Hot Mess - Elise Faber Page 0,1
stomach as she mentally went back over what the man had said.
His brown eyes filled with clarity as he glanced from his shirt to the woman’s. “I get it now,” he murmured, stepping back to clear the way.
“Can I help you load them?” Shannon asked the delivery driver.
A flash of white teeth from the woman. “Thanks, but no. It’s against company policy,” she said. “I’ll get out of the way as quickly as possible.”
“Oh, no. That’s ok—” Shannon began.
But the girl had already picked up two of the boxes and was disappearing down the stairs and along the path that led to the road.
Leaving Shannon alone with the handsome man in the copycat tan shirt.
“I’m Thomas Franklin,” he said, when she turned her gaze back to him, extending his hand. “The real estate agent.”
The throb in her head intensified. “Real estate agent?” she asked. “For what?”
More confusion in those brown eyes, but he answered her question.
“The one who was hired to sell this place.”
Two
Not What It Seemed
“What?” she exclaimed.
“I’m Thomas—”
“I heard that part.” She inhaled deeply, tried to find that patience, the one she managed to hold on to, even when her students were being extra ornery. “Circle back again to why you’re here?”
He opened the file in his hands. “I’m here to sell the property owned by Brian Torres.”
“Fucking Brian,” she muttered, rubbing the spot between her eyebrows with two fingers. “What the hell have you done now?”
Brown brows pulled together. “Are you all—?”
The delivery driver came back around the corner, interrupting his question as she hefted another two boxes then disappeared again.
“A hand truck would probably have been easier,” Thomas said, his eyes following the woman. “Though, it probably wouldn’t make it through the sand . . .” He trailed off, and Shannon’s gaze went to the spot he was looking at, tracing the sand that spanned the space between the bottom deck step and the concrete path that circled the house, leading to the street side of the property.
Where Brian’s boxes were slowly disappearing.
“Hmm,” Thomas muttered. “The pictures online showed that path looking nicer.” He made a note on his pad, murmuring as he wrote, “Need potted plants for better curb appeal. Boring exterior.”
“Hey!” she snapped.
He glanced up. “What?”
She glared. Her house was a cute little beachfront bungalow. A prime location in a sought-after small town with good schools, safe streets, and a gorgeous stretch of beach.
It was not boring.
“Should we—?” He gestured inside, and she debated with herself, wanting to get to the bottom of this, while also not wanting this Thomas inside her house. He made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
This whole situation stank to high heaven.
Because Brian’s name was attached.
Shit. It was better she find out exactly what was going on now.
A nod. “Let’s go inside.”
She spun and walked through the front door, leaving him to trail her into the kitchen. White cabinets and countertops, silver handles and appliances, a pop of ocean blue accessories. A pair of matching barstools tucked into the island, atop which sat a bowl of fruit, a princess-themed lunchbox, and a roll of tape. Aside from the lunch pail and the tape, it looked impeccable. Perfect.
Just like she always strived for.
“How long have you rented here?” Thomas asked.
Her eyes flew to his, widening, fury making her words clipped and short. “Rented?” she snapped. “Rented?”
“Um—”
“I don’t rent this place. I own it. With. My. Husband.” She sucked in a breath, released it slowly. “My soon-to-be ex-husband.”
His gaze dropped to the papers in his hands. “What’s your name?”
“Shannon Torres,” she gritted.
He flipped through his file again. “I don’t see any Shannon Torres on the paperwork—”
Shit.
Shit.
Because . . . shit.
She’d asked Brian for one thing. One thing. And was he really trying to sell the house out from beneath her?
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad—”
The front door burst open.
“Mom!” Rylie said, running in and throwing her arms around her. She had a pink hat covering her long brown hair, the ends tipped with pink because she wanted to look like her favorite YouTuber, pink sunglasses over her eyes, but her feet were bare, and she was wearing a bright pink swimsuit that matched the pink in her hair. Exactly matched. Thanks to copious hours of online perusing. “You have to see the sandcastle Pepper and I built. It’s the best one ever!”
“Okay, Ry,” she said, straightening her little girl’s hat. “I’ll be right out. Can you just find Pep—”
“Shan!” Pepper said breathlessly as she came