Page 7 of Otto: The Hawthornes

“You carry water bottles around in your car?” I asked, stopping at the hood while he walked toward the driver’s side.

“You don’t?” he asked, ducking into the car.

“I don’t have a car,” I replied, raising my voice so he could hear me.

“You drive?” he asked, his big body straightening as he lifted two bottles in one hand.

“I can,” I replied. “But I don’t have a car. I just borrow my parents’ car for work and stuff.”

“Oh, yeah? Where do you work?” He strode back over and handed me a water as he leaned back and rested his butt against the hood of the car.

“My family has a nursery,” I replied. “Thanks.” The water was a little warm from sitting in the car, but I’d broken the seal on the top so I figured it was okay.

“You just graduated with the rest of those bozos, right?” he asked.

I choked on the water in my mouth.

“Yes,” I wheezed. “With my cousin, Becka.”

There was no sign of recognition on his face.

“Pretty? Blonde? Goes out with Matt Shepherd?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Oh.” I looked away and twisted the cap back on my water. I wasn’t really sure what to say. Everyone knew Becka. Considering the way we’d been raised, it was incredible really, but she was one of the most popular girls in our class.

“I didn’t spend much time with underclassmen,” he said easily. “I graduated year before last.”

“You went to school with us?” I asked in surprise, looking at him again. “No you didn’t. I definitely would have remembered you.”

He laughed and it felt like my entire belly and chest filled with hot lava. The smile changed his entire face. His eyes crinkled at the corners and his teeth were perfectly white and straight and oh, god, I wasstaringagain.

“I remember you,” he replied, elbowing me lightly.

“No you don’t.”

He laughed again. “Swear.”

“Why?” I asked dubiously. “It’s the skirts, right? Anyone else can wear a skirt but just because I do I’m weird.”

“It wasn’t the skirts,” he said, his laughter fading. “Did kind of wonder about that, though.”

“My parents think females should wear skirts,” I answered simply. There were far more detailed reasons, but I wasn’t willing to get into them when I had this beautiful man’s full attention.

“Got it,” he replied, nodding. “Well, it wasn’t the skirts anyway. It was the hair.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” I demanded, reaching for the bun at the back of my head. Everyone wore buns in their hair, it was cool! The other girls wore them messier than I wore mine, but they were basically the same hairstyle.

“Nothin’ wrong with it,” he said, watching as I smoothed my hand over it. “I just always wondered what it looked like down.”

“Oh.” I dropped my hand. Okay, that wasn’t so bad.

For the first time in my entire life, Icaredthat this guy didn’t think I was a freak.

“It’s so thick,” he murmured, shrugging. He opened his water and took a drink. “It’s long, huh?”

“Pretty long, yeah.”

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