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If you told me six weeks ago that I’d be spending my weekend with Hawthorneandenjoying it, I would’ve laughed in your face. But the man I first met – the one I overheard dismissing my career, time, and energy – isn’t the man standing in front of me today.
I wonder if I was too quick to pass judgement on him, because the Hawthorne grinning down on me, his eyes shining with the promise of something fun, feels like a different person entirely.
“That was very smooth.”
His grin widens. “Is this you finally admitting that you’re charmed by me now?”
Yes.
“Nope,” I lie. “Gonna have to work harder than that.”
He gives me a mock salute. “Mission accepted.”
“Really leaning into the whole G.I. Joe thing, huh?”
“Is it doing it for you?”
Also yes.
I roll my eyes and shove him gently in the direction of the supermarket. “Keep it moving, Hawthorne.”
He could easily wiggle out of my touch, but he doesn’t. He lets me shove him through the doors and I wonder if he’s enjoying the feel of my skin on his as much as I am.
* * *
“You know,I don’t think your phone has pinged once today.”
We’ve taken the long route towards Primrose Hill, chewing on our sandwiches and talking as we slowly meander through the streets. The conversation flows easily, like we’ve been good friends for years, and this doesn’t surprise me as much as it probably should.
Hawthorne looks at me sideways. “Is that a problem?”
“Definitely not,” I say. “How’re you finding the wholedelegatingthing?”
He exhales a long breath and runs a hand through his hair. “Good.”
I poke him with my elbow. “Doesn’t sound good.”
“Itisgood,” he insists with a wry smile. “But also difficult. For me anyway. I’m sure everyone else back in New York is relieved not to have to report into me every hour of the day.”
“What’s so difficult about it?”
We come to a crossing and wait for the steady flow of traffic to halt for us. Hawthorne turns to face me, his expression thoughtful, maybe even a little sad. “It’s not in my nature to be so hands off. I’m doing it, because you’re right, I needed to for my own sanity. But that doesn’t mean there’s not a voice in the back of my mind, constantly telling me that everything’s always on the brink of going wrong. I have to actively stop myself from checking my phone every five minutes.”
I reach out and give his arm a little squeeze. His gaze drops down and he swallows thickly. I should snatch my hand back and apologise for being too familiar, but I don’t. I let my fingers trail down the length of his arm. “You’re doing a good job. I don’t think I’ve seen you even look at your phone all day.”
His dark green eyes lift up from his arm and sweep across my face, searching for something. I suddenly feel very exposed. My tongue darts out to run along my lips and his eyes move from left to right, following the action with perfect precision.
Whatever he’s looking for, I think he finds it.
“I’ve had a good distraction.” His voice is so low, I have to fight to hear it over the sound of traffic.
“Yeah?” I ask and,goddamnit, my voice is basically a whisper too.
He nods and takes a step closer to me. The movement makes my hand drop from his arm, but he reaches out and grabs it before it can swing back to my side. His touch is like fire, but in the best kind of way. “Doyouneed a distraction, sweetheart?”
I open my mouth, but no words come out. My throat is dry and the only thing I can focus on right now are the soft, gentle movements of his fingers as they dance up my arm, over my shoulders, across my collarbone, and up my neck.
“No,” I whisper.
