Her smile returns, brightening her face. “He was a total goofball but brilliant. He taught me how to play chess when I was five and never let me win, no matter how much I begged. Said it’d make me stronger in the long run.”
“Smart man.”
“Grandpa was. He’s the reason I even went into finance. Said I had ‘an instinct with the stock market.’ His words, not mine.”
“I’m not surprised. You’re great at your job.” Something clicks into place between us. Unspoken, but real.
“I just… I wish my parents could see me the way he did—the way you do, apparently.”
I move closer, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. “For what it’s worth, I’m positive your grandpa would be proud of you. And if your parents and sister don’t see how incredible you are? That’s on them. You—Abby Sinclair—are enough.”
She leans into my side, resting her head against my shoulder, and this is the closest thing to heaven on earth for me.
A low growl rises from the foot of the bed.
Powerfluff glares at us sitting so close together.
“Oh no,” Abby warns. “Her Royal Fluffiness doesn’t approve of this development.”
Powerfluff comes closer, trying to nudge us apart while making deeply judgmental eye contact. “Is she about to bite or swat me?”
“Don’t worry. She’s all bark—er, growl. She doesn’t like sharing me.”
Powerfluff rubs against Abby, marking her territory and purring loudly as if to say, “Mine.”
I want Abby to be mine, so I can’t blame that cat. “So, it’s a ‘no one can have her but me’ situation?”
“Pretty much.”
Then Powerfluff approaches me.
I straighten. “Is this a trap? Should I be concerned?”
She narrows her gaze. “I have no idea. She never approaches anyone. Be still?”
Powerfluff sniffs my hand and then butts her head against my palm, purring louder.
Abby gasps. “Does she…like you?”
“I guess?” I move my hand in slow, deliberate strokes over her fur. “Is that good?”
“Good?” Abby stares at me like I’ve pulled off a miracle. “This is unprecedented. The last guy I went out with got his shoes peed on. Twice.”
I continue petting Powerfluff cautiously. “I promise to be a loyal subject.”
“This is unbelievable.”
“Then we can’t go to bed yet. Want to share a favorite Christmas memory?”
Abby nods. “One year, my grandpa taught me how to make sugar cookies. We spent the whole day baking and made a mess. But he let me decorate them myself and acted like every cookie was a work of art. Your turn.”
“I once convinced my cousins to get up in the middle of the night so we could see what we got for Christmas. We were shaking packages and trying to open the ends, and Grandpa caught us.”
“Did you get in trouble?”
“No, he woke up Grandma, and they let us open presents then.”
“I bet you were a handful as a kid.”
