Page 8 of Love Off-Limits
“My last brother? The one just up from me?” she said. “He’s Flint Hawthorne.”
I nearly choked on my water. “What, like,theFlint Hawthorne?”
She nodded, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “Please don’t be weird about it. I promise he’s just a normal guy.”
Sure. If normal was being the biggest star in Hollywood. I’d just watched him in a movie the weekend before.
“He’s actually kind of a dork when you get to know him,” she said.
I nodded. “I’m...not sure I believe that. But Ipromise I won’t be weird about it.” I put down my water glass and shifted my chair so we more fully faced each other.
“What else can you tell me? Tell me about your home.”
It was the right request to make. She talked until the meal was over and people started moving to the dance floor. About her family’s farm and growing up surrounded by apple trees and strawberry fields and goats. About her parents. About how much she loved hiking and being outside.
It had been clear from minute one that we had good physical chemistry. But aside from that, I liked the way she laughed. The way her eyes sparked with passion when she talked about the people she loved or the different facets of her family’s business. It wasn’t just a farm. It was also an event center, with a store and a catering kitchen and a dozen other things I wasn’t sure I fully understood, but it was obvious she loved it. Lived for it, even.
“Okay. I’ve been talking a very long time,” Olivia said. “I want you to tell me three things I might not guess about you.” She shifted forward in her chair so we sat knee to knee. She propped her elbow on the table and leaned her head against her hand, her focus completely on me.
For years, my job had been to frame Isaac in a way that narrowed everyone’s focus to him. I wasn’t used to being the center of attention—not like this. She zeroed in on me like there wasn’t anyone else around. I resisted the urge to grab her by the shoulders, ask her if she felt the connection as intensely as I did. I had never felt soseenin the company of a woman—especially one I’d only just met.
I pursed my lips in thought. “Three things. I don’t know. I’m more of a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of guy, Liv.”
“I like it when you call me Liv,” she said, leaning forward. “Just try. It can be anything.”
I scratched my chin, trying to think of something someone might not guess. “Okay,” I finally said. “I’m really close to my sister.”
Olivia nodded. “Tell me about her.”
“Her name is Darcy. She’s three years younger than me. Our parents divorced when we were teenagers, which didn’t do much for our relationship with our parents, but it made us really close.”
“Does she live around here?”
“Downtown. She was a history major, so she does historical walking tours around the peninsula, but she’s also big into flowers. Window boxes. Arranging. I don’t understand it all, but that’s what she’d really like to be doing. Anyway. We talk every day. That generally surprises people.”
“I love that. I would say I’m close to my brothers, but I don’t talk to any of them every day. I would probably talk to Flint every day if his schedule wasn’t so stupid.”
I nodded along, proud of myself that I didn’t react when she mentioned her immensely famous brother again. I understood better than some what it was like to have your existence defined by your connection to someone famous. I’d seen the way people treated me differently when they learned Isaac Bishop was my boss. And he wasn’t half as well-known as Flint.
She reached for my hand, her thumb tracing circles along the edge of my palm. “Okay. Two more things. I love Darcy already, by the way. She sounds fabulous.”
I nodded. “She’d like you.”
Something flickered across Olivia’s expression, and she leaned back just slightly, as if to put a little distance between us, physically and figuratively. But then she smiled and leaned back in so quickly, I almost wondered if I’d imagined it.
“Second thing,” she prompted.
“I’m always hungry.”
She rolled her eyes. “You and every other man.”
“No, it’s more than that. I consume twice the calories that most of my friends do. Like, we just had a huge dinner, and I could probably go kill a burger and fries without flinching.”
She reached over and patted my midsection. “Where do you put it all?”
“My mother’s been asking me that question for years. Fast metabolism, I guess.”
“Are you picky? Or do you just eat everything?”
