Poppy raised an eyebrow at her brother. “I believe this was our deal. I recall someone losing a little bet about catching chickens. Winner got out of carting pumpkins,” she explained to Avery, who covered her mouth to hide a giggle.
Hawthorne grinned, “Well, Avery should have to help. I didn’t see her catch any chickens.”
Avery’s mouth fell open with a laugh, “I wasn’t even there!” She looked to Poppy for help, but she just looked on with a smile. So much for looking out for a friend. “Seriously? You are going to invite me and then force me into manual labor?”
Poppy shrugged. “He’s right. You didn’t catch any chickens.”
Avery looked back at Hawthorne, saw his devious smile and couldn’t help but give in. Working alongside him didn’t sound so bad. Then he sealed the deal with his next statement. “I’ll buy you a caramel apple afterward.”
“Make it a funnel cake and you’ve got a deal.” He smiled his agreement and they spent the next twenty minutes carrying the pumpkins from the trailer to their little patch of grass.
Determined not to let her heavy breathing give away how out of shape she was, she asked Hawthorne questions to keep him talking. He chatted about his projects at the farm, gave her updates on Daisy’s renovation and flirted mercilessly. All the heavy lifting had them both working up a sweat and Hawthorne slipped out of his coat, revealing a soft, flannel shirt that had Avery wondering what it would feel like to run her hands across his arm or chest.
Poppy flashed approving smiles each time they passed her staging the booth, usually laughing, since Hawthorne had that effect on her. At Poppy’s unsubtle behavior, Avery realized this had all been a setup. Maybe she owed Poppy a favor, because after the pumpkins were unloaded and Poppy had everything exactly how she wanted it, she waved Avery and Hawthorne away to enjoy the festival.
They left their coats behind the table and headed toward the funnel cake truck. It was still early, and the sun combined with the work kept them warm. When Hawthorne joined his hand with hers, her temperature rose a few more degrees. They strolled through the festival, booths still in various stages of setup.
The haybale maze was complete and when Hawthorne tugged her inside, she didn’t resist. Around a few corners, the sound of children playing and music from the small stage faded and they were in their own little world.
“You know,” Hawthorne said, “I always wanted to make out with someone in the hayloft.” At Avery’s skeptical glance, he laughed. “What? It was the most private place on the farm. Do you know how hard it is to find privacy with six sisters running around?”
She didn’t know, but she laughed at his flirtatious comment. “This isn’t a hayloft,” she said, trying to reign in her attraction.
With a shrug, he looked around. In their wandering, they’d reached a dead-end and were surrounded on three sides by hay bales six feet high. He looked back at her and Avery swore she could feel her heart hammering.
“I know.” Hawthorne took a step closer, “I still think it would work, though.” Avery felt like her knees would buckle any second. Hawthorne still held her hand and used it to close the space between them, wrapping his other arm around her waist. Then, he whispered, “What do you think?”
Her mind was totally blank, unable to put two words together into a coherent thought. What had he said? “Huh?”
A little smirk danced on his lips, showing he knew exactly the effect he had on her. He spoke quietly, his voice smooth and seductive. “Do you think making out in here would be roughly equivalent to in the hayloft?”
“Ummm…” She blinked, willing herself to respond. Frozen by his closeness and by the intensity of his gaze, she nodded absently, her eyes glued to his lips and the crooked smirk there.
“Let’s find out,” he whispered, and she might have moaned in relief. Every muscle in her body was tensed, desperately waiting for the eventual crash of his lips against hers. Finally—mercifully—he closed the gap between them and captured her mouth with his. His mouth on hers was gentle and warm, but he didn’t simply kiss her. Hawthorne’s kiss consumed her; she pressed into him and lost herself in the fabulous feeling of being desired.
Minutes passed, maybe hours. She couldn’t tell. There was nothing beyond this secluded corner, where Hawthorne’s strong frame pressed against hers and his arms cradled her gently.
Through the hazy fog of pleasure, the sound of footsteps and voices grew closer and Hawthorne broke the kiss, stepping away from her. Moments later, tiny faces sprinted into view before halting at the sight of the dead end.
With a friendly shrug, Hawthorne spoke to the children. “Sorry! You must have missed a turn.” Avery licked her lips and tried not to look guilty, flashing a smile at the children as they turned away to continue their journey through the maze.
Avery fought the self-conscious feeling that hovered. She was drawn to Hawthorne, that much was undeniable. Where did they go from here?
The rational side of her brain was screeching at her, reminding her of past mistakes. The memories of Brandon taunted her. He stood her up for dinner with her parents, which was both humiliating and disrespectful. One finals week she’d gotten sick and instead of staying with her, he ditched her to go skiing.
Any time it came to stepping up and showing he could be serious, Brandon dodged responsibility, then talked her into forgiving him with a boyish smile and puppy dog eyes.
There was nothing to reassure her Hawthorne wasn't the same. Sure, he said the right things: how he wanted to take on more responsibility at work and how he wanted a family. But talk was cheap, and Avery wasn't looking for a bargain.
Still, she couldn't help but hope his transformation was real. Did too many years of idealizing Hawthorne have her seeing things that weren't there? Or was he really growing up?
Today though, it felt too good to ignore that logical train of thought. When Hawthorne grabbed her hand again and lead her into the maze, she followed, enjoying the feel of his skin on hers.
Today, she’d let herself enjoy the Hawthorne she was with, without thoughts of the future or the past. He’d done nothing lately to make her doubt his ability to commit. There was too much pulling her to him for her to keep pushing him away.
They enjoyed the rest of the festival, sharing a funnel cake. Avery nearly dropped the plate when Hawthorne leaned down to kiss powdered sugar from her lip. Would it always be this way with him?
When the temperature fell and they both retrieved their coats, a few teasing comments from Poppy brought nothing but a smile. Avery could tell Poppy was happy she and Hawthorne were together.
Together sounded pretty good to her, too.
12
A few weeks later, Hawthorne stopped by his mom’s office inside the main house. The grungy pocket notebook he carried on the farm wasn’t working for his new project management role. His mom was busy in the kitchen baking pies and cookies for Thanksgiving, only a few days away.
Thanksgiving at the Bloom home had always been a production. Hawthorne remembered the holiday being filled with cousins and extended family as a kid. Since they’d all gotten older, and many of his cousins had kids of their own, family holidays had transitioned to a big celebration with their immediate family plus whoever his mother adopted for the event.
This year, it meant seeing Avery.
A small thrill fluttered in his chest at the thought. Since the fall festival, they’d talked every couple of nights, and he’d seen her a couple times for dinner or a movie. A few nights ago, they talked on the phone for nearly two hours and, after all the twists and turns their conversation had taken, he still hadn’t been ready to say goodnight. They’d texted back and forth every day, and the very feel of his phone buzzing in his pocket pulled an involuntary smile to his face.
This week, waiting until Thursday to see her seemed an incredibly long time.
He flipped through the small stockroom of office supplies his mother kept as their own personal supply store. The woman had a probl
em, if the fifteen unopened packages of highlighters were any indication. More pens, sticky notes, and markers than he figured the farm would use in a decade sat on the shelves in front of him.
Avery loves office supplies; hadn’t she said that the other night? With an idea forming in the back of his mind, Hawthorne went to talk to his mother. When he found her, she was carefully crimping the edges of a pie crust.
At the heavy sound of his boots on the wood floor, she looked up. “Oh, Hawthorne. I thought you were your father. Have you seen him?”
Hawthorne shook his head. “He’s probably down with Rose. She said something about a school group coming today.”
His mother nodded, “I assume you aren’t here to help with the pies, so what brings you to the house?”
Hawthorne held up the office supplies he had pilfered from her stash and explained what he needed.
His mother gave a knowing smile, “Of course, sweetie. Help yourself to whatever you need.” The timer on the stove rang through the quiet kitchen. “Would you grab those?”
Hawthorne donned an oven mitt and pulled out a baking tray to find familiar treats greeting him from behind the blast of hot air.
“Oooh, pie-crust cookies?” As soon as he set it down, he pulled one off the tray and tossed the cookie quickly between his hands. Finally, when it no longer singed his fingers, he popped the cinnamon-sugared cookie into his mouth.
Laura shook her head and he grinned around the mouthful. Unable to speak, he gave his mom a thumbs-up.
His mother let out a quiet laugh. “Honestly, I think those are the only reason it’s worth making a crust from scratch anymore. Every year, I am more and more tempted to use a store-bought one.”
Hawthorne swallowed the scorching mouthful, “I promise I won’t complain if you do. But I can’t promise Poppy would forgive you,” he said with a wink.
His mom chuckled. “I’m sure she’d understand. It’s your father who would claim to understand and then silently protest.” The love in his mother’s voice made Hawthorne twinge with jealousy.
How would it feel to have a love like his parents did? He’d grown up running into the kitchen for a snack to find them making out. Both of them regularly put time, effort, and money into something for the sole purpose of making the other happy, like the pecan pie he knew his mother would make. She hated pecan pie, and no one else in the family ate it—except his father.
But every year, Mom would boil sugar and corn syrup and make his father an entire pie. Just like each morning, Dad would bring his mom a steaming cup of coffee to bed, even though he never drank it himself.
Cynically, Hawthorne had always thought that kind of love unattainable. His parents had found it, against all odds, but after he said as much to his mother, her response surprised him.
Laura wiped her hands on her apron, laid a hand on his shoulder and said, “A successful marriage isn’t fifty-fifty. It’s both people giving one hundred percent, all the time. Love is a choice, Hawthorne. At first, it’s an easy choice. It’s easy to love someone and the way they make you feel when it’s all butterflies, but eventually it’s a harder choice—when they hurt you or when their desires clash with yours.” She looked into his eyes, studying his expression. “Do you love her?”
Afraid his mom would see too much in them, Hawthorne closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s still butterflies,” he admitted.
He opened his eyes to find his mom with a knowing smiling. She turned back to the counter and dumped pecans into the pie shell cooling on the rack. “Well, then enjoy it.” She gestured to the office supplies with an empty measuring spoon, “I hope she likes them.”
Hawthorne grinned, “Me too.”
That afternoon, he drove to Terre Haute and found a parking spot on campus. It had been more than ten years since he’d stepped foot on university grounds, but he still remembered the rundown Chemistry building where he’d suffered through basic chem lab on his way to a business degree. The halls were a ghost-town, an empty shell with flyers stapled to bulletin boards that fluttered in the breeze as he opened the door. His footsteps echoed loudly as he glanced at nameplates, awkwardly holding his gift. Finally, Hawthorne found a secretary and she directed him to Avery’s office, tucked in a hidden corner of the basement.
He peeked his head in the room, dismayed to find her chair empty. Briefly, he debated his options and finally settled on leaving the makeshift bouquet of office supplies on her desk. Hawthorne jotted a note in the first page of a bound notebook and propped it open so she would see it. The ragged chair groaned as he stood and Hawthorne once more studied the space. There were no windows and flickering fluorescent lights cast a depressing pallor, but touches of Avery dotted the room: a framed photo of her family, and science-themed cartoons. Sticky notes lined the monitor with reminders and email addresses in her loopy script.
You couldn’t pay him enough to work in this cave. Even the modern, airy offices of his own start-up left him feeling claustrophobic after a few hours. Glass walls didn’t compare to the wide-open spaces of the farm, and something about miles of sky above him allowed his soul to take a deep breath. Coming back to the farm relieved the subtle tension that stretched him thin while he was away.
With one last glance around the empty office, Hawthorne backtracked through the maze of hallways to his car, pushing down the disappointment of not seeing Avery. He would see her Thursday at Thanksgiving, and hopefully his little surprise would brighten her day.
* * *
Avery set the last beaker in the drying rack and wiped her hands on a towel with a sigh. Her undergraduate assistant had skipped out early from work last night, leaving the glassware from their last experiment a mess of dried deposits. Thankfully, it was not an acid that became combustible when dry, but it was still a safety hazard and would mean a restriction on lab access for the student moving forward.
She left the lab and headed back to her office. Edward exited the copy room just as she walked past, and Avery forced a smile. Despite his office being on the opposite side of the building, he insisted on walking her to hers. Edward followed her into the small room and she gritted her teeth, biting back the unkind words itching to come out.
“Oh, what’s this?” she heard his curiosity and rolled her eyes as she finished hanging her lab coat on the back of the door. He’d been in her office a dozen times and this manufactured excuse to prolong the conversation was too obvious. Why hadn’t he gotten the point after their date?
“Edward-” she said as she turned. Then, she spotted the object of his curiosity. Edward leaned over her desk, peering through his glasses with his hands behind his back. Avery plucked the open notebook from his view and glanced at the signature. Hawthorne had been here? Another wave of frustration at the research assistant washed over her.
“Someone left you school supplies?” Edward’s distaste was evident in the question.
Avery blushed. “My b-boyfriend,” she stuttered. Then, with added confidence, “I must have missed his visit.”
Edward voice cracked, “Boyfriend?” Avery nodded and then pushed her way around Edward to take her seat.
He lifted his chin, “Shouldn’t a man bring a lady flowers?”
One finger traced the ribbon of the notebook while she studied the bouquet and Avery glanced at Edward, “I suppose it depends on the girl.” In total dismissal, she picked up the receiver of her office phone and looked away from her unwanted guest. “Thanks for stopping by, Edward. I need to call my boyfriend and tell him thank you.”
After he left, Avery set down the phone, realizing she didn’t actually know his phone number by heart. Either way, she wanted to enjoy the gift for a moment before she called him. Running a hand over the sticky notes, highlighters, and markers that were creatively attached to stiff metal wires, she flipped open the notebook and read the words he’d written.
After a moment, her eyes moved back to the start and read it again.
Then, she leaned back a
nd tipped the open notebook toward her chest with a dreamy sigh. The man was good, she had to admit. Had she ever received a gift so clearly designed for her, for no other reason than he was thinking of her? Footsteps echoed outside her door and Avery realized she was smiling like an idiot at her desk. Unable to wipe the smile away, she buried her face in the notebook and laughed.
Avery felt special and inexplicably understood by Hawthorne. A dangerous combination when added to the physical pull she felt whenever she was near him, and the admiration and respect growing for him every day. Avery didn't know what to do; every fiber of her being was drawn to Hawthorne. She found herself looking for any excuse she could find to visit the farm, and the text messages they’d exchanged all weekend had her turning on cheesy songs from her childhood and dancing through her apartment while cleaning.
13
Avery had to wait until she left work to reach out to Hawthorne; her basement cave was a total black hole for cell reception. When she called, Hawthorne picked up immediately. Uncertainty and relief filled his voice after she told him how much she enjoyed the gift.
Upon hearing that Edward had been with her when she found it, Hawthorne gave a jealous grunt and the sound vibrated within her, spreading warmth from the base of her stomach up to her ears. She admitted telling Edward her boyfriend had sent them, and she practically felt Hawthorne’s satisfied smile through the phone.
Hawthorne invited her to come to the farm in the morning before Thanksgiving dinner. He assured her they wouldn’t be in his mom’s way, so she pulled her car in front of his house at 9 a.m. The sight of Hawthorne jogging down the steps in a stocking cap, his shaggy brown hair flipping out under the edges, broadened the already wide smile she wore. He opened her car door and, after she stepped out, wrapped her in a hug that overwhelmed her senses.
Hoping for Hawthorne Page 7
