Page 51 of Heart Strings & Hotlines
“Exactly. Did it work?”
Next door, Lottie’s screen door slams shut, and I’m on my feet before she hits the grass. Our eyes connect for only a moment before she runs toward the lake.
All I know is that something is very wrong, and everything in me says to fix it as I run after her.
CHAPTERTWELVE
LOTTIE
Thane’s footstepsare gaining ground on me, so I quickly wipe my tears and make a last-ditch effort to compose myself in the twenty seconds it takes for him to reach me.
“Charlotte, wait.” He doesn’t even have the decency to be out of breath.
I keep walking until I get to the swing that I placed high in the tree when I first moved here. If I’m swinging, he can’t get too close, but I didn’t account for his speed. He grabs the rope on either side of me before I can sit down.
He hitches at the waist and stares into my watery eyes. His face pales as he looks at me, then he drops the swing and takes a quick step back. His chest heaves as though he’s on the verge of a panic attack. The pain and fear sitting on my chest slide over to make room for his.
“Thane?”
“Did I do this? Did I do something at the diner to make you cry?”
“What?”
His hands fist in his hair, and he turns to face the lake, but I’m so confused I don’t move.
The sun shines down on the water, the reflection so bright it’s painful to look at but so beautiful I can’t turn away. I slowly lower myself to the swing, an old piece of barnwood I repurposed. It’s four feet long and two feet wide—I always envisioned swinging with someone here.
Thane paces six steps, then turns and stalks back. I track his movements over and over again while I swing. I suspect we’re both working through things, so I remain quiet.
Pumping my legs out, I allow the breeze to dry my tears, and when I get high enough, I point my face to the sky. The sun warms my skin that turned icy the second I opened that letter, but my eyes itch, and I find a tickle in my throat. It must be another bad allergy day.
“Charlotte.” He catches my swing when I’m close to the ground, jerking me to a stop, my back to his front. “Did I make you cry?”
The lump in my throat makes it hard to speak. If I open my mouth, the emotions will fly out, so I shake my head instead.
He slowly releases my swing, then walks around to face me as he assesses the wood beneath me. Thane inches closer, forcing me to remove my right hand from the rope, and then he climbs on with me, holding the other side behind my back.
“You want to swing?” I almost laugh. My life has been one absurdity after another since he moved in next door.
Though if I’m being honest, I probably don’t remember a time when my life wasn’t one incident away from incinerating.
“I never really liked to swing as a kid.” His voice is pitched low, with a rough quality that sets off all the caregiving instincts I never knew I possessed—at least not until him and Kara. “I’d twist it up as tightly as I could, and then spin around and around until Ophelia made me stop.”
With his arm securely around my back, I reach across his chest and hold onto the rope beneath his hand, then begin to pump my legs.
We sway cockeyed because he outweighs me and he’s not helping at all. “Thane. You have to pump.” I laugh because if I don’t, I’ll cry.
Using his long legs, he walks us back as far as we can go without me falling off, and then he releases us, and we soar through the air.
“I’m…different, Charlotte. I miss a lot of cues. I won’t remember birthdays or know that you’re upset until it’s too late, but I don’t ever want to be the cause of your tears. So if I did something, anything, today, I need you to tell me.” His words are sincere, but his tone is gruff, as though he’s angry.
I let go of the rope on his side and place my hand on his thigh instead. I don’t understand the comfort I get from him. For all intents and purposes, nothing he’s done or said shows me he wants to offer me comfort, yet somehow, I know. I know that he’s trying.
His thigh tenses for a moment before relaxing under my fingertips. Closing my eyes, I press myself into his side until my head is resting on his chest, then laugh.
“You’re not a cuddler, are you?” I start to pull away, but his left shoulder presses into me, keeping me still.
“No.” Gruff and grumpy with an overflowing heart he doesn’t know how to use.
