Page 17 of Cherry Picked
“Good,” Hawk agreed. “We’ll take the Red Trail to Glassy Ridge. I have some…frustrationthat I need to work off.”
He chucked the soggy, charred rag in the trash, then moved to the stove, putting away the onions and cleaning out the pan with competent efficiency while I watched, my brain still flatlining as all the blood in my body abandoned it.
When he was done, he turned to me. “You ready?”
Ready?I blinked, still thinking about closets and rimming and…
He reached up to flip the light switch on the wall, and his T-shirt rode up again, this time revealing the hot turquoise band of his underwear. I stared at the pale skin over firm muscles until it imprinted in my brain and wondered what it would feel like to run my fingertip over that smooth stretch of skin, to sneak the finger under the elastic band and follow the trail with my tongue…
“Erk,” I said again.
Hawk rolled his eyes and strode to the back door. “Eight a.m. tomorrow at the first pull-off leading to Fogg Peak. Maybe bring some of those oatmeal cherry cookie things, unless you have any Thin Mints left. Don’t be late.”
“Nuh,” I agreed, now thinking ofcherriesagain.
If my brain-to-mouth connection had been working, I’d probably have asked him about his plans for the night and whether they included finding a random stranger on an app—or that weirdly perky Simon character—to take his virginity. Instead, all I could do was watch him walk away again.
This was getting to be a habit, and I didn’t like it one bit.
* * *
Thankfully, my mom distracted me for the first part of the evening by grilling me on this month’s business expenses so she could update the books for the diner. The Bedlington terrier she’d recently adopted had taken an unhealthy liking to my shoelaces and tried to trip me up at least three times while I chopped vegetables for our late-dinner summer salad.
“Dammit, Peony,” I muttered for the tenth time. “Move out of my way.”
“Aww,” Mom cooed, scratching the cute little runt under the chin. “He likes you. You should have seen what a jerk he was to the UPS guy the other day.”
“Attempted murder isn’t the same thing as like,” I grumbled. “And who decided to give the dog a name that sounds likepee on me? That seems incredibly short-sighted.”
“It’s because he’s fluffy and sweet like a peony flower. Isn’t that right, my angel? Yes, it is. Yes itis.”
I grunted. “He looks like the byproduct of a sheep getting a little too friendly with a stuffed teddy bear.”
“Hush. Don’t listen to him, Peony. You’re perfection.”
The dog scurried away, probably to mount an attack on some unsuspecting throw pillows in the living room.
“What has you in a bad mood?” my mom asked idly as she turned back to the laptop she’d set up on the kitchen island. It may have seemed like she was only listening with one ear, but I knew better.
“Bad mood?Pssht. I’m in a fine mood.”
“Okay.” She clicked a few keys on the keyboard.
“Business is going okay, right? Revenues are pretty comparable with last year. We’re fully staffed for the first time in months. If things keep up, Imightbe able to put aside a little savings to update the kitchen, if my bookkeeper agrees.”
“Mmhmm. I do.”
“My house has a solid roof, finally. Oh, and the addition I was telling you about is almost done—the fireplace is in, and Remy Fortnum’s making me some shelves that’ll be perfect for the space. Exactly as I pictured.”
“How nice.”
“There was even a sale on socks at the Save-a-Ton,and I got a whole bunch of those wool ones I like,” I said a little desperately. “So.” I set my jaw. “There’s no reason at all for me to be in a bad mood or even a less-than-wonderful mood. Obviously.”
She nodded without looking up. “You sure you don’t wanna use my blender for that, honey? It has an excellent puree function.”
I looked down at the carrots I’d been chopping and discovered they’d been diced into a fine pulp. “Dammit.” I walked over to scrape the mess into the sink before starting again.
“So… how’s Hawk?” she asked, deliberately, carefully casual.
