Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
LOTTIE
I’m sorting emails in order of importance, which means deleting the ones from LotiTech, JW Tech, and the worst offender, Sinclair Systems—the technology companies hell-bent on acquiring my Single Dad Hotline.
It’s the newer company, LotiTech, that has me nervous. All I can find on them are a bunch of vice presidents’ names who have no contact information.
It’s fishy, and my money is on it being a shell company for my father, or perhaps even Thane’s father. They’re both assholes who don’t take no for an answer. I have an inbox full of threats to prove it.
I’ve already replied to my IT department. Decisions will have to be made soon if they can’t find out where the security breaches are coming from.
My mind drifts to Thane. It’s been doing that far more often than I care to admit.
My father would shit his pants if he knew I was becoming friendly with his biggest rival’s son. No, not friendly. He’s a client. That would still piss him off though, and it really does fill me with joy.
Rupert Sinclair is more the my-enemy-is-your-enemy kind of dad. The hurt little girl inside me throws up a double fist bump at the small rebellion.
My phone vibrates on my desk, showing someone is ringing the bell next door. This is the blessing and the curse of living in one side of my duplex while working in the other.
Instead of speaking through an app, I close the screen and head outside, where a tall man stands at the front door to my home with his back to me.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
“Aw, hello, Miss Lottie.”
“Hi, Tanner. What are you doing here?” My shoulders relax as he shifts his feet from side to side.
Tanner recently started working for Boone and is basically the town handyman.
“Hey there, Lottie.”
Peering around Tanner, I find Mr. Abboud moseying up my walkway with my mail. He’s been the postmaster in town for over thirty years, and whenever possible, he hands everyone their mail.
“Hey, Mr. Abboud. Busy day?”
“No more than yesterday. Heard about our new resident though, real shame about that.” He touches his nose as he always does when referring to Scuttlebutt business. He seems to be the only one in town who still thinks his membership in the Scuttlebutt Society is a secret.
“Yeah, ’bout that,” Tanner says, dropping his toolbox. He bends over and pulls out a sheet of paper, then hands it to me.
“What’s this?” I ask.
Mr. Abboud leans in to take a closer look as I skim the note.
“Oh, I heard he did that. Real sweet if you ask me.” Mr. Abboud clucks his approval. “Little misguided here in Sweetbriar, but real sweet to think of ya anyway.”
“Tanner, does this say that Thane hired you to put locks on all my doors and windows?”
“Sure does, Miss Lottie. Mr. Thane was real clear that I’m not to take no for an answer. And between you and me, please don’t tell me no. Mr. Wilder was…a little terrifying on the phone, and he hired us to do a bunch of stuff at his house, so I don’t want to make him angry.”
Inner peace and kindness. Inner fucking peace and kindness. It’s my go-to meditation when I need strength, but it hasn’t been working since Thane freaking Wilder moved in next door.
“He’s not terrifying, Tanner,” I say, reaching for serenity. “He doesn’t hear tone the same way you and I do, so sometimes he just needs a little reminder.”
“Now ain’t that interesting.” Mr. Abboud hands me a stack of mail.
“What kind of reminder?” Tanner asks.
“I don’t have a clue,” I admit.
“Maybe we just need to say the word tone, like a trigger word. Marigold was reading about those in some magazine she got for the grandbaby.”
“No, I don’t?—”
“Yup, I like that idea.” Tanner opens the door to my home, letting himself in.
Maybe a new lock won’t be such a bad idea after all.
“Tanner, just hold on a minute.”
“Hey, Betty. The new kid doesn’t hear tone,” Mr. Abboud shouts to her on the sidewalk, then turns to me. “Does that mean he’s deaf?”
Oh my God. “No, Mr. Abboud, he’s not deaf.”
“Got it. So, Betty, if the new kid is soundin’ rude, you gotta say the word ‘tone,’ but you don’t gotta yell it ’cause he can hear.”
Tanner removes the doorknob from my front door and sets it on the floor.
“You hear that, Miriam?” Mrs. Carver calls over her shoulder to the rest of the Scuttlebutts, who are shuffling up my walkway.
“Why are you all here?” I ask, giving up on the doorknob, since Tanner is already attaching a new one.
“We got word from Dr. Diggle that Thane was being released at two o’clock, so we’re having a quick meeting before he gets here. Didn’t you see the group message on WhatsApp?”
No, no I did not. I have that damn thing silenced. There are over six hundred messages every single day, and I can’t keep up with that.
“Right.” I drag out the word, praying for patience. “I must have missed it. If he’s coming home, he’ll need to rest though. Do you think today is the best day for…this?”
“Rest?” Mrs. Perez laughs. “That boy called me at eight oh five in the morning to check on Hercules, and Dr. Diggle says he’s been holding meetings from his office since ten.”
“That’s good news for us—ah, I mean, you, the Scuttlebutts, then, right?” Mr. Abboud winks. “If he’s feelin’ so good, he won’t go suing us.”
“He’s not suing anyone.” I raise my voice to be heard over the group that’s already moving toward my office like a bunch of people in a three-legged race.
“But how do you know?” Mrs. Carver takes my arm and leads me inside my own building.
“I asked him. He’s not going to sue you.”
A collective sigh is released into my office, and I regret standing so close to Mr. and Mrs. Carver. At least one of them had an onion sandwich for lunch.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Mrs. Perez says, sitting down in a side chair and setting Hercules in her lap.
“Shouldn’t we discuss the fact that Johansson left Hercules here in the first place?” I ask.
Mr. Carver waves me off. “He’s long gone, and good riddance.”
Okay, that’s interesting. I knew Johansson and Mr. Carver had words over the tomato contest at the town fair, but maybe it’s deeper than that.
“At least now we can have our meetings without some nosy two-faced cheater snooping around.” Mr. Carver plops down at my desk.
I rush toward him and rearrange my papers and keyboard so he doesn’t accidentally spill something—again.
“What makes you think Thane isn’t a nosy two-faced liar?” I huff.
“Not Thane. I’m talking about Johansson.” Mr. Carver watches as I push everything out of his reach.
“And I don’t lie,” Thane’s rough voice says at my back. I stand upright and fight the chill working down my spine.
Squaring my shoulders, I face the man in question, then hiss, “Mr. Carver, you knew he was standing right there. You could have said something.”
“What he says is of no consequence.” Thane’s voice rolls down my arms, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “I’m not a liar—I’m telling you now. I withhold information only when strictly necessary, but I will never lie.”
“Tone,” Mrs. Carver shouts, causing Thane to flinch and take a step back.
“Yes, I agree, tone.” Mrs. Perez touches her chin thoughtfully.
I would really appreciate it if someone could just knock me out cold right now.
“That’s not how this works,” I say.
Ignoring me, they keep saying “tone” all around us, and even Thane is muttering it now.
“What’s going on?” Rafe asks, entering the fray.
“Lock the vault,” Mr. Abboud says too loudly for the room.
“Abort, abort. Incoming,” Mr. Carver says with his hands in the air. “Collect all evidence.”
“Mr. Carver,” I say in my best schoolteacher voice. “We were not having a meeting. There’s no evidence.”
“Right, right, of course,” Mrs. Perez says. “That would be silly. Silly old minds of ours and all.”
Mrs. Perez might be the worst actress in the history of humankind.
“Are you hiding the Scuttlebutt Society from my friend?” Thane barks. When I glance over at him, I find him looking a little worse for the wear. I’ve never seen a hair out of place, and today, it appears he’s been pulling on the end of each strand individually.
“The Scuttlebutt Society?” Rafe asks, just as Mr. Carver says, “Tone, Thane. Tone.”
“What is ‘tone’ supposed to mean?” Thane is staring directly at me, and guilt settles on my shoulders.
“Well, we had a meeting—I mean, I was delivering the mail, and they all, uh, came for coffee, you see.” Mr. Abboud walks to Thane with his hand outstretched. “I’m Leroy Abboud, you’ll see a lot of me ’cause I deliver your mail. Anyway, we were just talking about that real sad event of yesterday and how worried we were.”
“Mr. Abboud, please,” I plead, but he talks right over me as Boone walks in. My office was built for one person, and the old air conditioner in the corner can’t keep up with this many bodies.
“Thane, nice to meet you. I’m ready to walk through your property whenever you are.” Boone holds his hand out to Thane, but Thane isn’t paying attention, and the group talks as though Boone isn’t standing in the middle of the room with his hand out.
I toss him an apologetic shrug, and he lowers his arm to his side.
“Then Tanner mentioned you were real grumpy this morning, and Lottie told us ya weren’t rude, you just don’t hear tone same as us.”
Thane tugs on the collar of his white button-down.
“Oh, boy,” Rafe chuckles.
Thane turns on him and points at his face. “What? What’s going on here?”
“I’m laughing, Thane. That generally means something’s funny. I know you understand that one.” Rafe is wearing a giant grin.
“We thought a trigger word would be good for you.” Mrs. Carver is so proud of herself, she’s nearly doubled in size. “We’ve already alerted the town that if you’re behaving rudely, to kindly remind you by saying the word tone.”
“Okay.” Rafe finally wipes the smile from his face and commands everyone’s attention. “I can see the intentions here were kindhearted, and it is a wonderful idea, but it’s also problematic for a number of reasons. You can’t assign therapies such as this without understanding the underlying issues.”
“Are you some sort of head shrinker?” Mr. Carver asks.
Rafe takes it in stride. “I’m an occupational therapist.”
“And you’re here helping Thane. We heard that from that little girl next door.” Mrs. Perez nods matter-of-factly. “She answered the door when I went to pick up Hercules.”
“Kara is Thane’s little sister,” I say.
Through all of this, I don’t take my gaze off Thane. He’s watching this madness unfold as the town gossip council discusses him, but he never inserts himself into the conversation.
For some reason, that pisses me off.
“Okay, time out. We do not need to stand here talking about Thane as if he’s a science experiment. He’s a normal man, with normal thoughts, and it’s actually incredibly rude of all of us to speak about him when he’s standing right here. Perhaps I should be the one shouting tone .”
Thane’s green eyes become laser-focused…on me.
“Why did you do that?” His rich, husky voice wraps me in warmth.
“Because that’s what friends do. We stand up for one another.”
“Are we?” His lips curl at the corners, and I blink feverishly at what I’m seeing. Almost-smiling Thane is a sight to behold.
“Are we what?” I swear every head in this room zooms back and forth, watching our interaction as though we’re in the finals of the ping-pong Olympics.
“Friends.” He rumbles with the word.
“Yes, sort of. We’re…complicated.”
His smile broadens. Twice in one day might be a record, or so I’ve heard.
“Let’s get back on track, shall we?” Rafe takes control of the room. “Going around shouting ‘tone’ at Thane wouldn’t be helpful unless someone also explained why the tone was problematic. That’s why we do this kind of work in a clinic.”
“Won’t I learn faster in real-time?” Thane asks, shocking at least me, but maybe Rafe too.
“Possibly.” Rafe conveys mountains full of skepticism in that one word.
“Done. I’ve put it out to the Scuttlebutts. I instructed them to also explain their request if you look a little lost, dear,” Mrs. Carver says. “We’ll get you squared away in no time.”
“Betty,” Mr. Carver complains. “Scuttlebutts is s’posed to be a secret society. This man…” He points to Rafe.
“His name is Rafe, Mr. Carver,” I say. Maybe they need a trigger word too.
“Rafe isn’t a resident, and y’all always go flapping your gums.” Mr. Carver’s pout would make a toddler proud.
“I’m a temporary resident, and your secret is safe with me, but it’s very important to understand that Thane doesn’t require fixing. There’s nothing to get squared away, so to speak, he simply needs accommodations to access the world as others do.” Rafe is a smooth talker, that’s for sure, but he gets his point across effectively. His effortlessly styled blond hair and blue eyes give him a surfer vibe, but the sweater-vest ruins it.
“Secret’s safe like patient confidentiality safe?” Mr. Carver asks in challenge, completely ignoring the most important thing Rafe said. His big white bushy eyebrows pitch low and tangle with his lashes as he waits for an answer.
“Well, you’re not my patient, but yes, I am a vault of information. You can trust me.”
“Mm-hmm.” Mr. Carver is obviously still not on board, but he doesn’t say anything else.
“Thane.” I’ve got to reason with him. I know how quickly this can get out of control. “Have you thought about this?”
“I always think about everything.”
“Lottie has a point,” Rafe says quietly, stepping closer to us. “You still get a little…overwhelmed by too many people. What if you go to the grocery store and six different people start asking you about tone? Will you be able to handle that?”
“Yes.” Thane is so confident in everything he does. “I don’t go to the grocery store. Everything gets delivered to me.”
“Oh, sorry about that,” Mrs. Perez interrupts. “Bobby, he’s our grocer and delivery man, he’s out with a hernia—won’t be back for about two months.”
“I’ll find another?—”
“Not one that’ll come to Sweetbriar,” Mr. Abboud says with a cluck of his tongue. “Even that Zon place makes the postal workers deliver out here. You wouldn’t want your eggs gettin’ tossed on the porch.” He leans in and wraps his hands around his lips as though he’s telling a secret. “Package delivery is done by a part-timer, and Old Cougar doesn’t have the same pride in his job that he used to. Damn shame, that one.”
“It’s hot in here.” Thane says, glancing around my office. “Where’s your central air?”
“This building is old—it doesn’t have central air,” I say. “There’s a window unit over by the back window.”
“That’s archaic.” He’s glaring at my air conditioner as if it’ll respond.
“Tone,” Mrs. Carver says gently.
“Tone,” Mrs. Perez says at the same time.
“Tone.” Mr. Abboud shouts the word, and it makes me wonder if his hearing is going.
“Mr. Abboud, he isn’t deaf, remember?” I whisper.
“Oh, right.” Mr. Abboud’s cheeks darken, and his shoulders rise in an impish shrug.
“I’ve got to get down to the library.” Mrs. Perez stands with Hercules in her arms and crosses the room to Thane. “I am truly sorry,” she says, patting his arm. He watches the point of contact as though it disgusts him, and she removes her hand.
“Do you have peanut oil on your hands?” he asks.
“What?” she gasps. “No, of course not. We all used hand sanitizer before getting out of the car.”
He nods and drops his gaze to Hercules. Mrs. Perez tries to hand the dog to Thane, but he keeps his hands in his pockets, so she simply places the puppy on the floor.
The screaming starts before the paws even hit the tile.
“For fuck’s sake,” Thane grumbles, then leans down and picks up Hercules. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this thing? I can’t carry her around for the rest of my life.”
“Just put her in her crate,” Mrs. Carver says while gathering her purse.
“I did, she honks and screams.” Thane’s frustration is bleeding into his words.
“Did you put a blanket over the top of the crate?” Mrs. Perez asks.
By Thane’s blank expression, the answer is no.
“Put a blanket over her crate and she’ll think it’s time to sleep.” Mrs. Perez stares at him as though he’s a small child about to climb the big slide. “This type of dog sleeps a lot.”
“Why don’t you just take her?” Thane’s protests make no impact on Mrs. Perez.
“Can’t have animals in my apartment. I got a one-time exception after nearly killing you and all.” She opens the front door, and all the Scuttlebutts exit my office, taking their whirling vortex of chaos with them.
“Well, you definitely dove headfirst here.” Rafe chuckles.
“Headfirst? He just threw himself to the sharks.” I flop into my desk chair. Somehow Mr. Carver still managed to mess with everything on my desk, and I thought I was keeping an eye on him.
“I’m tired,” Thane announces. “Boone, let’s go. And make sure the HVAC people head over here when they’re done at my house.”
“What? No, you can’t…”
I don’t even finish because he’s already striding away. Boone shrugs and walks out behind him.
“We’ll work on boundaries.” Rafe’s gaze follows Thane out the door. “He’s a fixer. He sees a problem, and he solves it. It’s all he’s ever known, so I know it’s not a fair ask, but please, just give him some time.”
I’m nodding as he exits and shuts the door behind himself.
When I’m finally alone in my office, I’m suddenly acutely aware that I’m going to be giving Thane a whole lot of my time. And not the billable kind either.
Turning on my computer, I pull up the file I have on him.
Ninety-nine point seven percent.
He’s a near-perfect match…for me.