Page 342 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
Flint is halfway down the stairs, but he swings around as soon as I call his name. He’s wearing khaki shorts and an olive-green T-shirt, sunglasses, and a baseball hat pulled low on his head. The sun is setting behind him, casting an orange glow across his features. It’s perfect lighting. Movie star lighting. And I suddenly wonder if he timed his arrival on purpose.
Though honestly, he doesn’t need the lighting. I’m pretty sure he’d look good anywhere. Any light. Any situation. Any wardrobe. Put the man in a hotdog Halloween costume, and he’d still make it look sexy.
“Hey,” he says. “I thought you weren’t home.”
“I’m home,” I say. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
He looks me up and down, a smile playing at his lips. “You worried about a cold front coming through?”
I press my lips together, regretting the sweatshirt, but it’s better than nipples, so I force a smile anyway. “My sisters like to keep the house cold. Um, do you want to come in?”
He climbs back up the steps so he’s standing directly in front of me. I catch the scent of him—something clean and masculine that makes my toes curl into the wooden porch slats beneath myfeet. “I’d love to come in if you don’t mind. I have something I want to ask you.”
“Okay. Sure.” I step back into the house and hold the door open for him.
He follows me into the living room, where we stand awkwardly for a long moment. “Do you want anything?” I finally ask. I’m terrible at this. At hosting. Atsocializing.“Water? That’s pretty much all I have.”
“We have Dr Pepper downstairs!” a voice whispers from the hallway.
Flint’s eyebrows go up, and I wince as I look toward the hallway where I know my sisters are hiding. I sigh. It’s probably better to get this over with now, then I’ll force them into the basement.
I look back at Flint. “My sisters,” I explain. “They’re nothing like me, so you might want to brace yourself.” I walk to the hallway and grab my sisters’ hands, pulling them into the living room. They stumble to a halt, and I step to the side, allowing them a full view of the movie star standing in my living room. “Flint, these are my sisters, Summer and Lucy.”
Something in Flint changes just slightly. He smiles as he steps toward my sisters and extends his hand, but it doesn’t seem fully genuine. But that’s not quite right, because he doesn’t seem fake either. He just seems like—the answer clicks into my brain with sudden clarity. He seems like he’s performing.Acting.
I just watched him put on his Hollywood face.
“Nice to meet you, ladies,” he says warmly.
I tune out my sisters as they babble at him, talking about their favorite movies, asking him about living in LA, what it was like to move home. My attention jumps back to the conversation when Lucy asks for his signature—I’m not at all confident she wouldn’t offer up a body part—but she pulls out her journal, and I relax back into my careful study of Flint’s behavior.
I do not think he minds the attention. I’ve told him I have sisters, and that they lived with me, and he came here willingly. If he wanted to avoid them, I’ll be at his house tomorrow to finish up my week of research. He could have talked to me then.
But the way he’s interacting with Lucy and Summer, it feels very practiced. When they ask for a picture, he agrees, but he seems very conscious of where he puts his hands—on their shoulders, with lots of space still between them. He answers their questions, but he doesn’t really tell them anything significant. He maintains eye contact, smiles just warmly enough to make them feel seen, like they’ve had a personal interaction with him. But nothing about this feels personal forFlint.
It’s fascinating.
And impressive.
“Okay, that’s enough,” I say to my sisters. “Time for you to go home.”
“You’re banishing us to the basement?” Summer says.
“I’m banishing you to yourapartmentthat just happens to be in my basement,” I say.
“It was nice to meet you both,” Flint says, and it’s this that finally makes them move. “Summer and Lucy, right? I’ll remember that.”
My sisters pause their awkward backward shuffle through the kitchen—an obvious attempt to get as much face time as possible on their way out. “You’ll remember our names?” Lucy asks.
Flint shrugs easily. “You’re Audrey’s sisters, and Audrey is a friend. Of course I will.”
Oh my gosh, the man is a master.
Summer makes a noise like she’s trying to swallow a squeal while Lucy breathes out, “Flint Hawthorne is going to remember my name.”
I clear my throat. “Goodnight, guys!”
Their sighs follow them to the basement steps, but the sound of them actually goingdownthe stairs never follows.
