Starstruck - Book Two by Gemma Brooks Page B

perfect, and I loved how
it felt under the palm of my hand. I glanced up and looked out the picture
window above the farmhouse sink. His back yard was nothing but lush, green
grass, exotic, flowering bushes, lemon trees, and palms.
     
    “Want to go sit outside?” Hudson asked as he came back.
     
    I nodded.
     
    He walked over to an intercom along the wall.
     
    “Flor,” he called over the intercom.
     
    “Yes, Mr. Smith,” a woman with a Hispanic accent soon buzzed
back.
     
    “Can you come to the kitchen please?” he asked.
     
    “Be right there, Mr. Smith,” she replied.
     
    “Flor is my house manager,” he said. “She cooks, cleans, and
does laundry. You name it, she does it. Don’t know what I’d do without her.”
     
    A middle-aged woman with dark hair wearing jeans and a
t-shirt walked into the room holding a bucket of cleaning supplies. Her hair
was swept back into a low pony-tail and her t-shirt was dirty and stained with
bleach.
     
    “Cleaning day,” she said to me, as she appeared somewhat
embarrassed. “I don’t always look like this.”
     
    “Flor meet Brynn,” he said. “Brynn, this is Flor.”
     
    “Nice to meet you,” she said with a slightly cool smile. She
had intense, brown eyes.
     
    “Same here,” I said as I shook her hand.
     
    “I met Brynn out in Iowa,” Hudson explained. “Thought I’d
show her how we live out here.”
     
    Flor smiled and her eyes sparkled when they met his. She
turned back to me, her sparkle dulling a bit before she muttered a forcibly
cordial, “Welcome, Brynn.”
     
    “Would you mind making us a batch of your amazingly
exquisite fresh lemonade?” Hudson asked.
     
    “Not at all,” she said as she reached into the bowl of fruit
on the island and pulled out a few fresh lemons. “Just give me a second.”
     
    “We’re going to head outside for a bit,” he said. “Just
bring it out there when it’s ready.”
     
    “Yes, Mr. Smith,” she said as she pulled out a pitcher from
the cabinet.
     
    Flor would’ve done anything to make him happy. He told her
to jump and she seemed to ask how high. I supposed that’s what she was paid to
do though. I’d never imagined anyone to get so excited over making someone a
batch of lemonade before.
     
    Hudson motioned towards the sliding doors, and I followed
him outside to the covered patio. Pale gray wicker chairs with thick,
linen-colored cushions lined a long, glass outdoor dining table as the whirring
and rushing of the waterfall above the pool splashed in the background.
     
    “This is beautiful, Hudson,” I said as I pulled up the chair
right next to him. “I might never want to leave.”
     
    He cracked a smile, the first one I’d seen since we’d left
Des Moines, and a rush of relief washed over me.
     
    “Here you are,” Flor said as she burst through the doorway
carrying a tray of lemonade towards us. She sat it on the table before placing
coasters in front of us and sitting icy cold glasses of yellow, muddled liquid
on top of them.
     
    Hudson wasted no time in taking a sip.
     
    “Aah,” he sighed as he smacked his lips. “I’ve missed this
so much, Flor.”
     
    I could tell she was tickled as she giggled, thanked him in
Spanish, and went back inside the house.
     
    I took a sip from my glass. Lemonade was usually lemonade to
me, but I had to admit Flor’s lemonade was nothing short of amazing.
     
    “Wow,” I said. “You weren’t joking. Are those mint leaves?
Basil? What is that?”
     
    He leaned back and closed his eyes, looking deep in thought.
I wondered if he was still upset about what happened earlier or if he was just
at home in his element and this was the real Hudson Smith.
     
    “Is everything okay?” I asked. “With us, I mean.”
     
    He opened his eyes and sat straight up, turning towards me.
“Of course.”
     
    “Okay, you’ve just been really quiet,” I said. “Since
earlier.”
     
    He shrugged and placed his hand over mine. “You worry