Page 4 of Cherry Picked
“Oh, then you’re gonnaloveHawk,” Emma said dryly.
“Alright, leave your brother alone, Emma,” Drew said—about ten damning minutes too late. “Let me find my dang keys, and I’ll drive you to Scoops.”
“On top of the breadbox,” I called as he walked down the hall to the kitchen.
Webb wrapped an arm around Emma’s shoulders. “Come help me find the snowshoes in the front closet. You were the last one to use them.”
After they left, Jack and I stood in our spots, regarding each other awkwardly—or at leastIwas awkward. Jack looked incredible… which I’d bet was kind of his default state.
“Um. So.” I looked around the room for anything to talk about that wasn’t me being a giant nerd fully manifesting his first major crush. I spied the hint of green cardboard poking up from behind the couch cushion, seized the cookie box, and thrust it at him. “Thin Mint?”
“Whoa. This your secret stash?” Jack asked as he took one from the sleeve. “I’m honored.”
I huffed. “Kinda. I have a lot of hungry brothers.”
Jack inspected the cookie thoughtfully. “You know, Hawk…” he began in a fake-casual voice that wasn’t remotely casual. “You don’t actually have to come hiking if you don’t want to. I won’t take it personally. I meant what I said before. It’s cool to like what you like. Don’t let anyone make you feel bad about it.”
“Yeah, well.” I shrugged. “Easier said than done.”
“Maybe, yeah. But in the future, you’ll find people who appreciate you for who you are. And all the things that make you feel like you don’t fit now? Those are the very things those people will fall in love with when the time is right.” He popped the cookie in his mouth and made an appreciative humming noise.
Like cookies were what was important in that moment.
My stomach fluttered. Something warm and vibrant and real uncurled in my belly. And something that was not a crush—wasso much morethan a crush—flared to life.
“You think?” I asked softly.
Jack gave me another of those friendly, offhanded winks. “Guarantee it.”
“Right. Well. That’s…”Going to fuel a lot of my dreams for the next little while,I thought. “…good to know,” I managed to croak out. “But I like hiking, too. Or at least I used to. Maybe… maybe I will again.”
“Awesome,” Jack said, like it was just that easy. “I look forward to it, then.”
Uncle Drew had been right earlier. Ihaddecided that when it came to sex and relationships, I was going to hold out for someone special. And maybe it was theDarcy’s Wild Ridetalking or the vast quantities of cookies I’d consumed, but for the first time, I thought maybe I’d found him.
My future, my happily ever after, was written right there, in the curve of Jack’s smile, in his patient eyes, in his broad shoulders.
Jack Wyatt was my Mr. Darcy.
And if I held on—and heldout—long enough, eventually, he’d see it, too.
ChapterOne
JACK - SEVEN YEARS LATER
“I have not the pleasure of understanding you.”
~ Mr. Bennet
“So then Elizabeth suggests they take a walk in the garden, but any savvy reader knows that means get away from Mrs. Bennet so they can have privacy, right? But, like, this is one of thesteamyPride and Prejudicevariations, so it actually means she wants a kiss…”
I grinned as I picked my way across some knotty roots on the trail, letting Hawk’s words wash over me. We’d covered hundreds of miles together over the seven years of our friendship, through winter snowdrifts and scorching summer heat waves, but no matter where we went, there was always this—the tenor of his voice as he recapped his latestPride and Prejudicevariation, the steady crunch of his feet on the path at my side.
Life in the quiet town of Little Pippin Hollow, Vermont, turned upside down and inside out with a regularity I hadn’t foreseen when I’d moved here. My restaurant profits fluctuated with the weather, the tourist season, and even the latest dating gossip since nothing brought Hollowans to the table like the opportunity to meddle in their neighbors’ love lives. This spring, Stanistead Road had been closed to traffic three days running for an impromptu cow orgy after O’Henry Brush failed to secure the back door of his cattle hauler, and a herd of cranky but otherwise unharmed Guernsey bulls and heifers tumbled out and proceeded to spend the next three days doing, as O’Henry called it, “what the good lord intended.” And last February, my straightlaced (and, until very recently,straight in all the ways) best friend, Webb, had found himself married to a guy he barely knew and didn’t much like, thanks to a pre-Revolutionary War–era town bylaw involving a bugle and an orchard.
Amidst all that chaos, it was nice to know that some things—like cheerful, vibrant Hawk Sunday, our close camaraderie, and our weekly hikes—remained constant and easy.
“Of course she does,” I laughed. “Was Elizabeth glove-free in this adaptation? Because if so, I understand why you were dying to tell me about this one. The naked-palm touching got you all hot and bothered, didn’t it?” I lowered my voice into a fake-breathless growl. “Sosexy, Hawkins,” I teased.
