a year, two tops.”
When Olivia first interviewed me, she hinted at the possibility of highlighting me as a part of the farm’s marketing. After all, having the daughter of the famous Christopher Elliott cater your wedding would be an easy sell. I awkwardly explained that I was actually trying to distance myself from my famous father, and Olivia immediately shifted gears and told me that was totally fine. It’s not like the farm’s hurting and needs the extra marketing.
But she’s still looking at me like I’m special—assuming some level of greatness that I don’t deserve, that I don’t feel like I ever truly earned. It’s not Olivia’s fault, but there’s no way I canexplain all of that without making her doubt her decision to hire me.
And she shouldn’t doubt. I might not be the star Olivia thinks I am, but I can still do this job at least as well as your average catering chef. What I lack in passion and innovation, I make up for with scrappiness and efficiency. I might not love everything about the job, but I’m not going to let her down.
“I appreciate your transparency,” I finally say, “but I’m not sure I can give you an answer either way. I don’t really know what happens next or even how long I’ll stay at Stonebrook.”
I think of the television show still hanging over my head. Dad’s been more persistent with his texts lately, but the longer I’m here, the less I want to even think about going back to California.
I curve my hands over my knees and press my palms against them, suddenly feeling bold. “But I’m pretty sure I don’t ever want to go back to California.”
A tiny thrill pulses through me as I say the words out loud. Could I really justnotgo back? Stay here longer than a year or two, or move on and make a name for myself somewhere else?I could.I can. The realization fills me like a deep breath of air.
Bree would be proud of me for owning my future like this—even if I have no idea what it’s supposed to look like. Who am I really if not Christopher Elliott’s daughter?
I might not be sure about who Iamjust yet, but Iamsure about who I’m not. And that’s as good a place to start as any.
Olivia and her mom exchange a look. “Well you know you’re welcome here as long as you want,” Hannah says. “We’re thrilled to have you.” She reaches for another cookie. “And I wouldn’t worry too much about what happens next. I’ve often found the thing we’re looking for is right under our nose, even if it takes us a while to figure it out.”
Chapter Eleven
Lennox
I make it throughsix reps before my arms start to tremble. Seven, and I’m struggling to get the weight all the way up.
Brody’s hands tighten around the center of the bench press bar. “Okay, you need to be done. Your muscles are toast.”
“Not yet,” I manage to say. “Three more.”
“Three more? Dude. What are you trying to prove? You’re pushing it twice as hard as you usually do.”
“I’m fine. I’ve got this.”
Brody lets go of the bar, but he keeps his hands close. I groan as I crank out one, then two more reps, but on the third, my muscles completely give out, and Brody has to grip the bar before it falls onto my chest. He lifts it enough to keep me from hurting myself, butnotenough for me to get it back onto the rack.
“Brody, what are you—”
“Will you tell us what’s going on with Tatum?” he asks, cutting me off, and suddenly, I realize what this is.
My idiot brother is holding me hostage under two hundred and fifty pounds of iron while Perry watches from the sidelines.
Most of the time, I’m grateful to have brothers who know so much about my life.
But today? I’d rather they take a long hike and leave me alone.
I suddenly wish I’d used the impending snowstorm as an excuse not to work out with my brothers. We get together to lift in Brody’s garage every Saturday morning since that’s the only time that works with our schedules.
But I should have skipped this morning. My brothers think they know why I’m feeling off, but they’re wrong. And the real reason is not a conversation I feel like having.
Trouble is, I also don’t want to stay here all day, and there’s no way I’m getting this weight up without Brody’s help.
