Page 171 of Sinful Like Us
“It’s okay, Janie.” He licks his lips, then gestures to his head. “I’m just processing…it’s a lot.”
“I know.” I wince. “And Thatcher and I will absolutely let you two walk in on us to even the playing field.”
“Jane,” Thatcher says strongly on the other side of the door.
He’s not thrilled at that idea.
I waft my sweater.
“I’ll pass on that,” Farrow says easily. He tries to figure out the door situation, communicating with Thatcher for a minute. They work together, but the door isn’t unsticking.
Thatcher finally says, “It’s not coming down without removing the hinges. I’ll need tools or I can kick it in.”
As much as I’d rather flee quickly, I don’t want to destroy the owner’s house. “Don’t break it. I think there’s a toolkit in the laundry room.”
“I’ll be right back.” He pauses. “Jane?”
“Yes?”
“You’ll be okay?” He must know the ditch I’ve dug, and I’d want him to stay but I want to be in his arms more.
“Oui.”
I can feel his towering presence leave, and I look over my shoulder.
Maximoff stands off the bed, confusion in his green eyes. “I still don’t get why you said this has happenedagain.”
I turn, facing him fully, my clipboard pressed to my lips. I can’t lie to Moffy. Our friendship is one of complete transparency. We tell each other everything.
We often share secrets quickly. Almost immediately. Guilt overturns my stomach because I’ve kept one from him for weeks on end.
For Luna’s sake.
I think he’ll understand why I did, but his reaction to this news is what Luna feared. He will go 3/4thsUncle Loren, and Luna doesn’t want to know how their overprotective dad might respond to her hookup.
But I’m about to see.
I lower the clipboard to my belly. “You should take a seat.”
He goes rigid. “What happened?”
Farrow leaves the door and joins Maximoff. He clasps his hand.
Moffy lets out a breath, but his shoulders never loosen. His attention is on me, waiting.
“It’s not so terrible,” I tell him. “Really, it’s not.”
He blinks. “Is it about your brothers?”
“No.”
“My brother?” He points to his chest.
I pause. “Not quite.”
He stiffens. “My sisters?”
“Sister,” I correct.
