Bitter Truth (Hawthorne Vines #1)

He crosses his arms, leans a hip up against the counter, and stares right back at me.

“What happened to the guy who said he can’t tell me what decision to make, huh?” I keep my voice playful even though I’m only half joking.

“What happened to the girl who told me it was important to find your new dream?” he asks in return. “Have you taken the time to sit down and really think about what you want next? Because I suggested that, too.”

Scoffing, I tuck my hands under my thighs, my palms flat against the stainless steel counter of the kitchen island.

I came in here after work to hang out with Wes while he closed down the kitchen after Sunday lunch. But I made the mistake of bringing up the fact Vivian texted me this morning, letting me know that the Humble Roads guy has been asking if I’m coming down to LA to talk to them.

“Not exactly.”

Wes crosses over to where I’m sitting on the counter, steps in between my legs, and places his hands on my thighs.

“I know it’s hard to figure out what comes next after you’ve had to let go of a dream,” he tells me, his voice much more gentle now than it was just a moment ago. “I really do. So why don’t you look at this as an opportunity to figure it out. You know? You’re not committing to anything. You’re just scoping it out. Seeing if it’s right to you. If it feels right to you.”

I lick my lips and let out a sigh.

I’ve been in a holding pattern ever since the day my future in the music industry took a nosedive. It’s been three months since that horrible day, and even though it’s easier to not think about the future outside of working at the restaurant and spending time with Wes, I know it’s foolish.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to go,” I say, trying to be honest. “I’m just barely starting to feel settled here. Shouldn’t I let my wounds heal a little bit more first?”

Wes slips his arms around my waist and tugs me forward a little bit, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders.

“You could do that,” he answers, his expression earnest. “You could wait until it doesn’t hurt anymore. But the truth is that it will always hurt. There will always be a part of you that aches about letting go of that dream.” He pauses. “Or, you can push through the pain and give yourself a chance to find something else that lights you up inside. And most likely, by doing that, you won’t really notice that little pinch of pain anymore.”

I consider that for a moment, my brain trying to sort through all the possibilities and fears and challenges that I could face by doing what Wes is suggesting.

“If I go, will you come with me?”

My shoulders sink when he shakes his head.

“Part of me would love to go,” he says. “But going back to LA and talking with those people … That’s a decision you need to make on your own. I wouldn’t want my presence to distract from why you’re there.”

I lean forward and rest my forehead against his, closing my eyes.

This man is just … everything. I’ve never had something like this before, a relationship with someone who not only seems to understand me but also wants what’s best for me.

When we first met at the gas station, there’s no way I could have known all that he’d come to mean to me in such a short time. That the initial seed of attraction between us would grow into something so beautiful, with roots that are twisting ever deeper.

I bring my hand to the side of his face, look into his eyes.

“I love you,” I whisper, then press my lips to his.

His mouth opens, his tongue tangling with mine as his hands grip my hips tightly.

“See, this is what I mean.”

I pull back, turning my head to the side to where my brother is standing just inside the kitchen, the door still swinging slightly behind him.

“This is the stuff you can’t be doing.”

Pressing my lips tightly together, I give him a thin-lipped smile. I can feel the blood in my body rushing to my face.

“Sorry, Memphis,” I say, nudging Wes out of the way and hopping down from the counter. “It won’t happen again.”

He stands there, staring at us for a minute, his gaze falling to where Wes is now holding my hand.

Memphis’s expression barely changes, but I can see when something softens there. When some sort of decision has been made in his mind.