“Henry Miller?” he asks, moving out of my way so I can step through his doorway. “You named him after the writer?”
He knows Henry Miller? Be still my heart.“My father’s favorite author.” And since my father is my favorite person, it makes sense—to me, anyway.
“Cool name.” He follows me into the kitchen. “What’syourname?”
He wants to know my name? Hooray! “Colette.”
“French.”
This man… “Yep. It is. It means people of victory.”
“Hm.”
“And you’re Sam.”
“Yes.” He looks at me with curiosity. “How…?”
“I got your mail one day.”
“Ah, I see.”
Reaching out, I wrap my hands around Henry Miller and pull him in. “Well, sorry about this.” I nod toward the most wonderful cat in the entire world. “He usually stays close to home.”
Sam chuckles, and it’s a wonderful, rich sound. “I’d say thisisclose to home. You can’t get much closer than us.”
Oh, yes, we can.
“True.” I’m running out of witty things to say. “Sorry again.” I walk toward the door and out onto his deck. “See you.”
“Hope so,” the man says with a wonderful huskiness to his voice, and my body feels like it’s on fire again.
He hopes so?
Holy crap!
Chapter Three
Cheap Wine
I practically sprint home. The second my feet hit the grassy turf, I’m off like a shot. I have to get to my place so I can have the meltdown I so rightly deserve. The second I’m inside the screen door, I drop Henry onto the chair next to my desk, grab the bottle of wine, and take a big ol’ swig right out of the bottle. No big deal. Next, I bend over and curse myself for taking a big ol’ swig of wine, because it was cheap and it was Chardonnay, and cheap Chardonnay burns like a bitch going down. I assume expensive Chard goes down smooth as silk, but I don’t know. I’ve never had anything that costs more than $7.99 a bottle.
Once that stuff finally goes down, I start the pacing, back and forth from my little galley kitchen to my office nook, all the while talking to myself—erm, I mean to Henry. “OMG. I can’t believe that just happened. And look what I’m wearing!” I practically shout that last part. “And… Henry Miller—” I stop for a second to make eye contact with my feline … or try to make eye contact. Not easy to do with a species that’ll do just about anything to avoid any type of human contact unlesstheywant it. No matter. “—I can’t believe you just pranced your fancy ass over to his place.” Pacing begins anew. “And my God…” I’m not sure how to finish the sentence except to say, “He was hotter close up by far, Henry. So. Damn. Hot. The things I could do to that man…”
Oh, who am I kidding? A guy who looks like that isn’t going to go for a t-shirt licking woman whose body could best be described as fluffy.
But I digress.
Ialwaysdigress.
My mom says my ability to get off track is “quirky” and “endearing.” I’m not so sure.
Halting my pacing, I rub my face with both hands. Today has been eventful, that’s for sure. And a tad stressful. From the corner of my eye, I see the wine. I’ve got a decision to make. I could either finish that wine, make dinner—which after everything that just happened will be frozen pizza, because comfort food—or I could finish the manuscript I was working on earlier. Turning my head, I spot my office.
Okay. The term “office” is overstating. Let me rephrase. I look over at my laptop and sigh. I can eat pizza while I work. Work wins—thistime.
Chapter Four
Geriatric Relatives
