Page 88 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
The fact brings little comfort. They wereholding hands.
Except, logically, I know even that couldmean nothing. I’ve seen photographs capture the complete opposite of what’s actually happening in real life. The right angle, a good crop, and the lens can easily distort the truth of a situation.
But my heart isn’t feeling very logical right now.
It’s only feeling jealous. Sick. Angry that I let it come to this. That I let Brody slip through my fingers. I’m the one who left. The one whoran away.
Can I really blame him for spending the weekend with someone else?
The proof for the magazine spreadBeyondis publishing next month is on the wicker table beside me. It looks so great. A full-page photo of Brody surrounded by whitewater, his expression serious, fills the entire left half of the title page spread. He looks unbelievable. Like he deserves his own fan club.Move aside, Flint. Your big brother is taking sexy to a whole new level.
I should just get over myself and take the article to Brody. He deserves to know. And it’s a good excuse to see him. Maybe having a reason outside of, say, a full-on love confession, will help me figure out what to do next.
I stand up.
I can do this. I’ll go see him.
I sit back down.
No, Kate. Be brave.
I stand back up.
Clear my throat.
Grab the magazine proof and my keys from the table and walk purposefully toward Mom’s Subaru. Brody is usually at Triple Mountain on Mondays. If I don’t find him there, I’ll probably have to cave and call him.
When I catch my reflection in the driver’s side window, I pause.
I do not look like a woman getting ready to declare her feelings. I look tired. My hair is in a messy bun, my t-shirt is baggy, and even though I’m wearing my favorite jeans, they look more like bumming-around-the-house jeans than heading-out-on-the-town jeans.
I can do better than this.
I huff and head back into the house for a twenty-minute makeover. I put on a turquoise sundress with wide straps and a plunging back. It makes me feel pretty, but it also doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard. I curl my hair into loose waves and put on a little more makeup, but not so much that I look like I’m wearing any.
It’s ridiculous how much actual effort goes into lookingeffortless.
Still, I feel more centered now, more like I’m armed for battle instead of just running in flailing, nothing but emotions leading the way.
I give myself another pep talk as I drive the short distance to the paddling school. When I see Brody’s truck in the parking lot, my heart lurches, and a wave of nausea rolls over me.
Why?Why?Why do emotions have to impact our physical bodies so drastically? I’ve been around Brody seven million times. He knows everything there is to know about me. He’s seen me at my worst, snot-nosed and crying. He’s seen me hungover. He’s seen me with food poisoning. He’s held back my hair while I’ve thrown up in a hotel trashcan. He knows how much I’ve struggled to get along with my mom. How much I wish I have as many siblings as he does. He knows how much I love tacos. He knows everything.
This shouldn’t be so hard.
Except, maybe him knowing everything is preciselywhythis is so hard. Because there’s so much more at stake.
Griffin is at the counter inside the shop, just like he was the first time Brody brought me to Triple Mountain. He smiles when he sees me. I owe the man dinner. At least a drink. He’s the main reason I was able to get Brody’s article written and published in time.
“How’s it going, Kate?” he asks.
“Good. Is Brody around?”
“He’s out on the water, but he’s just out back if you want to go watch. He isn’t running rapids today. Just helping someone work on technique.”
“Great. Yeah, I’ll do that. But here.” I pull out the magazine proof and hand it over. “I want to show you something first.”
He flips through the pages, his smile growing the whole time. “You did it.”
