Nape prickling, I push inside, still fighting with Pascal’s words and the need tearing through me.
And the worry that he may be right.
That in order to save her, I may have to destroy any chance we have of a future together.
A future that, in a single glimpse of my living room, is laid out in front of me.
THIRTY
BRIAR
“Shh,”I hear distantly. “She’s sleeping.”
“Not if you keep hissing like that.”
Thunk.
“Not ifyoukeep dropping things likethat.”
“Both of you, quiet down and come into the kitchen. I have some cookies that are fresh out of the oven.”
Footsteps recede as I take stock of where I am and what’s happening around me.
Brooks’s apartment.
Delicious scents in the air—that’s not a surprise, they’ve been filling my nose from the moment I walked in off the balcony.
River introduced herself, and I don’t know how I didn’t put the pieces together right away, what with her cooking and cleaning and having her own key, and Pascal’s security not stopping her from accessing the apartment, but it didn’t take long to relax to her presence. She’s definitely related to Dolores—a total sweetheart and her food is fabulous, and her constant chattering as she buzzed around the space was both comfortingand amusing. Especially when she griped about Brooks never being in town to eat her cooking.
“Stock my freezer,” she said in a voice that sounded hilariously close to Brooks’s own. “I’ll just nuke it whenever I’m hungry.Nukeit!” She’d tossed up her hands. “Does he not know how hard it is to make the breadcrumbs crispy?”
“Probably not,” I told her when she paused, clearly waiting for my reply.
A disgusted sound as she vigorously wiped down the kitchen. “You’re certainly right.”
“So, what did you do?” I found myself asking into the quiet.
She scowled. “I created recipes that could be frozen.” A scowl. “Thennuked.”
My lips twitched, and though I tried to help, I found myself relegated to the couch and chattered at.
Which was…nice, even though she was talking about people I didn’t know, things I didn’t one hundred percent understand. We did, however, bond over the excellent cleaning abilities of baking soda and lemon juice and the frustration that dust bunnies always seemed to appear immediately after sweeping the floor.
I tried to remember what happened after that, but it comes up fuzzy, and embarrassment heats my cheeks as I peel my eyes open.
Clearly I fell asleep in the middle of our conversation and missed…
Alot.
The living room is transformed.
A huge cat tower sits next to the fireplace and I can almost imagine the foster kittens climbing it so they can teeter across the mantle, bat at the television screen while a Grizzlies (or, cough, Eagles considering Jean-Michel, Rome, and King’s—and their women’s—loyalties) game plays in the background.
Beds are placed strategically around, along with carriers and little houses that provide space for the kittens to hide.
There are a couple of small water fountains, food dishes, and litter boxes cleverly disguised as side tables…
And a toy-plosion.
