Bitter Truth (Hawthorne Vines #1)

“You can’t be serious.”

I turn my head and let out a sigh when I see Murphy walking up the path toward the bench.

“I’m not trying to be a bitch or anything, but this is my bench. I’ve been sitting here since my father built it when I was in junior high, okay? So …” She pauses. “Please leave.”

“Look, Murphy, I’m not in the mood tonight,” I tell her, crossing my arms and staring forward.

The last thing I need is another confrontation with her. I’m not sure I can handle it. After I bombed out on talking to my father again at the bar earlier, I’d really like to just be alone and have a chance to think.

“Tough shit,” she says, walking over and plopping down next to me, much like she did last night. “This time, you can’t bait me into leaving. I’m staying, so if you have a problem with it, you can leave.”

I want to laugh at how serious she’s being, but I doubt it’ll be received well, so I keep it bottled inside with everything else.

Then Murphy and I sit in silence together, just staring out at the vineyard and the rolling hills in the distance.

Unfortunately, her presence does exactly what I expect. Distracts me from the things I need to be thinking about—the restaurant, the menu, my job, what happened in Chicago, my father, my mother, my brother—basically anything other than Murphy.

I’m hyperaware of her, sitting just inches from me, that same light perfume wafting my way in the damp evening breeze.

I catch myself taking long, slow breaths, hoping to catch another hint of it on the air.

“Why do you even come out here?” she demands.

Turning my head, I find her watching me, her eyes narrowed in frustration.

Clearly, she’s fuming, hoping to light me on fire with her eyes, oblivious to me silently sucking in her perfume like it’s water and I’m dying of thirst.

Great.

“Probably the same as you,” I finally reply. “To be alone with my thoughts.”

She makes a face, and I’m assuming it’s supposed to be an expression of irritation, but it might be one of the cutest looks I’ve ever seen.

This time, I’m not able to keep my laugh to myself.

“What? Why are you laughing?”

I shake my head, my laugh trailing off. “Nothing.”

Murphy crosses her arms and glares at me, and part of me wants to kiss that fucking frown right off her face.

But I don’t let myself give in to that idea, not that Murphy would be interested anyway.

“Look, clearly you don’t want me here,” she says, uncrossing her arms and turning her body to face me. “I don’t want me to be here either, okay? So can you just … stop being such an asshole? I’m already dealing with enough as it is.”

At that, my shoulders fall.

I want to tell her I’m not normally an asshole, but then that would require me to explain that I’ve been trying to build a cement wall between us, for both our sakes, and that’s not a conversation I feel like having any time soon.

So instead, I just nod.

“Yeah, I get that.”

She seems to take that as a victory, because she turns and settles against the bench, her gaze shifting out to the valley and the view.

We sit for a while like that, just the two of us, and eventually, I can feel the bristling frustration between us cool and then fall away completely.

I’m not sure whether it’s a good idea, letting my guard down around Murphy Hawthorne. I have a feeling it’s actually a very bad idea.