Page 25 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
“Are you interested in our event services?” the receptionist asks, her tone neutral.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I recognize that I am thinking of Brody in ways I have never thought of him before. In less than three minutes, I’ve been jealous of two different women, first Kristyn and now a nameless receptionist, with zero grounds for justification. I don’t know if it was triggered just by seeing him again, or if it was seeing him with muscle definition typically reserved for Greek Gods and Chris Hemsworth, but whatever the reason... I don’t like it. It makes me itchy. Like I’m being reprogrammed to think and feel things I’ve never thought or felt before.
Focus, Fletcher. Focus on the here and now.“Actually, I’m an old family friend. Are there any Hawthornes around?” Based on Olivia’s Instagram, which I may or may not have scoured last night looking for signs of Brody, she and Perry are handling day-to-day operations on the farm. Perry’s obviously still with Brody on the trail, but if Olivia is here, she should be able to help us find her mom.
“Olivia is in today.” The receptionist looks at her computer screen and purses her lips to the side. “She’s in a meeting with a soon-to-be bride, but they’ve been in there for going on two hours now, so you shouldn’t have to wait long.”
I look at Kristyn. “Do you mind waiting a bit?”
She shrugs. “I’m down for whatever you want to do.”
“There are warm cinnamon rolls and coffee just over there. You’re welcome to help yourself.”
“Yes, please,” Kristyn says.
The cinnamon rollsarewarm which feels like a feat of culinary engineering because they’re just sitting on what looks like a very normal plate. They are also divine—so divine I can’t keep myself from groaning out loud.
“Right?” the receptionist says from behind us. “Chef Hawthorne is trying out new dessert recipes for the restaurant and cinnamon roll bread pudding is on the menu. He sent those over this morning.”
The way she saysChef Hawthorne,her voice all breathy and light, makes me thinkshemight be the reason there are warm cinnamon rolls to go along with the coffee. Lennox always was a lady’s man, andJenna,I read off her nametag, looks perky and young enough to catch any man’s eye.
Footsteps sound behind me, and I turn to see Olivia leading a pair of women down the hall. We make eye contact, and she smiles wide, her expression flashing with surprise. She holds up a finger, tilting her head toward the women behind her, and I nod my encouragement.
Once Jenna has scheduled a follow-up meeting with the bride and Olivia has said goodbye, she turns to me, practically squealing as she pulls me into a hug. “Kate Fletcher, I thought I might never see you again!” She hugs me tight, then pulls back, her hands still on my shoulders. “Good grief, could you be any more gorgeous? All that traveling—it looks good on you.”
“Thanks. Marriage looks good on you.”
Her hand flies to her stomach, curving around her baby bump. “Are you kidding? I spend at least half of every day puking my guts out. Mom keeps telling me it’ll get better in the second trimester, but I am solidly in second-trimester territory, and so far? No such luck. Gah!” she says, pulling me in for another hug. “I can’t believe you’re really here! Oh my gosh. Mom is going to flip. And Brody!” She frowns. “Except Brody isn’t here. He’sbackpacking. Please tell me you can stay around long enough for Brody to see you.”
I start to laugh, warmed by Olivia’s confident exuberance.
On the drive from Franklin down to Silver Creek, a part of me wondered if the Hawthornes would be angry I didn’t do a better job staying in touch, but so far, we’re three for three when it comes to Hawthorne warm welcomes. Well, lukewarm for Perry, but that counts as warm from him.
“I already saw Brody. I hiked in and surprised him. We did, actually.” I pull Kristyn forward. “This is my cousin, Kristyn. She’s only in town for a couple of days, but I’ll be here all summer.”
Olivia freezes, and something I can’t read flits across her expression. “Wow. All summer,” she finally says. I half-wonder if she doesn’t like that I’m planning to stick around, but she was clearly excited to see me fifteen seconds ago. Why would she feel differently now?
But then Olivia is smiling again, shaking Kristyn’s hand and asking how I managed to find Brody in the middle of the Appalachian Mountains, and I let my suspicions go. I was probably seeing things.
“I love it,” she says after I give her a SparkNotes version of the planning that led me to Brody’s whereabouts. “I bet he flipped when he saw you. This is seriously the most Kate thing I could possibly imagine.”
“You can say that again,” Kristyn says. “You should have seen the way she researched and finagled her way into the information she needed to find him.” I hadn’t really thought about everything I did to find Brody as finagling, but I guess to someone else, it could totally seem that way.
“I’m not even a little surprised,” Olivia says, clearly warming to the topic. “This woman has always had a way of making stuff work out. When I was in the seventh grade“—she looks at me—”Iguess you and Brody were sophomores then? Do you remember convincing the entire boys’ soccer team from that private school up in Hendersonville to drive down to Silver Creek and attend the homecoming dance?”
That private school up in Hendersonvillewas actually the very same school I attended from kindergarten through the third grade. My dad paid for me to attend, but then Mama got tired of driving me up the mountain every day and told me I’d have to “rough it” with the Silver Creek kids. In retrospect, I realizeshewas a Silver Creek kid and probably meant the remark as a jab against Dad, a native Chicagoan who is all big city and no small town. But I took her words literally and prepared myself for the worst.
Instead, I found Brody and the rest of the Hawthornes. It was the happiest surprise of my childhood.
I grin at the memory. “There was a notable lack of cute boys at Silver Creek High. I did what I had to do.”
“How did you persuade them?” Kristyn asks around another bite of her cinnamon roll.
“I don’t even remember. I just presented coming like it was an idea they should have thought of themselves.”
My dad has always called my ability to make things happen my special brand of scrappiness. My finances are pretty solid now. I don’t have a lot of excess, but I have enough to get around and sustain myself in between projects. Never longer than a month or two, but that’s usually all I need before I’m on to the next thing. But for a while, I coasted on nothing but my own ingenuity. I once spent an entire week in a Zimbabwean village where I had to barter pieces of jewelry and clothing for my meals. That was after Preston, my boyfriend and fellow traveler for the first two years of my career, but before my first commissioned article. Back then, I had to fund everything, pay for all my own travel and research, then write a piece just hopingI’d be able to sell it. Now, it’s easier to pitch ideas and get an advance on something I’mgoingto write.
Come to think of it, I’ll have to reach out to my contacts and see if anyone bites on my Green River idea.
