Oh no.
No, no… Fate once again said, ‘Hold my beer’ – and signed up for AA with this one. She had her limits, and Fate just trashed them all with one text message.
Sheesh.
Nettie cursed aloud, did a double-take to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, before ogling the photo and zooming in – for posterity’s sake, of course.
A gray tabby kitten—tiny, no bigger than her palm—stood on his chest like a conquering hero. Its back was arched, tail puffed, mouth open in what looked like a ferocious hiss. Ferocious… except it was about the size of a coffee mug. It was the most aggressively adorable thing she had ever seen, with bright blue eyes that nearly swallowed his sweet little face.
And Tate?
The man who was all broad shoulders and sharp edges, who carried himself like the world rested heavily on his back? He was smiling. Really smiling. Not the grumpy, measured glare he gave strangers. Not the half-smirk that he rarely used to show a lesser amusement to something mildly tolerable. A full, unguarded, crinkle-at-the-corners-of-his-eyes smile.
She pressed her hand to her chest, as if that could keep her heart from ricocheting out of her ribcage.
This wasn’t fair.
This was catastrophic.
Nearly bordering on obscene at how appealing that singular photo was.
Nettie stared at her phone like it was both a gift and a curse, the kind of thing that ought to come wrapped in caution tape. Because how was she ever supposed to recover from that? Every other picture, every other smile, every other being on the planet had just been demoted. Permanently.
Her pulse skittered. Her palms actually tingled. She set her phone down gingerly on the counter like it might combust in her hands. Then—against all logic—she snatched it back up again, because what if he saw she’d read it and didn’t answer? What if she was hallucinating?
Nope. It was there. Still there. In all its beautiful, arrogant, maddening glory. Her brain spun wildly, ping-ponging between panic and giddy hysteria. How did a sane woman respond to…that?
What could she possibly say?
If she sent him a selfie right now, she would have cartoon hearts for eyes, no question. There was no hiding it. None. She’d look like she’d just won the lottery and was proposing marriage to her phone screen.
Her phone buzzed again in her hand, a sharp vibration that shot through her like a live wire. Another message.
His name is Mulligan.
Her throat went dry. It was a weirdly sweet, too-big-for-the-small-guy’s name, but somehow fit him to a ‘T’. Tate had actually sent her a picture of his kitten—and now he was casually throwing in a name?
What’s next?
“Play it cool, Nettie,” she whispered to herself, saying it out loud as if the words might anchor her to sanity. “Just… play it cool.”
Her thumbs hovered. Finally, she typed:
Mulligan is adorable. Thank you for sharing.
Yep. That was safe.
Normal.
Totally not screamingYou drive me crazy!– orI don’t want to like you again!
And then—nothing.
Silence.
Nettie sat frozen, unsure what else to say or do because things felt weirdly strained. He texted like he said he would. She replied. They were polite. And now—zilch. The sudden gap was deafening.
She huffed out a breath, putting her phone back on the counter with a little more force than necessary, and tried to refocus on the pan she’d been scrubbing. Bubbles clung to her wrists, the hot water steaming faintly in the sink, but she couldn’t get that image out of her head.
