Bitter Truth (Hawthorne Vines #1)

Aunt Sarah gives me an empathetic smile. “I know you two will figure it out, sweetie.” She pauses for a moment. “And keep it logical when you talk to your brother, not emotional. He responds better that way.”

I laugh, realizing the truth of what she’s said.

“I love you, sweetheart. And I’m so proud of you.”

My chest constricts at her words, and I feel the pressure of distant tears building behind my eyes.

“Thanks, Aunt Sarah. I love you, too.”

She says good night and gives me a hug before leaving my room.

I feel a little bolstered by our conversation, knowing I have the support of at least somebody in our family. But by the time I make it out to the bench closer to midnight, my nerves are rattling me again. When Wes takes a seat instead of giving me a kiss, it makes me even more concerned.

“Everything go okay with locking up?”

Wes nods, but his eyes are cast downward, his hands fiddling with one of the buttons on his chef coat. He looks … not upset, exactly, but apprehensive.

“I’m sorry about this morning.” He clears his throat. “I wanted to stay and talk things out with your brother, and it was shitty of me to leave you on your own to deal with it.”

I shake my head. “I knew that you sticking around wouldn’t resolve anything. That’s why I told you to go inside, too. He’s incredibly stubborn.”

“Yeah.” Wes pauses for a second. “But he’s also not wrong to be worried about his chef getting involved with his staff, not to mention his sister. It can make things really complicated.”

As much as I want to avoid whatever this conversation will bring, I decide it’s better to just get down to business. Because tiptoeing around will only make me more and more uncomfortable.

“Is that why you wanted to talk tonight?” I ask. “Because you think things are getting too complicated?”

Wes’s head falls forward, and he runs a hand through his hair.

My heart takes off at a sprint. My stomach tightens.

I hate the way this feels.

“No,” he finally says, surprising me. “I think you and I can handle Memphis, regardless of what he throws our way.”

Blinking a few times, I replay what he just said over again in my mind, making sure I’m not misunderstanding him.

The tight band around my shoulders loosens, and I feel the weight in my stomach begin to dissolve.

What he just said has a future implication. There’s a belief there that he and I will be fine moving forward. That he sees things between us not just continuing, but thriving even through a potential disruption from my brother.

“So what did you want to talk about?” I ask, not wanting to give myself too much permission to exhale in relief until I know why we’re here right now. “You made it sound really serious.”

He licks his lips and looks at me. “Because it is serious. But it has nothing to do with Memphis.”

I try to think back over anything we’ve talked about that might lend itself to such an intense conversation, but I can’t seem to pinpoint an event or topic or person that fits the bill.

I scoot toward him and slip my hand in his. “I’m sure whatever it is, we can handle that, too.”

He looks at my hand in his, and his thumb strokes gently along the back of my palm, the movement sending little goose bumps skittering up my arm.

“First, I want you to know how crazy I am about you.” His eyes are still focused on my hand. “I can’t remember ever feeling like this about someone.”

My heart warms, the statement a much-needed confirmation that Wes and I are on the same page when it comes to how we feel about each other.

“But I’m not going to ask you to tell me how you feel about me,” he continues. “Not until after you’ve had a chance to hear what I have to say.”

The pit in my stomach is back, though it feels more like acid as it stirs up a kind of nausea I haven’t felt in a really long time.