Page 397 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
Flint is standing in front of the door, his hands pushed into the pockets of his tuxedo.
Oh. Oh my.
I don’t have adequate words to describe how good he looks. I have a sudden urge to take his picture and preserve it for scientific purposes—a representation of the perfect male species. For generations to come, researchers can look back and know that this—this man—is as good as it gets.
“Audrey, if you keep looking at me like that, we aren’t going to make it out of the hotel room,” Flint says through a chuckle. He walks slowly toward me.
I smile. “I could say the same thing to you.”
He slips a hand around my waist, pressing it to the small of my back and tugging me against him. “I have never seen a woman so beautiful,” he says, his tone low. He leans down like he’s going to kiss me but freezes when Joni yells from inside the hotel room.
“No! No kissing. Her makeup is perfect, and you can’t ruin it.”
Flint grins. “The price to pay for red carpet perfection.” He presses his lips to my forehead instead, giving me a lingering kiss that almost feels as intimate as a regular kiss. “I’ll be right beside you the whole time,” he says. “I promise. Just don’t let go of my hand.”
Flint stays true to his word. The only time he lets go of me is when the photographers need him to pose on the red carpet by himself or with his fellow cast members.
Just as frequently, they take pictures of the two of us together. It isn’t all that different from walking through the airport, except this time, people know my name.
Audrey, look this way.
Audrey, who are you wearing?
Audrey, can we see the back of your gown?
I have never been so overwhelmed. The main reason I’m making it is because Flint is my north star, taking every opportunity to look into my eyes and make sure I’m okay. But there’s something else motivating me forward, too. And that’spride.
Flint is really good at his job. He’s charming and gracious and kind to everyone he greets. When we stop for interviews along the red carpet, he’s professional and generous in his efforts to praise his director and co-stars. He does notseekto be the star, but that only makes him shine brighter.
When people ask about me, he smiles and squeezes my hand, and says something vague about our general happiness or how we’re looking forward to a future together. The only questions directed toward me are about my gown, which is fine with me. Those are easy enough to answer. Otherwise, I’m happy to let Flint soak up all the attention. This party is about him. About his amazing accomplishment. And I’m just so proud and happy to be here with him, even with all the noise and chaos.
During the movie, I sit in between Flint and Claire, who is on her own for the night. Turns out, Simon was supposed to be her date to the premiere. Earlier today, when Flint terminated his relationship with Simon, Claire did the same thing. It still makes me nervous, especially now that Simon has lost two clients instead of just one, but I trust Flint’s instincts. If hebelieves Simon will walk away quietly, who am I to tell him any differently?
After chatting with her earlier today, I decided I actually like Claire. She seems really sweet and genuine, which makes me think it was Simon’s manipulations that were turning her into the opposite.
Still, I’m nervous enough about seeing Flint on the screen.
Now I have to do it while sitting next toClaire?
I don’t care what Flint said about on-screen intimacy. This is still going to be weird.
I brace myself for the worst, but once the movie begins and I settle into the story, it’s not so bad. It’s Flint on the screen, but it’s notreallyFlint. He’s acting. And he’s so good at it, I almost want to cry.
When it’s clear we’re approaching afirst kissmoment, it’s Claire who reaches over, her hand resting on my forearm. She leans toward me. “So, when we were filming this scene, we’d been out in the sun for hours already. You know what I couldn’t stop thinking about? How much sand I had inside my swimsuit.”
I stifle a laugh, and she grins. “And the wedgie,” she says with a groan. “It was the worst. I was uncomfortable and grouchy, and I’m pretty sure Flint got really irritated with how many takes I required.”
I know what she’s doing. And I love her for doing it.
After the movie, all I want to do is talk to Flint. Rehash all the parts I loved the most. Tell him how incredibly talented I think he is. I’ve had a few moments in life when I’ve felt as though I’m doing exactly what I was born to do. When my writing has clicked or my research has revealed something insightful and powerful and useful. Watching Flint tonight, I knew with utter certainty that this isexactlywhat he was born to do. He’s an artist. A storyteller. And it’s an amazing thing to watch.
But I can’t tell him any of that because the minute the movie is over, we are swept up and out and we’re moving through a crowd of producers and executive producers and screenwriters and studio executives, all congratulating each other and hugging and shaking hands.
I am introduced to dozens of people. I smile and nod and do my best to catalog names, but soon everyone’s faces are blurring together, my feet are killing me, and I can’t remember the last time I ate anything.
Maybe this is how everyone in Hollywood stays so trim. There is never any time for food.
“How are you holding up?” I ask Flint in a rare moment of silence. We’re on an elevator on our way up to the penthouse of some building where there is a party happening to celebrate the movie. I’m pretty sure all the same people we were just talking to outside of the premiere will also be here, which, I’ll be honest, seems a little excessive, but Claire says there will befoodat this party, so I’m in.
