Page 294 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
My confidence lasts until Christopher Elliott shows up at Stonebrook Farm.
“What do you mean, he’s outside?” I say as I stalk toward the dining room, buttoning up my chef’s coat as I go.
“I mean exactly that. Christopher Elliott isoutside.Standing in the parking lot, talking on his phone,” Zach says. “What else could I mean?”
“Butwhyis he outside? Has anybody talked to him?”
“Not so far. He has people with him. Business-y people, but nobody has tried to come in or knocked on the door or anything.”
I pause before we reach the front door. Tatum is in no condition to see or interact with her father right now and protecting her is my first concern.
Most of the catering staff should be up at the farmhouse by now, serving hors d’oeuvres at a cocktail party at the farmhouse, but if there’s anyone around who might inadvertently reveal that Tatum is sleeping upstairs, I’d prefer they be warned into silence.
I turn to Zach, grateful that he’s here, again, willing to help however I need him. “Listen. As far as Christopher Elliott is concerned, Tatum isnoton the premises. At least not until I can warn her he’s here and find out what she wants to do. Can you make sure everyone understands?”
He nods. “Yep. Got it.”
I run a hand across my face, wishing I’d taken the time this morning to trim my beard. After last night, I don’t particularly care for Christopher Elliott’s good opinion as achef,but I am in love with his daughter. And that’s a better reason than any to make a good impression on the man.
I take a fortifying breath, then unlock the front door and push it open.
“Mr. Elliott?” I step outside and let the door fall closed behind me. The azaleas beside the entrance are fully in bloom, and the air is warm and comfortable.
Tatum’s father turns around. “Ah. Hello.” He smiles, his straight, white teeth a nearly blinding contrast to his tan skin. His blue-gray eyes—Tatum’s eyes—are warm and friendly as he takes me in.
I extend my hand. “Lennox Hawthorne.” He might remember meeting me back in culinary school, but I’d rather not assume.
His eyes lift to the restaurant name stretching across the sign above the door. “Ah. This is your restaurant?”
“It is. We aren’t open yet, but I’m guessing you’re here to see Tatum?”
“TosurpriseTatum,” he says.
I manage a smile. “Ah, that’s great. She’s not actually here right now though. She wasn’t feeling well this morning and didn’t come into work.” I move to the restaurant door. “Do you want to come in? Have a drink? I can check in with Tatum and see when she might be well enough to see you.”
He smiles tightly, and I get the sense he doesn’t like my suggestion, but he follows me inside anyway, his little entourage of people coming in behind us. Mr. Elliott makes no move to introduce the people with him, which strikes me as a bit pretentious. It makes me appreciate Flint. My brother is more famous than this guy, and he always travels with an army of people. But he makes sure we know who they are, where they’re from, and why they matter to him.
Mr. Elliott stops by the hostess stand. “I was under the impression that Tatum liveshere.Upstairs, I believe? Above her kitchen?”
“Yes,” I say slowly. “That’s true.”
He lifts his hands in an expectant gesture. “Maybe I could go see her at home then? You only need to point me in the right direction.”
“Sir, I know you’re probably very anxious to see her, but she had a long night. She’s resting. I don’t think she’d want to be disturbed.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “You seem awfully familiar with my daughter’s well-being, Mr. Hawthorne.”
He looks me up and down with a cool, calculating gaze, and every muscle in my body tightens. I don’t know exactly what Tatum has or hasn’t told her father about our relationship, butinstinct is telling me to give this man as little information as possible.
“You know what? What if you text her? Let her know you’re here? Then she can come down when she’s ready.” I glance at the bar where my bartender, Cassandra, is unloading a new shipment of wine. “In the meantime, you’re welcome to make yourself at home. Have a drink on me. I could even bring out a few appetizers if you’re hungry.”
Mr. Elliott’s jaw tightens, his gaze growing more shrewd.
I fold my arms over my chest, but I don’t break eye contact.
I will not kowtow to this man, not when it feels like doing so would be like throwing Tatum to the wolves.
He finally blinks and offers a thin-lipped smile. “How generous.”
