23
Penny
Several days later, I sprawled on the rug of Kit’s cottage with my hands clasped behind my head and a tabby kitten asleep on my chest. Rosie had taken the couch where she nibbled on a puffed pastry and sipped the coffee I’d brewed.
There were six kittens in total, but Rosie brought only two, tucked in a basket and ferried from her house to ours. I’d meant for Kit to be here when she arrived so he could see how big they’d gotten, but he’d been caught late at the smithy. With any luck, he’d return soon.
“I had some pecans leftover from our trip to the orchard,” Rosie said. “Remember? It’s been a few months now.”
I hummed acknowledgment, thinking of the orchard, yes, but not of my visit with Rosie. I remembered more fondly the time I took Kit there and surprised him with a kiss.
“So, I ground them up and mixed them with sugar…” Rosie paused and gave a little cough to call my attention.
I turned to see her eyeing the brown paper package on the low table.
“You haven’t even looked at it.” She tipped her chin toward it. “I want your opinion before I put them in the shop.”
“I’m saving it to share with Kit,” I replied. “That way you can get his opinion too. He’s quite discerning.” I brushed my hand across the kitten’s fuzzy back. Its fur stood up in spikes along its spine like a jagged ridge that looked sharp but felt soft as feather down.
Rosie hummed a quiet sound. “Kit,” she murmured. “Of course.”
The second kitten, the solid black runt of the litter, tiptoed along the sofa behind her, stopping to nibble on hair that had worked loose from her braids.
My sketchbook lay open on the table with a pencil tucked in the spine. I’d drawn a bit when Rosie first arrived, but took a break to play with the kittens by dragging around a piece of string I’d found in one of my bedroom dresser drawers. But Rosie and the black cat made such a perfect image that I had to capture it. I scooped the curled tabby from my chest and set her on the rug, then reached for my sketchbook.
Rosie picked at her pastry as I rolled onto my stomach and spread the book flat on the rug.
“Stay like that,” I told her, and flashed a smile she readily returned.
She smoothed her braids behind her ear and posed a bit less naturally than I would have liked, but I set to work anyway, putting down the broad strokes of an outline. While she sat, teasing the kitten to hold its interest, she spoke again.
“Penny? I’ve been meaning to ask you something. About Kit, actually.”
The front door swung inward, and Kit trudged through as timely as if he’d been summoned. He was sweaty and speckled with soot from the smithy, and I grinned at the residual black dust making lines on his forehead from the wrinkles he got when he concentrated on his work.
At Kit’s entry, the black kitten bounded off the sofa and raced across the floor as though stalking fresh prey. She pounced his boot first, scratching with needle-sharp claws before scampering up Kit’s pant leg and past his waist to his chest.
I turned and sat up, resting my sketchbook in my lap as I watched Kit scoop a hand under the kitten to aid her ascent to his shoulder, where she ducked into his coal-black curls. She wound around his neck, almost hidden except for her round yellow eyes peering out.
My cheeks warmed when I caught Kit’s soft smile.
“She looks a bit like you.” I gestured toward the cat. “A kitten for Violette’s Kitten.”
His exasperated look only lasted until the tiny cat bumped its head into his chin. He scratched between her ears, then scanned the room, stopping on Rosie posed on the couch, looking even less natural than before.
“I didn’t know we were expecting guests.” Kit nodded toward her. “Good evening, Rosie.”
Her mouth bent in a frown, and she wrung her hands in her lap. “Evening, Kit,” she replied, sounding strained. “Will you be staying long? I thought it would just be Penny and me…”
I cocked my head at her. “Why would he leave? It’s his house.”
The tabby I’d displaced roused and rubbed against myleg. I scrubbed my fingertips down her side, and she rolled over, teeth bared in a playful hiss as she batted at my hand.
Kit lifted the black kitten from her perch around his neck. “I was planning to wash up,” he began. “But I could go…” He walked forward to pass the cat to Rosie, then stopped. As he glanced from Rosie to me and back, his brow pinched and made the lines there look even darker.
He looked so pensive that I was about to ask what he was thinking when he said, “Penny, can I speak to you in the kitchen?”
With a bob of my head, I stood.
