Page 13 of Heart Strings & Hotlines
“Those aren’t pajamas?” His gaze rakes over me, and irritation prickles in the backs of my eyeballs as I peer down at myself.
An oversized navy sweatshirt with the neck cut out so it hangs off one shoulder and gray leggings are not pajamas.
“No, Thane, they’re not.” I don’t offer anything else. Screw him as he stands there in perfectly pressed trousers and a nice crisp button-down.
He takes in my appearance one more time with a frown, then silently removes Hercules from the wearable dog carrier and sets her on the floor. The scary screaming of a mischievous Maltipoo is instant.
“Why does it do that?” he asks, pointing to the floor.
“Why are you here, and how did you end up with Hercules?”
Thane doesn’t answer, but leans down and picks up the dog, then repositions her in the dog carrier.
“She’s seriously underweight,” he mutters. “She can’t be more than ten pounds.”
“Thane. What are you doing here?”
“I needed help with this thing.” Again, he points to Hercules.
Is he purposely being obtuse? I know his social skills are…awkward sometimes, but this is next-level. Not only did I witness Thane in action firsthand at the nanny event, but his daily emails since Kara ran away border on rude sometimes.
At some point, he decided that I was the best fit for Kara, so he stopped reaching out to Rowan for help. But I’m not now, nor have I ever been, fit for looking after children. It’s why I created the damn hotline in the first place.
As a glutton for punishment, I keep responding to his messages. But he’s not the only one I’ve gotten close to. I also have a budding friendship with Kara since she’s been texting me too.
I’ve effectively taken over Rowan’s role without even realizing it.
Taking a deep, centering breath, I try again. “Thane, why are you here, in my house, in Sweetbriar, Tennessee? You shouldn’t even know where I live.”
“It’s public information. All it took was a quick google search to turn up Charlotte Sinclair, 152 Matchmaker Lane, Sweetbriar, Tennessee.”
The damn Scuttlebutt Society changed my street name after I was listed inForbesas a rising star. They meddle in every-freaking-thing.
“But why are you here?”
He scowls at Hercules when she yips.
“Yipping means she’s happy,” I tell him, and he frowns harder.
“That’s fucking annoying.”
He’s not wrong.
“Thane.”
Exasperation finally has him glancing up. Then he does that thing where he studies every inch of my face until the heat coming from my cheeks could warm the entire town for winter.
“You’re upset.” His tone is so mild-mannered, it’s as if he’s reading today’s weather, and it makes me feel like I’m the volatile one here.
“What gave you that idea?”
He steps closer, close enough I can smell the leathery scent of his aftershave.
Then he points and moves his finger in the shape of my face. “You’re all red, and your eyebrows are causing a line to form between them.”
I immediately swat his hand away and step back. “You’re not supposed to tell women they have lines on their faces.”
“Should I lie?”
