Sleeping with the Enemy (An Enemies to Lovers Collection)

The barn is pretty quiet since I’m earlier than normal. I can hear everyone slowly waking up and moving around as I whip up their breakfast in the small room where I keep all the feed. A high pitched meow suddenly startles me, and I nearly spill the whole bucket of oats.

“Oh my god, Boots!” I put my hand to my chest as the grey and white cat twines itself around my legs, rubbing furiously. “You’re up early.”

He meows at me again. There’s a piece of hay stuck on his back, so I pick it off and drop it onto the floor. “Sleeping in the hay again?”

In response, he just meows loudly at me while staring at the food.

“Okay, okay. I’ll get yours ready now.” I switch from the oats to a can of cat food. I open it, pour it into a bowl, and set it down. Boots attacks it eagerly. He eats with the same enthusiasm every single morning and night, even though I have solid food left out for him in several different spots.

“What about mine?” a voice suddenly sounds out of nowhere.

“Arghghghh!” I whirl and slap a hand over my chest as my heart threatens to leap clear out of it. “Finn! Oh my fuzzy bananas. You scared the heck out of me.”

Boots continues eating, and clearly, he doesn’t mind my high pitched freaking out right in front of him. Finn’s wearing a fresh set of jeans and a dark, long-sleeved shirt since it’s cooler outside early in the morning. His hair is still tousled, and there’s a small little crusty of sleep in the corner of his left eye. It should not be hot, but it is. It really is.

“I had…feeding to do.”

“An hour early?”

“Yeah. Thought I’d get a head start.”

“You don’t deviate from their routine.”

“I was going to mix it up and find something else to do for an hour.”

“Well, then. I can think of something to do for an hour.” He steps forward and drops his arms around my waist. When he goes in for a kiss, I wrench away, my heart pounding crazily, all the way up into my throat. Finn steps back, his brow creasing as concern flashes in his eyes. “Sorry. I just thought—”

“Yeah, I know.” I grab a bucket of oats and thrust it in between us. “I—I think we…we should talk. About. Things.”

“Things?”

“Yeah, things. You know, stuff.”

“Stuff? Anyway, I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Finn’s voice is so tender that I can barely stand it.

My mouth works as uselessly as my brain. I know I should come up with the perfect thing to reassure both of us, but I have no idea what to say. I’m not even sure what we’re doing because last night, we took things from a theory to a full-on experiment. I’d like to say it was successful, but it doesn’t mean this is going to work. I’m not naïve enough to think people just fall into relationships, and everything is just hunky monkey dory, especially when those people come from totally different worlds. Like, literally. New York seems like another planet, and Finn comes from money. I have a farm because of the generosity of Great Aunt May and my parents, as well as all my supporters out there who donate money every single month for the animal’s care. I have somewhere around a thousand dollars in my bank account at any given time while Finn is used to having a few more zeros in his, I’m certain.

I keep trying to get the old brainpower going, but there’s a whole lot of nothing happening in the cranium or wherever thoughts come from. I’m literally saved by a bark as Little Missy comes running full steam through the barn and into the feed room. He barks eagerly at me, wagging his tail so furiously that it could power a household with all the wind energy it’s producing. He greets me with a big doggy smile, then turns to Finn. I can immediately tell what his intentions are, so I quickly grab onto his collar.

“He was going for my leg, wasn’t he?” Finn asks dryly.

“That’s just his way of saying hello.”

“He doesn’t do it to you,” Finn points out as he warily eyes Little Missy.

“No. Probably because I’m not new enough in his world to warrant such enthusiasm.”

“Did he ever then?”

“Umm, no. I guess he didn’t.” I grab a can of dog food down from the shelf, pull the lid open, and pour it into a bowl. Little Missy seems confused for a few seconds, but then his big tail starts swishing frantically again. “I know, I know. I’m early. Don’t get used to it.”

With a bark, the huge, fluffy white dog eagerly dives into his food bowl. He never gets fed in here, so I know I’m starting a bad trend.