Page 252 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
Lennox must follow my gaze because he reaches for the box, sliding it into the center of the table. “Is this what I think it is?” he asks slowly.
I frown, and then words tumble out of me like water bursting through a dam. “I’m so sorry, Lennox. I didn’t know what it was. I pulled something out of the closet, and it fell off the top shelf and all the stuff inside went everywhere. But I didn’t read anything. Or, I didn’t readeverything.And I put it all back.”
He lifts the top of the box and pulls out one of the pictures.
His face is impassive, his expression completely unreadable.
“Did you live here? In the apartment?” I ask if only to break the tension building in the awkward silence. Obviously, it isn’t the most relevant question, but I’ll do anything—anything—to avoid talking about the contents of the box. Or the fact that I was just pawing through his stuff.
Lennox nods without looking up. “For a few months. Before the restaurant opened.”
If I could rewind time five minutes and put the box backin the closet before opening my front door, I would.
Lennox brought me soup. And coffee. And a blanketto get through a cold night. And now he’s looking at pictures of his ex-girlfriend andnotmaking eye contact with me.
Fantastic.
If I had a fireplace, I’d torch the entire box of Hailey memories on the spot.
You know.
If Lennox wanted me to.
“If it matters, her break up letter was total trash,” I say.
He finally looks up, the subtle lift of his smile easing the pressure around my heart. “I thought you said you didn’t read anything.”
“But then I clarified that I didn’t readeverything.I read some. Enough to know thatone moreit’s not you, it’s me,and I might have poked my eyes out with an oyster fork.”
Lennox chuckles and drops the photo back in the box. “I can’t believe I saved all of this stuff. I’d forgotten it was even here.”
I study him closely. His words are light, like it doesn’t bother him at all to look through a box of his old memories, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that makes me think it’s impacting him more than he’s letting on.
Maybe that just means it’s time for him to move on. “Hey.” I nudge his arm. “In the mood for a bonfire?”
“That’s actually a really good idea,” he says through a grin, and I wonder if I imagined his earlier discomfort. But then he glances at the door. “I’ve got to get going though. I still need to check on Mrs. Sprinkles, and I don’t want to be out on the roads too much longer.”
Is he telling me the truth? Or is he just looking for a way to escape so he can nurse his Hailey wounds in private? But also . . .Mrs. Sprinkles?
“Hold up. Who do you need to check on?”
“She was my seventh-grade math teacher. She lives alone just up the road. I want to make sure her generator’s working in case the power goes out.”
“And that’s her real name? Mrs. Sprinkles?”
He chuckles as he moves to the door. “If you say it a few more times, you’ll get used to it.”
Okay. This does not sound like he’s feeding me an excuse. So maybe he’s fine. Maybe we’re fine?
“It’s really nice of you to check on her, Lennox.”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I don’t mind.”
I might get used to Mrs. Sprinkles’s name, but I will never get used to him.
To think I wasted all those years in culinary school thinking this man was some stuck up, full-of-himself, womanizing jerk. Talented, yes. But still a jerk.
But no. Now that I’m truly getting to know him, he’s nothing like I thought he was. He’s a man who feeds his mom and grows vegetables and checks on little old ladies who live alone. A manwho just brought me snacks and coffee and didn’t get bent out of shape over me clearly violating his privacy.
