Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“We’ve known each other five minutes. It’s completely understandable why you might not want strangers to know.”
I’ve told her more than most, and I want to tell her more. What is it about this woman?
“Thank you for understanding. But I’m still sorry that it hurt you.”
We stand, looking at each other from our respective porches.
And then the cat jumps onto the porch railings in front of her, ruining the moment. Again.
Fucking cat.
“Looks like you got the pet you always wanted,” I say.
She laughs, stroking the cat along its back. “It’s like she’s adopted me. I have a day off on Saturday. If she’s still around, I’ll take her into town and see if anyone’s missing a cat.”
“There’s a vet practice on Main Street. You can see if she’s microchipped.”
“Good idea,” she says.
“I’m full of them,” I say.
“I’m going to go to bed now before…” She pulls in a breath. “Before… before things get complicated.”
She turns and leaves, and I have to use all my willpower not to ask her to stay.
TWELVE
Rosey
I take my morning coffee to the porch, breathing in the crisp Colorado air. I need to pick up some more clothes today, and I also need to take the cat into the vet. I’d walk if it was just me, but given my new feline friend, I’ve ordered a cab.
I glance over at Byron’s cabin. I haven’t seen him since our conversation on the steps. His truck is gone by the time I wake up in the morning, and I’m in bed every night when I hear him pull up. It doesn’t mean I’ve done anything but think about him every moment since. More than once I’ve managed to convince myself that the connection we seem to share is worth pursuing. Then I remember he’s my boss, the owner of the Colorado Club—and I remember why I need to keep away from him. It’s a frustrating cycle of hope and disappointment.
I need to shake it off. Reboot. Move forward.
I need to get on with my day off. I have a cat to take care of. Part of me is hoping the vet will have details about an owner missing this kitty. Next week, I’ll be moving into staff housing, where pets are strictly prohibited. Another part of me hopes I get to keep her for a few more days.
“Come on. You need to get into your pet carrier so I can take you to the vet,” I say, like she can really understand me. “Please, Fluffball.” I’ve been trying out different names. She certainly looks like a fluffball. But I’m not sure the name suits her. She’s more Athena than Titania.
She looks at me and then sits down exactly where she is and begins to lick her front paw. It’s like she’s telling me to fuck all the way off. I can’t blame her. I’m asking her to step into a plastic prison. She has no idea whether she’ll ever get out. Why would she willingly do that? I’ll figure it out once I’ve had my coffee.
A couple of sips into my drink, Fluffball/Snowy/Athena stops licking, looks at me, and saunters off in the direction of the cat carrier. I’m half expecting her to strike a match and burn the thing to the ground, but instead, she sniffs around the entrance and then heads inside, curling up into a ball as if it’s her favorite place in the world.
If only every part of my life was that easy.
As if the universe wants to make sure I understand that is absolutely not an option, my phone vibrates with a text. A sense of dread shivers down my spine—a response that’s starting to feel remarkably familiar whenever an alert arrives.
I’m going to take my wins while I can still get them, so I set down my coffee and lean forward to close the door on the cat carrier. “I’m going to take you into town to see if we can find your owner, Athena.” Maybe that name will stick. She certainly has the attitude of a Greek goddess of war. When I take her to the vet, she’ll probably be registered as Fluffy Bumpkins. And if she is, that’s probably why she ran away from home in the first place.
The cab pulls up, so I abandon my coffee and head into town.
In a couple minutes, we’re pulling up in front of the vet. I recognize the woman behind the reception desk. She was the person who came into Snail Trail when I was there on my first morning in Star Falls—the woman with red hair who was being taken advantage of. Donna, I think. I explain that I’ve made an appointment to see if the cat is microchipped.
“No problem,” she says. “I can help you with that.” She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re not from around here, are you? But I’ve seen you before.”