Page 314 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
Mark Bulky Man looks up. “The squirrel?”
I nod. “White? With a little pink nose? Dark brown eyes?”
He looks through a few more pictures. “You were taking pictures of a squirrel?”
I scoff. “Trying to,” I say, unable to curb the snottiness of my tone, despite my best effort. “Before you scared him away.”
The man levels me with a long look. “Why?”
Something like hope flickers in my chest as all the pieces click into place.
This isn’t just about trespassing. This is about my pictures. And this guy thinks I was taking pictures of an actual person—a personheis supposed to protect.
I square my shoulders. “Because I just finished my PhD research on the migratory patterns of Sciuridae as a response to climate change and the environmental impacts of urbanization and suburban sprawl.”
All three men—Incredible Bruce and the two sheriff’s deputies—blink in unison.
Finally, Security Hulk clears his throat. “What?”
“Squirrels. Marmots. Small rodents. I’ve been hunting for white squirrels in these woods for weeks. And I finally spotted one.”
The man’s expression clears. “You’re a…” He hesitates. “Scientist?”
“A wildlife biologist.” I look toward the fancy house in the distance. “Look, I don’t even know who lives here. I promise I wasn’t trying to trespass, and I wasn’t trying to take photos of anything but the squirrels.”
His expression shifts, and he lifts an eyebrow. “You really don’t know who lives here?”
I shrug. “Should I?”
He exchanges a quick glance with the deputies, like they’re all part of some special club and I’m the dumb one who doesn’t know the secret word for admittance. “Give me just a second,” he says. He sets my camera down on the hood of the sheriff’scar, then walks toward the house, his phone lifted to his ear. A minute or so later, another man leaves the house and meets him, then they walk back to the rest of us together.
The closer the new guy gets to me, the more my stomach fills with dread.
I know this guy. Or, Isort ofknow this guy. He’s the man who almost ran into me at the Feed ’n Seed this morning when I was rescuing a nearly dead tomato plant from the back of Ann’s garden center.
He stops a few feet away from me, his arms crossed over his chest, recognition flashing in his eyes. “We meet again,” he says easily.
“Do we?” I say, feigning innocence. “I’m not very good with faces.”
My sisters tell me I shouldn’t use this as an excuse since my inability to recognize faces iswillful.I could do better. I just choose not to. But is it truly my fault that I like science more than people? I came this way—hardwired to be hopelessly nerdy and unsociable. I can’t help it that I remember the coat patterns of American marsupials more easily than I remember a man’s face.
The trouble is, Idoremember this man’s face.
I also remember the thrill of emotion that shot through me (it was really just adrenaline and a spike of dopamine—it doesn’t have to mean anything) when he smiled at me.
I may not be particularly adept at reading social cues—a surprise to absolutely no one—but I’m not so helpless to have missed that this guy was flirting with me.
I did not flirt back for three very specific reasons.
One—I cannot flirt. Flirting requires nuance, something I’ve never been able to achieve.
Two—he is much too pretty to be interested in someone like me, which means he had to be messing with me. Sadly, this isn’tthe first time this has happened. Experience has taught me it is much easier to keep my walls up before any real damage can happen.
And three—even if hewasn’tmessing with me, I know what kind of men I’ve been compatible with in the past. And they are much more the bookish, lab-coat-wearing type than the muscled, sunglasses-wearing type. As soon as this man got to know me enough to actuallyknowme, he’d be out of town faster than the mayfly’s life cycle.
My sisters argue I’m selling myself short and will never be happy if I can’t stopsciencingmy love life. (Their word because I only use real words, andsciencingisn’t one.) But it’s who I am.
This isn’t hypothetical. It’s a fact: men with faces this perfect do not fall for women like me.
