Hawthorn Read Online Free PDF

the fact that I won’t know anyone. My fantasy about being all mysterious and elusive kinda popped when I went into the village the other day. People don’t seem to care for strangers. I guess we’ll have to live here for a while before we’re considered locals. It’s annoying because I know this house has been in our family, one way or another, for generations. It’s a Learmonth legacy, although I’m not a Learmonth, I’m a Hastings. But mum was a Learmonth and, as the last surviving Learmonth, she got the house.
    The ground is hard and sun-baked under my trainers, but there is a definite chill to the air today despite the sun. Autumn will be here soon. The summers always feel so short. I have my sketchbook in my bag and a packed lunch. The house is as done as it can be now, only the final touches to be added, so mum’s finally released the reins, and I decided to explore the woods to the west.
    The woods lie on a gentle slope and it is cool under the canopy of trees. Once again I see the first touches of autumn in the changing colour of the leaves, all orange and red. I don’t know much about trees, but these look different to the ones outside the villager’s cottages. These trees have wide-spread branches and a bushy look with twisted trunks, as if each tree is trying a different pose. There are bright red berries hanging in clusters from the branches. It’s much cooler under the canopy of the trees and I slip on my hoodie and look for a nice spot to eat my lunch before making some sketches. The day stretches ahead of me, filled with glorious possibilities.
    I’m still searching when I spot the strangest looking tree. It’s larger than the others, but that’s not what makes it stand out. It’s the trunk that draws me, split in two in the middle and twisted at the top to make an aperture that looks like the eye of a needle. It’s wide enough to slip through. At least I think it is. I am overcome by the strangest feeling of familiarity. I take a step toward the tree, and then another, suddenly eager to find out if my theory is correct.
    “I wouldn’t do that if I was you?”
    I spin around in alarm to find the owner of the voice.
    “Hi.” He is leaning against a tree, all casual-like. He’s tall, taller than Liam, with dark messy hair and dark eyes. He is striking to look at, the kind of guy you expect to see in one of those Cinderella story movies, or a character from a young adult paranormal novel. I stare at him, expecting him to disappear or grow some pimples or something, but he remains as gorgeous as ever.
    Liam. I love Liam, I remind myself.
    He holds out his hand. “Come on, those things can be dangerous.”
    I glance at the tree then back at him. “You have to be joking.”
    “No.”
    “So you’re saving me from a tree?”
    He nods sombre-like.
    I feel a stab of irritation. Who does he think I am, some gullible twat from London or something? I step back and touch the tree and quirk a brow at him. Hah!
    He smiles. “Maybe I just wanted to hold the pretty girl’s hand.”
    I don’t know what to say to that.
    “I’m Sam.”
    “Gemma.”
    “Nice to meet you, Gemma.” He flashes that smile again, all white even teeth and a dimple.
    “You live up at Learmonth, right?”
    “Yeah, what about you?”
    “I don’t.”
    God, he’s trying to be cute. I hate that. “Um, anyway, I best get going.”
    “Why? You just got here. There are some lovely spots to sketch. I can show you if you like.”
    I frown. How does he know I sketch? My pad is in my backpack.
    He cocks his head as if listening to something. “You have artist’s hands and an artist’s eyes. I see the way you look at things.”
    Once again I don’t know what to say to that apart from, “You been watching me?”
    He smiles. “I spotted you a few minutes ago. So, you coming?”
    I hesitate. “I don’t know, you could be a serial killer or something.”
    He nods. “True, but then we’re far enough from your house and the