Page 255 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
All I can see is tree.
It’s everywhere. Giant, snowy limbs block the back entrance and poke through the back windows.
Perry and Tyler are deep in discussion about how to best go about removing the tree and Brody quickly jumps in. They’d do well to just let Brody take the lead—he’s the problem solver in the family—and do whatever he says. Either way, they don’t need me, so I make my way around the building to a side entrance and let myself inside.
Light reflecting on the snow outside made it easy to see, but in here, it’s pitch black. I reach for my phone to turn on the flashlight, but then something—someone?—bumps into me, knocking the phone from my hand and falling against my chest.
“Ooof. Ow.”
I reach out and steady Tatum—there’s no one else who could be wandering around the kitchen in the middle of the night, at least no one else who smells this good—and wrap my hands around her shoulders. “Hey, you okay?”
Her hand presses against my chest, then moves to my face. “Lennox?” Tatum whispers. “Is that you?”
“Who else would I be?” Her hand is still cupping my cheek, and I barely resist the urge to lean into her touch and press a kiss against the palm of her hand.
“I thought you might be a burglar.”
“A burglar? Right now? While half my family is in the parking lot outside?”
She huffs. “When you put it that way . . .”
“Tell me—are you more or less comfortable with the idea of groping a burglar than you are groping me?” With my handson Tatum, hearing the sound of her voice, the tension I’ve been carrying around in my shoulders drains away. She’s okay. She’s safe.
She drops her hand. “I wasn’t groping you. I was trying to make sure it was you in the first place.”
“Pretty sure you were groping me.”
“Shut up. I was not—whatever. Do you have a flashlight on you?”
“I did, but then someone bumped into me and knocked my phone out of my hand.”
“Oh. I did do that, didn’t I?”
“Do you have your phone?”
“I put it down when I grabbed the rolling pin.”
“You’re holding a rolling pin?”
“I needed a weapon!” she says, as if this explains everything.
“Right. For the burglar.”
“Exactly.”
I’m still gripping her shoulders, and I let one hand slide down her arm until it reaches the rolling pin she’s still holding tightly in her fist. I wrap my fingers around it. “Maybe I’ll just take this?”
“Right. Yes,” Tatum says slowly. “And I’ll just get my phone . . .” She steps away from me, and I immediately miss the warmth from her closeness. She stumbles around for a second, at least by the sound of the clanging and bumping I hear, then her flashlight turns on. Silently, she moves toward me, shining the light across the floor until she finds my phone.
She bends down and picks it up, dusting it on the front of her hoodie before she hands it back to me. “Looks like it survived the fall,” she says. “Sorry about that.”
Side by side, with our phone lights lifted and aimed in front of us, we move silently into the main part of the kitchen, then cross to the back half where the tree’s skeletal arms have poked a gianthole in the ceiling. Tatum’s office is completely crushed and filled with the bulk of the tree’s trunk, but the damage doesn’t look like it’s extending too far into the actual kitchen space.
“I guess it could be worse,” I say as I shine my light over the damage. “At least it missed your apartment. And you’ll still be able to cook.”
“It could definitely be worse,” she says. “How long do you think it’ll take to repair?”
“I have no idea. We’ll get the tree out tonight, at least, so we can get some tarps covering the hole in the ceiling, then we’ll have to wait for the weather to clear up and for the power to turn back on. Then find a crew who can replace the wall in your office and fix the roof. Best guess, a week? Maybe two?”
