"Can I say goodbye to Mr. Cheddar?" I asked.
"Who is Mr. Cheddar?"
"A cat. He's not mine, but he visits. He brings me dead mice." I craned my neck, looking for ginger fur among the caravans. "He'll wonder where I've gone."
Hastings stared at me for a long moment. Something flickered behind those gray eyes—confusion, maybe tenderness.
"You can write him a letter," he said finally.
"Cats can't read."
"Then I'll arrange for someone to read it to him."
I couldn't tell if he was joking. His expression gave nothing away. So, I assumed he was being straight.
I pushed past him, walking around the caravan. “Here kitty, kitty.” But he didn’t want to be found.
“We need to leave if you want the job,” Hastings said, turning and striding to the helicopter.
I followed. Sighing when Ireached it.
I glanced back at my caravan, but Maeve had already disappeared. Just like the damn cat.
The helicopter's side door was open, heated air spilling out like an invitation. Etienne climbed in first, then turned to offer me his hand. His palm was warm and callused and sent electricity crackling up my arm when I took it.
"Attention à la marche," he said softly.
“What?”
“Watch your step.”
I smiled as I climbed in.
The interior was even more absurd than I remembered. Cream leather seats and little screens embedded in the headrests.
I sank into the heated seat and felt warmth seep into my bones for the first time in days.
Fritz and Hastings climbed in after me. The door sealed shut, cutting off the wind, and suddenly the only sounds were the low hum of the engines and my own ragged breathing.
"Buckle up," Hastings said, settling into the seat across from me.
I fumbled with the seatbelt until Fritz leaned over and did it for me. His fingers brushed against my hip. I tried not to shiver.
Hastings was typing something on his phone, not looking at me. "There's water in the armrest. Food if you're hungry."
"Maeve made me a sandwich."
His typing paused. "What?"
"For lunch. She made me a sandwich." My eyes teared as the grief suddenly hit me. I was leaving Maeve behind, leaving my pansies, leaving Mr. Cheddar who wasn't even mine but visited anyway. "I left it in the café fridge."
A beat of silence.
Then Etienne reached across the space between us and pressed something into my hands. It was only a protein bar. “We’ll make sure you have good, nutritious meals from now on. You’re too thin.”
"I'm not thin. I'm—" Curvy, I wanted to say. Soft in all the places omegas were supposed to be soft. But the words stuck in my throat because he was looking at me in that way again.
When the helicopter lifted off, I turned away from him, and glanced through the window. My caravan grew smaller. Then I saw Maeve appear at hers, one hand raised.
