Page 280 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
“Who knows? The lines were always pretty blurry between whatIwanted and what my father wanted for me. But I will say this. I probably dream aboutnot cookingevery day a lot more than most chefs.”
He lowers the fish into the pan, the familiar hiss and sizzle sounding loud in the otherwise quiet kitchen. Lennox looks over his shoulder and shrugs. “So quit.”
I immediately scoff. “I can’tquit.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have a job, first of all, and a very important one. And I like working at Stonebrook even if I don’t love everything about catering. Second of all, I don’t know how to do anything else.”
“Tatum. You’re brilliant. You could do anything you want.”
The easy way he’s listening, talking to me about options, is a stark contrast to the way these conversations always go with my father. With Dad, there is onlyonepath. And it’s his.
Still, Lennox is making it sound too easy. I can’t just quit something. Until I stormed out of Le Vin in a blaze of fury and indignation, I’d never quit anything in my life.
I wave my hand dismissively. “I don’t know. It’s probably just the exhaustion talking.”
Lennox looks at me again, a flash of worry passing over his features, but then he schools his expression into something more neutral. “Hey, did I tell you I officially promoted Willow to saucier this week?”
“What? That’s amazing,” I say, happy for the subject change. “I bet she was thrilled.”
Lennox nods. “And I’ve moved two additional cooks over to be commis chefs for sauté and grill, and they both seem really excited. I can already tell it’s going to make a difference.”
“You’re deepening your bench. It’s smart, Lennox. I’m so glad.”
He drops the fish into the sizzling pan. “Was that a sports metaphor?” he says, grinning over his shoulder.
I roll my eyes. “What can I say? I know how to make you happy.”
The salmon dish is delicious—sweet and light and tropical and perfect for spring.
Lennox declares it an official special for next week’s menu, and then it’s time to call it a night.
By the time we finish eating and cleaning up, it’s almost one in the morning, though that’s not so unusual for chefs who start work so late in the day and finish so late at night. Trouble is, my schedule includes breakfast service as frequently as it does dinner, and keeping Lennox’s hours is starting to catch up with me.
We walk to the back door together, stopping at the foot of the stairs that lead up to my apartment. I lean into him for a hug, and he tugs me close, resting his cheek on top of my head. I closemy eyes and sigh, allowing my body weight to sink into him. “Okay, sleepy head,” he says, kissing my forehead. “Off to bed with you.”
I yawn as I pull away. “Are we still meeting in the morning?”
“I’d like to, but let’s make it ten instead of nine so you can get some sleep.”
I lean up on my toes and give him a lingering kiss. “See? You’re good to me, too.”
I haul myself up the stairs, ready to tumble directly into bed, but I’ve barely made it inside my apartment when my phone rings. This wouldn’t be the first time Lennox has called me seconds after saying goodnight just so he can say it again, so I answer the call without even glancing at the screen.
“Couldn’t live without me, huh?”
“Tatum?”
Oh, crap.“Dad?”
“I’m glad you’re still up.”
I drop onto the edge of my favorite chair, my body tight. Since Lennox and I started seeing each other, I’ve been ignoring Dad’s texts like it’s an Olympic sport, so I can’t exactly be surprised that he’s calling. But I don’t like that he caught me by surprise—that I had no time to prepare.
Toby ambles over and drops his head into my lap, and I curl my fingers through his fur, immediately grateful for his comforting presence.
“I just got home, actually. How are you?”
