His Temporary Assistant

PMS.

Luckily, I didn’t have enough bars to send to anyone because I wasn’t sure which one would win.

I took a few more photos because it was gorgeous and my phone was out anyway, and then I shoved it back in my pocket and found a flat rock to settle on.

Maybe Sylvia and Roz would enjoy some outdoor activity. Would Roz get Sylvia a cat pouch like Preston had for Smoky? Assuming he ever used it.

Hmm, could I bribe him through sensual means to wear the Pussy Papa pouch?

Not relevant now, Moon.

Moving on. Sylvia was a fox, but maybe she’d enjoy an adventure.

Maybe Smoky would too.

Ugh. Stop thinking about him. You have drawings you need to revise for Penn.

I flipped to a fresh page and began sketching out the usual windowsill that Sylvia sat at and surveyed her kingdom. Roz lived in an apartment building overlooking a street much like the bustling business district of Kensington Square. The fox often lusted after the baked goods of The Honey Pot. Of course if my comic ever did go out there in the world, I’d have to rename the bakery.

As I did quick little studies of Sylvia to get the poses down, I found myself sketching the gray cat again. The nebulous

idea that kept knocking at my subconscious this last week suddenly had three legs.

I slammed my sketch book closed.

That wasn’t in the plan. The comic was about Roz and Sylvia. I shoved my pencils into my bag and got up.

My rumbling stomach saved me from any more introspection. Instead, I headed back to the campsite, the scent of hamburgers pushing thoughts of Preston and Smoky to the back of my mind.

Music was playing. It was always playing when it came to my mother. She was singing along to CCR in her off-key way as she flipped corn, still in the skins, on the mini portable grill.

“Oh, there you are. Just in time. Go wash up, and we’ll have some food and chat. You can help me with some of the skeins I need to make up for tomorrow.”

I didn’t really want to chat, but it was the price of food. Well, I’d paid for the food too, but that was neither here nor there when it came to Rainbow.

“Oh, grab your cards too,” she called out. “I met this guy online. We’re supposed to meet up tomorrow at the festival.”

“Of course you are,” I muttered to myself.

But at least doing a reading for my mother would help get a certain lawyer off the topic of conversation.

I stepped up into the Airstream. My mother had transformed the couch into a bed and set out my PJs for later like I was still eight years old. The sweetness of it got me—enough that I had to sit down for a second. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done something for me. Even before I’d broken off from my mom, I’d had to learn how to be self-sufficient because she hadn’t been around much when she was involved with one of her guys.

I pulled my phone out to put on the makeshift charger station she had on a small shelf. Just as I was about to plug it in, it rang in my hand. There were barely two bars, and I didn’t recognize the number. But something told me to pick up.

At least the cell service at the camping area was better than by the water.

“Hello?”

“Is this Ryan Moon?”

“Yes…” He sounded familiar.

“I’m the vet over at Kitten Around. Grant Thorne?”

The more he spoke, the more his Irish accent flowed over the line. I could feel the tension in his voice.

“Right, from the park. With Poppy.”