Happily Enemy After (Hawthorne Brothers 2)

“She hates you for what you did, but maybe if you do other things, if you give her a reason to like you…”

“Look, Stella.” I put my hands up. “I know you’re just trying to be nice here, but I’m telling you it’s not going to work between Violet and me.”

Her eyes narrow. “So you’re giving up?”

I don’t answer. I guess that’s what I’m doing, but I don’t feel like saying it out loud.

Stella draws a breath. “I know I’m prying, but hey, you didn’t exactly leave Ethan and me alone when we were starting out, did you?”

True.

She touches my arm. “You’re like a brother to me, Asher. I want you to be happy. And I’ve spoken to Violet. I really like her. And I think she’s lonely, too. I think the two of you would be good for each other.”

She does?

“Actually, you’re perfect for each other. You’re both good with numbers. You’re both out to prove something. You both have your walls up.”

“Which is exactly why I’m never going to get through to her.”

“But have you really tried?” Stella asks me.

Again, I don’t answer. She takes my hand and squeezes it.

“I just don’t want you to give up before really trying, Asher. If not for Violet then for yourself. I know you regret letting her slip through your fingers in the past. So don’t do it again. Try harder. Do better. I know you can.”

And I can see the faith in her amber eyes. It makes me want to move mountains. Or at least want to lift a finger in an attempt.

I let out a breath and squeeze her hand back. “Fine. I’ll try.”

Stella rewards me with a radiant smile. “Good luck.”

~

Here goes nothing.

I draw a deep breath before ringing the doorbell. After a few seconds, the door opens. Violet stands in the doorway in a white sweater with the Monte Carlo Casino on it. It’s two sizes too big for her, falling off one of her shoulders to reveal the strap of a blue tank top. It reaches almost all the way to her knees, too, making me wonder if she’s wearing shorts underneath. Is she?

She isn’t wearing any makeup, that’s for sure. And yet she looks just as attractive, if not more so. Younger, too. Her blue eyes look more vibrant, her cheeks fuller. Her mass of curls is held back by a cotton headband but a few short strands still dangle over her forehead.

Somehow, I’m reminded of the first time I spoke to her in the library.

“Can I help you?” Violet asks as she pulls her sweater up over her shoulder.

Not the greeting I was hoping to hear. Even ‘Hi’ would have been preferable. ‘Can I help you?’ is usually reserved for people who knock on your door to ask for directions or sell something, people you weren’t expecting, people you’d rather not waste time on. But I guess it will have to do.

“Hey.” I give her a smile. “I didn’t see you leave the office earlier. What time did you go home?”

“Um…” Violet purses her lips as she fidgets with the neckline of her sweater. “Six?”

I nod. “Anyway, I just wanted to give you this.”

I offer her the box in my hands, which I didn’t have wrapped this time so she can clearly see what it is. She looks at it with creased eyebrows and reads the words on the cardboard.

“Pancake molds?”

“Yeah. They’re a welcome present. Or a moving-in present. Or a housewarming present. Whatever you call it. You know, the thing your new neighbor gives you after you’ve just moved into your new home.”

Violet just keeps staring at the box.

I extend my hand. “I promise the contents are…”

“I can’t.” She shakes her head as she takes a step back. “I appreciate the gesture and all, but I can’t accept this gift.”

I thought she’d say that. Still, I’m not backing down easily, not after Stella told me to really try to get through to Violet.

“Why not?”

“Because…”

She clutches the front of her sweater as she searches for her words. The neckline dips and my gaze goes to the hollow of her throat. Pale. Smooth. Pristine. Exactly the kind of place I’d love to press my lips against.

“Well, because I don’t make pancakes,” Violet says.

Liar. “Really? Because I’m pretty sure that’s what I smelled when I passed by your apartment last weekend.”

Her eyebrows arch. “What time?”

“Around 2 A.M.”

She looks away and purses her lips. Yup, that’s the look of someone who’s been caught lying. But I’ll let her off the hook this time.

“They smelled good, by the way,” I simply add.

She touches the nape of her neck as she meets my gaze for a second, a tentative smile on her lips.

“Th–Thanks.”

“Maybe next time you make them, you can use the molds. Or not. It’s your choice. Either way, I’m sure you make great ones, so if you have a hard time finishing them, you can invite me over and—”