It’s fucking adorable.
Her cat wriggles from her arms, demanding to be put down. Emmeline releases him, staying crouched down as she watches our pets get acquainted. “Mr. Whiskers, this is going to be your new roommate.” She tilts her head back, catching my eye, giving the dog a scratch under his chin. “What’s his name?”
“Baskins.”
“Well, Baskins, I must say, you are much more polite than your owner.” She stands, crossing her arms over her chest and gives me a cold stare. “I’m sure Baskins would have said goodbye in person and not left a note.”
Fuck.
What do I say? Words bubble in my mind—I wanted to stay with you—but they don’t make it to my mouth. “Emmeline, I had work to do.” Stay detached. Stay cool. Don’t let your ridiculous romantic notions fuck with your head.
“On a Sunday, huh? I guess those shoes don’t make themselves.” She leaves me by the front door, wandering through the apartment. She sighs. “I do thank you for your generosity. It helped.” Still, she doesn’t meet my eyes. “So you really don’t mind keeping Mr. Whiskers here for a few months? I don’t want to put you out, but Lexi’s allergic to cats, and I’m moving in with her this afternoon.”
Move in here, we’ll be a happy family, me and you and Baskins and Mr. Whiskers. I clear my throat. “Yes, it’s no problem. I mean, if it’s still fine with you. I gather you’re just as surprised to see me as I am to see you.”
“Surprised? Yes. Pleasantly surprised? No.”
Ouch. That’s cold. “Look, Emmeline, I’m sorry. I—” There’s a knock on the door.
She waltzes by me to get it. “That’s the bell boy. He said he’d bring up the litter box and all of Mr. Whiskers stuff for me so I could carry him in.” Her hand hovers on the handle of the door. Before she opens it, she whispers, “And you don’t have to be sorry. I know it was a one-time thing.”
Her voice is so tiny, so sad, the sound of it makes my heart tear in two. No, babygirl, I didn’t want it to be a one-time thing. Still, she’s better off without me.
Better to hurt her less now, than hurt her for real later, if we were to get involved. I always fuck things up with relationships. But I like her too much to risk doing it with her.
The cart rolls in laden with boxes and paraphernalia. This cat’s got as much gear as my brother’s freaking baby. A litter box that looks like a spaceship, more litter, a massive bag of food, three kinds of treats. A self-watering and self-feeding station, a scratching post, and about twenty cat toys. I eye Mr. Whiskers’ round, voluminous body—that cat isn’t playing with toys.
Emmeline goes to setting all his stuff up. She doesn’t ask me where to put things, or double check I’m okay with what she’s doing. She just walks around like she owns the place, opening cupboards and stashing her cat’s food with Baskin’s, finding a corner for the basket of toys and the scratching post.
She’s bold, nearly fearless, as if daring me to stop her.
If any other girl tried to pull this off, I’d kick her ass out, but when Emmeline does it…damn, I find myself wondering what she’d look like in that kitchen with me. In my bed. With my wedding ring on the fourth finger of her left hand.
With her here, this place suddenly feels like home, even though she’s mad as hell.
I want to push her up against that counter and fuck her, right here, right now, so that she knows she’s mine.
I lost that privilege, though.
“What time do you have to be back by? Do you need help moving?” What the hell is wrong with me? I never offer to help people move, ever.
She closes a cupboard door, throwing a hand on her hip and levels her gaze at me. “Really?”
I stand from the sofa, crossing the room to her. I lean my shoulder on the cabinet door and cross my arms over my chest. “Yes, really.”
Her nose scrunches up. “You stink and you’re all sweaty.”
“See—I’m already in the perfect condition to help you move. I haven’t even showered yet.”
She eyes me up and down, her gaze hovering a beat over my biceps. “Fine. I could use the muscle power.”
What am I doing?
What the fuck am I doing? “Great. I’ll call my driver.”
“Thanks. Between your car and mine we should be able to make it all in one trip. I don’t have that much stuff.”
I call for my driver, watching her as she gives goodbye snuggles to her cat. She releases him, and he pads away, joining Baskins on the opposite end of the couch. “They seem to be getting along.”
She stands with her hands on her hips, looking them over. “Yeah. That was quick, wasn’t it?”