Page 36 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
His bare shoulder, the curve of his bicep, the slope of his back, shadowed with muscle, as it angles down to his trim waist...the image flits through my brain.
He’s maybe notexactlythe same guy.
But I get what he’s trying to say.
Even before he unlocked his superhero potential, he had a quiet, steady confidence, and he’s always been comfortable in his own skin. Which is saying something, because the brotherson either side of him both had a physical presence that could have dwarfed Brody, had he let them. But he always held his own. He never cared that he was smaller.Wasbeing the definitive term. He’s definitely not smaller anymore.
“You are still the same guy,” I say quietly. Brody has too much happening on the inside to want to be defined by what’s on the outside. I hope he knows I know that. “And I’m glad.”
He holds my gaze a long moment. “How are you? How’s the house? Are you okay without Kristyn here?”
“I’m okay. She helped me get started, which was so nice. We were able to come up with a plan that makes the whole project feel more manageable.”
We’re leaning on the couch, our heads resting on the back cushion, our faces turned toward each other. We sat just like this countless times in the Hawthornes’ living room, rehashing our days, talking about our dreams and hopes and plans.
It was sitting just like this that I told Brody at the end of our junior year that once I left, I’d never come back to Silver Creek again. I’d had a particularly bad fight with Mom and was ready to get out of town and never look back. I don’t remember the exact subject of the argument, but I can guess. I was too much like my dad. Too unappreciative of all the sacrifices Mom made for me. I had no understanding of thevirtuesof small-town living. It was a tired argument—one I heard over and over again—and it never did any good. No matter how much Grandma Nora tried to coax us into getting along, Mom and I rarely managed it. The more she complained, the more she pushed me away.
Besides that, I loved being like my dad. Dad was adventure. Dad was possibility.
Brody listened—he always did—and simply said, “As long as you’re happy, Kate. That’s all I want for you.”
A wave of nostalgia washes over me, even as a question pops into my head.
“Brody, are you happy?” I ask.
The question takes him by surprise. I can tell by the way his eyebrows shoot up. He doesn’t break our gaze though. His eyes stay trained on me, like he’s searching for something he isn’t sure he’s going to find.
“I am now,” he finally says, and my heart swoops down into my belly. Now because I’m here? Do I want him to be talking about me?
“I wasn’t completely sure I wanted to come back to Silver Creek after college,” he says. “A part of me wanted to make my own way, you know? Not be so tied to my family. But I think I’ve found a way to do that with my kayaking and with the program at the academy.”
“You would have missed your family,” I say. “Had you gone somewhere else.”
“Yeah, some. I like that we’re close, though sometimes I wish I were alittlefarther away.” He grins. “Don’t tell Mom I said so.”
“So I take it you’re happy you aren’t working on the farm with Olivia and Lennox.”
“And Perry,” he says. “Don’t forget him. Though honestly, I’m there so often, sometimes it feels like I do work there.”
“There was a repair guy fixing the milker while we were there. Your mom mentioned she’d normally have you do it.”
He chuckles. “That stupid milker. I swear, it’s the summer help that’s always messing it up.”
“Are you dating?” The question feels casual, like I’m asking because I’m his friend and not because I’m interested. I give myself a mental pat on the back, because on the inside, I feel anything but casual.
He takes a second to answer, and I barely keep myself from looking around his living room in search of evidence, like proof of a current girlfriend will jump up and start waving at me.
“Not dating,” he says. “I went out with the drama teacher at the academy a few times, but it didn’t go anywhere.”
“And there’s no one else you’re interested in?”
“You know Silver Creek. Most of the women who live here I’ve known since we were kids and only two of them are still single. Actually, Monica—that’s the theater teacher—graduated a couple of years after we did. You probably remember her.”
“Are you counting her as one of the two single women? Who’s the other one?” I don’t know why I care. But some illogical—and jealous—part of my brain urges me forward. I am a dog with a bone, and I’m going to suck every last bit of marrow from this conversation.
“Heather Anderson,” Brody says. “She graduated with us.”
“Oh right. I remember her, too. But come on. Surely they aren’t theonlytwo single women in Silver Creek. The town isn’t that small.”
