Page 16 of Late Nights & Love Lines
Sebastian laughs, and it warms all the dark corners of my soul.
“It’s not funny,” I grumble. “Black cats are bad luck. I can’t be inviting more of it into my life.” Even as I say it, I scratch the little jerk behind the ears, and he purrs. I swear he’s gloating.
“Why the hotline?”
“Variety’s the spice of life.” Little white lies like this were the first survival skill I learned. It’s also why I keep my promises when I make them—if I can’t keep it, I won’t make it.
He nods and holds out a bottle of beer in my direction. My hand is halfway to his before I pull back, hesitant to drink. Am I technically on the job right now?
“You’re not on the clock twenty-four-seven,” he confirms. “I figured we could both use one. I did speak to my grandfather, you know.”
I nod. “Me too.”
“He swears it’s all some cosmic twist of fate or something.”
A very unladylike snorts escapes, and I’m glad I hadn’t taken a drink yet. “I had no idea that nannies were fated.”
His lips twitch, and he doesn’t break eye contact, but it’s not as unnerving as it should be. There’s familiarity in the way he stares at me that stirs up long-forgotten dreams. When he raises a brow in silent question, I blink multiple times, forcing those old dreams back under the rug where they belong.
“That old man’s been telling me about you for over twenty years, but in my head, you were still the saddest little girl I’d ever met. It’s…” He takes a long pull from his beer, never releases me from his searing gaze. “It’s disorienting.”
I use fake laughter and stare out over the dunes to break the visual connection that tells me he sees too much—he always did.
“I haven’t been that little girl in a very long time.”
“No.” The low, gravelly nature of his tone has me peering up through my lashes. His gaze bores into my soul as if he can not only see all my broken pieces, but feels them as viscerally as I do. “You’re not.”
His hand cuts through the night, coming at me in slow motion. “You’ve got…” His palm cups my face, and I hope to God that mewling sound came from Lucky and not me. His thumb brushes across my cheekbone three times, back and forth, before pulling away.
Holding up his thumb for me to inspect, he says, “Sorry, you had an eyelash.”
I grab his wrist before he can pull away, and his pupils dilate. “Ah, I have to make a wish. It’s good luck.”
He swallows roughly, then nods as I lean forward until my lips are almost to his thumb. Allowing my lashes to flutter closed, I blow.
A wish never even entered my mind.
Heat gathers and swirls in my belly when I open my eyes. “Good luck,” I repeat. His stare is hazy and unfocused as he licks his lips.
Good lord, what were we talking about? “Um, I’m pretty sure I’ve heard as much about you as you have of me.” We need to steer back to a safe topic, and Pappy is as safe as they come. I take a quick sip of beer, hoping the effects of alcohol will settle whatever inappropriateness this man is pulling from me.
Sebastian’s only being friendly, I remind myself. It’s because I’m doing him a favor. The thought helps fuse those frayed edges back in place.
He leans back as though my words surprise him.
“What? You didn’t think Pappy’s storytelling was one-sided, did you?” A genuine smile pulls at my lips—my confidence returning with some space between us.
“No, we were friends once, so it makes sense.”
Friends. There’s that word again.
“I was just…remembering something Pappy said.” He stares too intently at me, and my cheeks flush hot. “You only talk to him a few times a year because you hate talking on the phone, but you’re a hotline helper by trade. You literally make a living on the phone.”
I don’t miss how his gaze follows my skin when I stretch my legs out in front of me. My denim cutoff shorts that I love now expose too much. “Do you always say what’s on your mind?”
Seb nods. “And I always say what I mean.”
“Huh. You’re a novelty then.” Lucky flops off my lap and takes his sweet-ass time crossing the porch to jump into a chair.
