And I think I’ll name his abs Commitment and Discipline.
And…I’ll stop after I name his pecs?—
Oof.
There’s a paw on my face. “Cleo,” I mutter, waving my free hand to get the sleek creature off me, but when I yank the glasses away from my eyes, the feline’s lunging across my face, her murderous paw aimed at a…bug in the screen. I roll away to get out of her line of fire?—
And squawk out a wrenching, “Ahhh,” as I topple to the ground and land on my…chin.
I’m moaning in pain, and groaning in misery as the ache lances through my freaking face.
How do you land on your chin, you might ask? By being the new breed of dodo bird who squawks as she tumbles.
“Everything okay?”
I cringe.
That’s Ford. Can he see me all the way from his porch across my yard and down to the ground?Dear goddess of the universe, please let the earth swallow me whole.
The voice grows louder. “Skylar? Is that you?”
I glance around. Pretty sure I can’t hide in the catio. I pull myself up, opera glasses in hand, and wave from inside the catio, figuring honesty is the best policy. “Sometimes I like to watch birds from the catio.”
From across the fenced-in yard, he’s standing on the edge of his porch, his handsome brow furrowing, clearly weighing my answer. Then, I swear I see his dimple flashing as he says, “That tracks.”
I open the catio door—it has one, in case a human needs to, well, enter the catio like a civilized adult—and stroll casually across the yard in my fuzzy socks, like my chin isn’t aching and there’s nothing to see here.
Nothing at all.
I pad up onto my porch, offering a faint smile to Ford and Focus, Dedication, Commitment, and Discipline, then go inside.
Where the chirp is still chirping. “What the hell?”
I retrace my steps to the mudroom, look at the ceiling, and groan. The smoke detector’s battery is low.
I’ve been bird-watching a battery.
Mabel studies my face as I sort through vintage doorknobs at one of my favorite shops later that day. “I hate to ask the obvious, but what happened to your chin?”
My chin still smarts, and I deserve it. I sigh as I look up from the options for replacements for the ones missing at Sofia’s law firm in the Presidio. I set up all the retro lamps in her office a few days ago—she picked Tiffany-style ones, which delighted me.
“I had a battle with a smoke detector.”
Mabel hums, then nods. “Sounds about right.”
“Ford said the same thing.”
“Sexy Reno Guy?” she asks.
I sigh, feeling foolish still. “Yep.”
“What’s going on?”
He’s sarcastic and interesting, thoughtful and curious, and stern in a way I shouldn’t like but do. Plus, he adores animals and seems to intrinsically get me. “I spied on him. Again,” I admit, then tell her everything.
“I don’t know whether to high-five you or warn you about getting caught.”
“Maybe both,” I say heavily.
