“I want to matter,” I said. “Not my face or my character or my brand. Me. I want to do work that means something, that challenges me, that makes me feel like I’m using all the parts of my brain instead of just the ones that remember dialogue.” I swallowed hard. “And I want someone to see me. Really see me. Not Dr. Brock Blaze, not the tabloid version of Samuel Bennett. Just... me.”
Farley reached across the space between us and found my hand in the darkness.
“I see you,” he said simply.
My heart clenched. “Farley—”
“I know. Friends. Time. I’m not trying to start anything.” His thumb traced circles on my palm. “Sam, I’m just telling you the truth. I see you, Samuel, I promise.”
I didn’t know what to say. So I just held his hand, and he held mine, and we lay there in the dark while the storm raged on.
At some point, I must have drifted off, because the next thing I knew, there was a weight on my chest.
I opened my eyes to find Purrsephone settling herself directly between us, her fluffy body wedged into the narrow space with the determination of a cat who had decided this was her bed now.
“Excuse me,” I mumbled.
She ignored me, turning in three tight circles before curling into a ball.
“Purrsephone,” Farley murmured sleepily from beside me. “She’s apparently decided you’re part of the arrangement now.”
“I’m flattered.”
“She kicks.”
“What?”
As if on cue, Purrsephone stretched out her back legs and pushed against my ribs, somehow taking up twice as much space as her body should physically allow.
“Ow,” I said.
“Told you.”
I tried to shift her gently to one side. She responded by stretching even longer, somehow now touching both me and Farley while maintaining her position in the exact center of the bed.
“This can’t be comfortable for her,” I said.
“She’s a cat. She’s comfortable anywhere she decides to be. It’s us who have to adapt.”
Purrsephone purred smugly, as if confirming this assessment.
I tried to roll onto my side to give her more room. Her paw immediately shot out and caught me on the chin.
“Did she just slap me?”
“She’s correcting your position. You’re not supposed to move without permission.”
“She’s a ten-pound cat.”
“She’s a ten-pound cat with strong opinions.” Farley sounded amused.
I lay very still, trying not to disturb her majesty, and stared at the ceiling. “I think she’s doing this on purpose.”
“Doing what?”
“Chaperoning. Making sure we keep our distance.” I turned my head to look at Farley, who was watching me with sleepy amusement. “She’s literally positioned herself as a barrier between us.”
“She’s a matchmaker, not a chastity guardian.”
