Page 18 of Cherry Picked
I nearly sliced my finger with the sharp blade before slapping the knife down on the counter and holding up my hand in surrender. “Can we not do this thing? This thing where you speak in code and act all nonchalant?”
Her eyes finally came up to meet mine, sparkling with amusement. “Oh, I’m chalant. I’mverychalant. And I’m pretty darned sure something happened between the two of you. First clue was that you’ve been irritable and distracted this whole week. Second clue—” She pursed her lips. “—is that Hawk isn’t here with you when henevermisses a chance to visit Peony, which leads me to deduce that the problem is with him…”
“Deduce,” I scoffed. “Okay, Sherlock Holmes.”
“And third—” She shifted so her elbows were propped on the island, and the scuffed gold band she still wore after thirty years of widowhood glinted dully in the overhead light. “—I was at the library the other day and overheard Hawk asking Lars Yetzer if they have any copies ofMars and Venus in the Workplace.” She sniffed. “I almost intervened to tell him Venus and Mars are irrelevant if he’s having a problem withyou,and outdated in any case, but I didn’t. Because I’m not the kind of parent who tries to interfere in her son’s life…” She lifted her chin a notch. “Much.”
The revelation that Hawk was frustrated enough with me to seek out a book about workplace relations made my stomach hurt. “Wait, he asked for that book? Are you sure?”
She hesitated. “Well, yes. I don’t know why, of course. Could be that he’s trying to improve his relationship with Katey… though I thought she was pretty easygoing now that she’s put away her obsession with Hawk’s brother.”
“She kinda had to since Webb and Luke are married now,” I muttered. “But there were a few moments last spring that were a little hairy, so it could be that. Or maybe it’s Crys. She can be… direct.”
I wasn’t sure yet about my newest employee. Crystal Hardin had moved to Little Pippin Hollow a few months ago, just when our business was picking up for the summer season. She’d already accepted a part-time job as a bartender at the Tavern when she’d come to me asking to pick up a few shifts a week at Panini Jack’s. It had seemed serendipitous at the time, but then she and Hawk started getting closer to the point where I felt a little… left out.
“Nah, those two are thick as thieves,” Mom corrected, reading my mind as usual. “I doubt it’s anything to do with her.”
“Well, it’s nothing to do with me either,” I said firmly, despite my fears to the contrary. “Hawk and I arefriends. As usual. Asalways. In fact, we’re going for another hike tomorrow.”
“Oh, good.” She gave me a soft smile, then set her laptop aside and moved around the island to grab place mats and salad bowls. “You know, at first, I wondered why you and Hawk kept going for your hikes together even when Webb and his other siblings got busy and started begging off. He’s so much younger than you, sodifferentfrom you, I wondered what you could possibly have in common.” She laughed lightly.
I snipped some herbs from the pot on her windowsill and pointedly didn’t look at her. “You don’t wonder about that anymore?” My mom wasn’t the only one who could bechalantas hell.
“God, no. Not for a long while. Hawk’s good for you, baby. You were always so serious, even as a kid. Taking the world on your little shoulders. Part of that was my fault—”
“It was not.” I whirled to face her. “You’re a great mother. You always have been.”
“Thank you, sweetie. I tried my best after your dad was gone, but it wasn’t an easy life for either of us back in Portland, was it? Never enough hours in the day, never enough money in the bank, never enough food on the table.” She set down the dishes and snuck a carrot chunk out of the salad to pop in her mouth.
“We survived,” I said gruffly. “We made it through. We’re settled now.”
She knew I hated dwelling on those days, much less talking about them.
“We are. Thanks to your hard work.” She cupped my cheek, serious now. “But at what cost? You never got to be carefree or to dream big dreams. You took on too much responsibility too soon. And that’s why Hawk Sunday is so good for you.” She patted my cheek, then busied herself setting our places at the island. “He reminds you that it’s okay to have fun. When you’re with him, you let yourself be passionate about things besides work.”
“I’m passionate about plenty of other things that don’t involve him,” I argued. “Like… like… volunteering with the Nature Scouts when they came to the diner for a cooking demonstration. And renovating my house. And outdoorsy stuff—hiking and snowshoeing and swimming…” I faltered, realizing she was right. All of those were things Hawk and I did together.
Mom was kind enough not to point this out. “I’m glad you two are taking a break tomorrow. You’ll relax a little. Have some fun. Cold front’s moving in, so you’ll have a nice cool breeze, too.”
But it turned out that my mom was wrong, at least about this.
I did not relax. I did nothave fun.
And while the weather might have cooled down some, things were hot as fuck on that mountain trail because Satan himself sent Hawk Sunday to torment me.
* * *
It started off well enough. After leaving my mom’s, I’d gone home and crashed into bed, too tired after a week of sleepless nights to do any work on the house, and I’d woken up clearheaded and determined. I just had to make Hawk see that our relationship was perfect as it was. That nothing ever needed to change…
And then I’d seen Hawk walking toward me at the trailhead wearing my old Portland Red Claws hoodie.
He’d stolen the shirt so long ago I couldn’t even remember the circumstances, and I’d seen him in it a million times… but it had never hit me like it did today, with a possessive thrill that made my mouth water.
The sweatshirt that had once been red was now faded to a weathered pink, and the angry lobster holding a Portland Red Claws banner was peeling from repeated washing. The edges of the cuffs were shredded and hung down over his hands, and the bottom of the garment came down so far that for a split second, I wondered if he had shorts on underneath. His shapely leg muscles led from the hem of the hoodie down to his thick wool socks and scarred hiking boots.
I couldn’t think of a single thing to say, so I’d made a stupid comment about the weather, and then I’d tried not to swallow my tongue as my eyes tracked the mesmerizing movement of those legs for the first quarter mile.
“You’re being awfully quiet,” he said after a few minutes on the deserted, early morning trail.
