“Who’s this?” I asked, charmed by the pretty gray-and-white cat. Big green eyes stared at me, unblinking. “These are for you,” I added, holding out the bouquet.
“Oooh, thanks. I’ve never received flowers before,” Keelie said. “That’s Slippers.”
I noted both her comment about flowers—I planned to correct that often—and the cat’s white paws.
“She showed up one day after a thunderstorm.”
I lowered to one knee. Slippers surprised me by sniffing my fingers and then shoving her head under them.
“She’s affectionate,” Keelie said.
“I noticed.” I petted her head, pleased by her purr. “The ceiling looks good.”
Keelie chuckled. “A little sweat equity goes a long way. Well, that, too many hours of home-improvement videos, and friend-shaming.”
“Friend-shaming?” I asked with a frown. I made to rise, but Slippers scooted forward and placed a dainty paw on my thigh.
“Marian. My friend. She hated my popcorn ceiling even more than I did.”
I narrowed my eyes. “So she helped you?”
“Nope. Marian doesn’t do chores.” Keelie moved toward the kitchen where she found a vase and arranged her flowers. That done, she opened her fridge, biting her lip.
“She didn’t help you?” I pressed.
“Nope. Well, she brought supplies, then baited me into getting started.”
Didn’t sound like much of a friend to me.
“Are you hungry? How about a big green salad with chicken?”
“Sounds good. Can I help?”
She shook her head. “I don’t like to share my kitchen.”
My eyebrows rose. Keelie seemed so laid back, thoughtful, so for her to be territorial… “How long have you been cooking?”
She shrugged. “Since before I can remember. My mother’s not much of a cook, and I enjoyed eating, so…”
Another piece of her personality, her history. I might not get along with my parents, but we’d lived a well-to-do lifestyle because of my father’s executive-level position at a major aviation firm. My mother had stayed at home to provide the best opportunities for me when I was young, and when I was a little older, to drive me to all my hockey practices and games. My father loved watching me play, so he’d come to nearly every event, even after I moved out at fifteen.
“What kept you in Houston?” I asked. I finally rose as Slippers slunk away. She jumped lightly onto a windowsill and laid down, her bushy, white-tipped tail swaying back and forth in a lazy pendulum. I crossed the space and washed my hands.
Keelie glanced up at me from where she was slicing a pear. She’d set a hunk of bleu cheese on her counter, next to tart cherries, walnuts, and a bag of baby greens. She heated a pan, then surprised me by tossing in a couple handfuls of nuts. “Why would I go somewhere else?” she asked. “Houston is one of the largest cities in the country with tons of culture, art, you name it.”
“You like art?”
“Museums are fabulous. So is the ballet.”
I smiled. “You like ballet?”
She removed the toasted nuts and laid two chicken breasts in the pan. “I wanted to be a ballerina. But then, so do most little girls. They also want a pony.”
“I like being here too, and I was glad for the opportunity to move away from my parents. They’re stifling.”
“How so?”
I considered her as I leaned against the counter’s edge. “I guess…their expectations, which I mentioned before. They put all the time and effort into my hockey, so I needed to get drafted, and then I needed to be the best at my position. When I married Shannon, my mother expected grandbabies…” I shook my head. “She’s still upset that Shannon and I divorced. She’s a devout Catholic.”
