She’s right. We don’t need to get carried away, not when dinner smells so damn good.
Odette ushers me away, and I head into the living room.
It’s a small space, but it’s nice. Far more modern than what I have, that’s for sure.
The walls are light gray instead of my deep tan ones. The furniture is crisp and new versus my dated styles, which stopped being cool when my parents were born. And unlike mine, there isn’t a single scratch along the dark hardwood floor.
It’s everything I wish I had the time to make my house. We’re three weeks out from the wedding and the barn might be done, but now I have to focus on the coop, all the mowing that needs to be done again, and putting a few finishing touches on everything so Odette can set up for the guests. After that, the goal is to start on the iceplex we’re getting close to closing the deal on.
Maybe one day I’ll find time to remodel my house and turn it into something that will make Odette feel more at home when she’s over there.
I settle onto the fluffy black couch with Pork and wait. It takes a few minutes, but I feel it—Beans.
She paws at my ankle. It’s gentle at first, then it turns violent.
“Ouch!” I scramble to get out of the way.
“What?” Odette calls from the kitchen.
“Nothing!”
I bend in time to see the calico cat slide back under the couch.
“Why, you little . . .”
She pokes her head back out, and I swear she narrows her eyes at me.
Go ahead and say it,the look says.Call me a name. I dare you.
I don’t dare.
Instead, I scoop her up before she can run away again, ignoring the claws she digs into my hand.
“Be nice,” I tell her, and she calms down a little, looking up at me in wonder. “Be gentle.”
She stops fighting me as I settle her onto the couch, her long tail thwacking against the cushion as she sits and stares up at me like she’s confused by this stranger in her home.
That’s when she notices Pork.
I hold my breath and wait. They size each other up, uncertain if they’ll be friends or foes.
Beans takes the first step, inching closer. Pork looks back at me in a silentCan we trust her?
“Go on,” I encourage.
Slowly, they make their way toward each other, and after a few minutes, they’re batting at each other playfully and wrestling like they’re old friends.
Now that I know they aren’t going to fight, I push off the couch and walk around, taking in the little details of Odette’s place. Trinkets sit along the mantel over the fireplace, from a jewelry box with a ballerina mid-spin to a plastic ring that looks like it came from one of those quarter machines at the grocery store. Succulents that are lush and lively and pictures—including ones of my sister—line the floating shelves. And there’s even a small shelf full of Blu-ray, mostly romantic comedies and TV show box sets. I grin when I see she has most ofThe X-Filesin her collection.
A laptop sits closed on the coffee table, a stack of papers beside it. They look like legal documents of some sort. Likely contracts for her business.
Sitting near the bottom of the pile is a piece of paper that looks like it’s been crumpled up and flattened about fifty times over. Curious, I tug it free.
Every inch of it is covered in writing. Different colors. A few doodles. It’s a mess to try to decipher, but I give it a go anyway.
Dress—White with a deep V.That’s marked out and replaced withMermaid. That has a scribble through it withSuit???beside it.
What is all this?
