Chapter 11 #2
Hazel appears in the doorway wearing leggings and an oversized sweater that falls off one shoulder, her hair in a messy bun with pieces framing her face. She looks soft and rumpled and absolutely gorgeous, and I have to grip my coffee mug to keep from reaching for her.
“Morning,” she says, settling into the chair across from me.
Mrs. Brennen beams as she watches us all sit down around the table. “This feels like the family is complete again,” she says warmly, setting a plate of pancakes in front of Hazel. “Just like old times, when Luke was living with us.”
Something warm spreads through my chest at her words. This kitchen, this family—it really does feel like coming home.
“Morning,” I reply, trying not to stare at the way Hazel’s sweater shifts when she moves.
Sam thunders down the stairs and into the kitchen, already in his work clothes. He’s been going late to work for the past few days. He grabs a piece of toast and bites into it aggressively.
“I need to talk to everyone,” he announces around a mouthful of bread. “I didn’t sign up for a roommate. I’m thirty years old. I’m too old for sleepovers.”
“Sam—” Mrs. Brennen starts.
“Then move out,” Mr. Brennen says, turning the page of the newspaper.
Ignoring his father, Sam protests, “No, Mom, I’m serious. If Luke has to stay here, why can’t he stay in Hazel’s room? They’re clearly dating.” Sam waves his toast at us. “He made me sleep on the floor last night. Again.”
“I agree,” I say at the exact same moment Hazel says, “We’re not dating.”
I turn to look at her, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t listen to her,” I tell Mrs. Brennen. “We’re dating.”
“We’re not—”
“We had sex a week ago,” I say matter-of-factly, taking a sip of coffee. “That counts as dating in my book.”
Mr. Brennen slams his newspaper down on the table so hard his coffee cup rattles. “Luke Harrison, you keep your hands off my daughter or I’ll hose you down like a stray dog!”
Mrs. Brennen drops her spatula with a clatter. Hazel turns bright red and covers her face with her hands.
“Luke!” she hisses through her fingers.
Sam just rolls his eyes. “Great. Wonderful. I’m thrilled to know about my sister’s sex life. That still doesn’t mean I’m giving up my bed anymore.” He points at me with his toast. “You’re not injured. You’re just putting on a show for my sister.”
“My shoulder—”
“Your shoulder is fine. I watched you move a dresser yesterday when you thought no one was looking.” Sam crosses his arms. “So either you go stay in her room, or you go home to your own bed.”
“Boys!” Mrs. Brennen says firmly, picks up a new spatula, wielding it like a weapon. “All of you stop it and behave yourselves.”
Mr. Brennen picks up his newspaper and shakes it out, a glare on his face. “I mean it, Luke. Keep it PG-13 or I will hose you down, injured shoulder or not.”
Mrs. Brennen sets a plate of pancakes in front of me, then turns to Hazel with a smile that completely ignores the chaos around us. “So it seems the Harvest Festival planning is going well.”
I watch Hazel’s face light up, and something warm spreads through my chest. She’s been using the coffee shop as headquarters for the past week.
“Really well, actually,” Hazel says, cutting into her pancakes while carefully avoiding eye contact with everyone.
“I thought the storm would put a halt on things but I guess not. I’m using the coffee shop as a coordination hub for the decorating committee.
We’ve got about fifteen women signed up to help with different aspects—pumpkin displays, corn stalks, banner creation, table settings. ”
Mrs. Brennen beams. “You’ve basically got the whole town’s women involved.”
“I can’t decorate the entire festival by myself,” Hazel says, shooting me a look. “Luke might be used to barking orders and having people follow them, but I’m used to working in teams.”
“I don’t bark orders,” I protest.
Sam starts making barking sounds as he heads toward the back door. “Woof woof! All units respond! Woof woof!”
I grab a piece of toast and throw it at him, hitting him square in the back of the head.
“Luke!” Mrs. Brennen scolds. “Don’t waste food!”
Mr. Brennen looks up from his paper. “You two boys are not too old for me to ground you.”
“He started it,” I protest.
“I don’t care who started it. No throwing food in my kitchen,” Mrs. Brennen says sternly.
Her husband folds his paper and stands up. “I’m taking the dogs for a walk before I really get mad.”
Max and Scout, who have been staying here along with me, immediately perk up at the word “walk.” They’ve been sleeping in the living room, and Mrs. Brennen has been spoiling them with table scraps despite my protests.
As Mr. Brennen clips on their leashes, he looks at me. “Luke, after I get back, I need you to help me bring the pumpkins up from the garage. We need to get the front porch decorated for fall.”
“His shoulder’s injured,” Hazel says immediately.
“It’s been a whole week,” her father replies. “He’s recovered. Stop babying him.”
“I’m not babying him—”
“Yes, you are,” Sam calls from the back door. “You’ve been babying him since the night of the storm.”
Mrs. Brennen pats Hazel’s hand gently. “Just ignore them, honey. Men get cranky when they don’t get their way.”
After Mr. Brennen leaves with the dogs, the kitchen falls into a more comfortable rhythm.
Mrs. Brennen refills coffee cups while Hazel explains her festival decorating plans.
I find myself getting lost watching her—the way she gestures when she gets excited, the little crease that appears between her eyebrows when she’s thinking, the way her sweater keeps slipping off her shoulder.
“We’re thinking a harvest theme for the main stage area,” she’s saying, “with corn stalks and hay bales arranged around the perimeter. Then strings of lights overhead to create ambiance when it gets dark.”
“That sounds lovely,” Mrs. Brennen says. “What about the food vendor area?”
“Pumpkin displays. Different sizes and colors arranged in clusters. Maybe some scarecrows scattered throughout.” Hazel takes a bite of pancake, and I watch her lips close around the fork.
“Sophie from the newspaper is helping coordinate the banner committee, and Molly’s designing hand-painted signs for each booth. ”
I’m trying to follow the conversation, but I keep getting distracted by the way Hazel’s hair catches the morning light streaming through the window. The autumn sun makes it look like dark silk with hints of auburn I never noticed before.
“Luke?” Mrs. Brennen’s voice cuts through my distraction. “What do you think about having fireworks with the bonfire this year?”
“Sorry, what?” I blink, realizing both women are staring at me.
“Fireworks,” Hazel repeats, amusement dancing in her eyes. “If you assign some firefighters to make sure it doesn’t get out of hand?”
“Right. Yes. That’s... that’s a good idea.” I clear my throat, trying to look professional. “We could set up a controlled demonstration area away from the main crowds.”
As the two get back to their conversation, I wait for Mrs. Brennen to leave the room before making my move.
“Hazel,” I say casually, leaning back in my chair. “Are you free this evening?”
She looks up from her pancakes, fork halfway to her mouth, her expression immediately suspicious. “Why?”
“I have something in mind.”
Her eyes narrow. “What kind of something?”
I grin at her wariness. After eight years, she still knows me well enough to be cautious when I’m being deliberately vague. “A surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises.” She sets down her fork and crosses her arms. “The last time you surprised me, we ended up skinny-dipping in Miller’s Creek in October and I got hypothermia.”
“That was one time, and you suggested the skinny-dipping part.”
“I was seventeen and drunk on apple cider!”
“You were also beautiful and reckless and completely irresistible.” The words slip out before I can stop them, and I watch heat flood her cheeks.
She takes a sip of coffee, studying me over the rim of her mug. “What do you want to do tonight?”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. “I want to have our first official date so you can stop telling people we’re not dating.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “There’s this horror movie playing at the multiplex. Something about a possessed scarecrow terrorizing a small town during harvest season. Very fitting.”
I shake my head immediately. “Not that kind of date.”
“What’s wrong with a horror movie? You used to love them.”
“I still do. But tonight I want to do something different. Something that doesn’t involve us sitting in a dark theater where we can’t actually talk to each other.”
She frowns. “I was looking forward to that movie.”
“I’ll take you some other time. It’s playing the whole month. Can you focus on our date? I’ve planned it out. You’ll love it.” I take her hand in mine and kiss her knuckles, my eyes on hers. “I promise it’ll be worth your time.”
She glances toward the pantry where Mrs. Brennen is still clattering around, then back at me. “What time?”
Victory surges through my chest, but I keep my expression casual. “I’ll pick you up from the coffee shop.”
“It’ll have to be after eight.” She pulls her hand away from mine and picks up her fork again. “I’m staying back to set up a new inventory system for Mom and Dad.”
“Inventory system?”
“Their current system is basically Dad writing things down on whatever scrap of paper he can find, then losing the paper.” She takes a bite of pancake, and I watch syrup cling to her bottom lip.
“I’m building them a proper database. Something that tracks supplies, calculates reorder points, manages vendor information.
It’ll integrate with their point-of-sale system and generate automated reports. ”
I blink at her. “You’re building all that?”
“It’s not that complicated. Basic database architecture with a user-friendly interface.” She shrugs like it’s nothing. “I’ll write the code from scratch so it’s customized to their specific needs.”
Mrs. Brennen emerges from the pantry carrying a bag of flour, and Hazel immediately shifts back into normal conversation mode.
“Eight o’clock works perfectly,” I tell her, trying not to let my amazement show. She’s going to revolutionize her parents’ business in an evening, like it’s a fun hobby project.
“Good.” She stands up, carrying her empty plate to the sink. “But I’m not wearing anything fancy. Whatever this surprise is, I’m showing up in jeans and boots.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
She pauses at the sink, looking back at me over her shoulder. “This better not involve anything dangerous. Or illegal. Or embarrassing.”
“Define embarrassing.”
“Luke.”
“It’s not dangerous or illegal,” I promise. “The embarrassing part depends entirely on your perspective.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “I’m having second thoughts.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No,” she admits quietly, a genuine smile breaking through her mock suspicion. “I’m not. I’m actually looking forward to it.”
Mrs. Brennen beams at both of us from where she’s measuring flour. “A date! How wonderful. I’m so glad the two of you are working things out.”
I silently agree. Finishing my coffee, I stand up, checking my watch. “I should get to the station. Mac’s expecting me for the festival planning meeting.”
“Tell him the decorating committee will have the vendor booth layouts finalized by tomorrow,” Hazel says, already shifting into work mode. “And we’ll need the electrical requirements for the lighting displays.”
“Anything else?”
She tilts her head, thinking. “Ask him about generator placement for the food trucks. I want to make sure we’re not running extension cords across walkways.”
The way she’s thinking three steps ahead, anticipating problems before they happen—it’s exactly the kind of strategic thinking that made her invaluable in LA. And she’s applying it to a small-town harvest festival like it’s the most important project in the world.
“I’ll pass it along,” I tell her.
I’m halfway to the back door when her voice stops me.
“Luke?”
I turn back. “Yeah?”
“Eight o’clock,” she repeats, and there’s something in her voice—anticipation mixed with nervousness mixed with something that might be excitement. “Don’t be late.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
As I walk toward the station, autumn leaves crunching under my boots, I can’t stop grinning. Tonight, I’m going to remind Hazel Brennen why she fell in love with me in the first place.
And this time, I’m not letting anyone ruin it.