My intercom buzzer sounded, and Bunsen gave a hiss. My cat didn’t like visitors, and neither did I, especially unannounced ones. My other cat, Beaker, a silly tabby with the personality of my favorite Muppets character, jumped when the buzzer went again and scrambled under the wing-back armchair in the corner.
The buzzer went again, more urgently this time. Whoever it was, was determined to be heard. Placing my phone down, I grabbed my glasses from the coffee table and went to see who was calling at this late hour.
“Hello?” I spoke into the intercom.
“It’s Jason.”
I must have been still asleep. I could have sworn I heard … Before I could clarify, he filled in the blank.
“You left your jacket at Theo’s.”
My jacket? Since when did this man step up to delivery boy?
“Oh, okay.” I pressed the entrance button to let him in and instinctively turned to the full-length, gilt-edged mirror near the door.
Then turned away.
I had never cared for this man’s opinion, and I wasn’t going to start now. On opening the door, I found him standing there with my jean jacket in one meaty paw.
He raised an eyebrow. So expressive, those eyebrows. “Did I wake you?”
“I fell asleep while reading an article about the Conus gloriamaris snail.” Better to credit my nap rather than his presence for my stunned state.
“Can’t say I blame you. You gonna invite me in?”
For God’s sake. I stood back to let him by. Instinctively, he hung my jacket on a hook in the hallway and scanned the frame-covered walls, filled with pictures of my family—Cat, Rosie, Vi, Devon, and my dad in assorted combinations, then more of me with just my sisters.
Bunsen decided to show his face and immediately went on guard, adding a hiss for good measure.
“You have a cat.” Said as if that was so expected as to be a cliché. The crazy cat lady, desperate for a child.
“This is Bunsen. He’s a bit fussy with strangers.”
Jason viewed my cat with suspicion.
“And Beaker is around somewhere. He tends to hide under the furniture when he hears the intercom buzzer. But tabby cats are notoriously scatterbrained, as you probably know, and—” I broke off mid-ramble. Lately I had started sounding unaccountably nervous in this man’s presence.
“What does your family think of your plan?” Asked as if seconds instead of hours had passed since our previous conversation.
“They pretend it’s not weird, but then they’ve also learned to accept that I’m not the most orthodox of daughters or sisters.”
He went further inside, which meant I was forced to acknowledge he had something to say and was taking his time working up to it. I closed the door.
“Thanks for bringing my jacket over. There was really no need.”
“Figured it was a favorite.”
“You did?”
He picked up an ornament on my bookshelf, a snail glitter globe my aunt Harper had gifted me—a Cracker Barrel exclusive—and put it down again. “It has that snail pin on it. I’ve seen you wear it before, so I gathered it was a regular part of the rotation. Got anything to drink?”
“Like alcohol?” It came out prissy.
“Water will do.”
Leading the way into the kitchen, I was conscious of how those keen green eyes took in everything about my habitat. I shivered, the memory of my dream making me uneasy.
“You’re going to raise a baby here? Kind of small.”
