“Guess whoever built this wasn’t worried about privacy,” I say as I make my way into the room and rest the carrier at my feet. The bed must be a California king because the thing is massive. The neutral tones match that of the rest of the home, but here they’ve added accents of pale, beachy looking blue in the throw pillows and wall art.
“Oh, look,” Dawson says, his voice coming from behind. “There’s a cot.” I spin in place to see him pulling two metal bars apart. A canvas swatch spreads across the makeshift bed, which is upside down until he flips it over and gives it a firm pat. The elbowed legs wobble on the plush rug. “This will do,” he says.
It’s better than the chair, but the cot looks anything but comfortable. “You’re really going to sleep on that?”
“Oh, I meant for the cats. Think I’ll just sleep on there, with you,” he says with a point to the bed.
“Right.” I laugh and look away as another dose of warmth rushes to my cheeks. “You didn’t happen to see a litter box someplace, did you?”
“Not yet,” Dawson says, rubbing his palms together. “Let’s find that litter box, then we can tear open that welcome basket, sit down, and catch up. Sound good?”
I nod. “Sounds great.”
Dawson bends down to pick up the case and then lifts his gaze to meet mine. “Mind if I carry this for you?”
I shake my head.
“Good.” Dawson heads toward the stairs but pauses to look at me. “Oh, and Brinley?”
I gulp. “Yeah?”
“Thanks for agreeing to come.”
CHAPTER7
Dawson
I’ve experienced surreal moments before. The day I walked onto the set to play opposite Kevin Costner—that moment was surreal. Or the call I got about my first Grammy nomination; I was headed for a special event to promote the upcoming film. I felt the blood rush straight from my head.
And then there’s the time I first told Brinley I loved her. Man, I’d worked myself up for that one. Twice, I psyched myself out and failed to tell her, mumbling some sort of nonsense about the view instead.
But once I finally got the words out—once she said she loved me too—I had a moment of awe fused with disbelief and the knowledge that I was the luckiest freaking guy on planet earth.
The kiss that followed…that would have knocked me on my butt if I hadn’t been holding onto her so tight. If I weren’t already a believer that the next life consists of some state of heaven, that moment would have been my conversion.
Of course, I’m nowhere near that level of bliss right now, but as I lean against a smooth pillar in the main floor’s living space, I’m adding to that handful of unforgettable moments. Being here in the same house as Brinley, watching her interact with her cats in the adjacent cat denthe crew masterfully sectioned off for her, I’m flooded with similar feelings of disbelief and awe. Of reverence and…and gratitude for the fact that she actually said yes.
Sure, she’s not exactly looking me in the eye just yet. And yes, she’s got a guard up that might impress those who built the walls of Jericho.
But she’s here.
Luck struck twice, and now it’s up to me to make the most of it.
Just off the open living space, kitchen, and dining area is a wide, rather shallow arc that leads to a separate room. And while the gold letters lining that arc readCat Den,I imagine it was originally built to be a kid’s room or play area. I picture living in a place like this with Brinley when we’re old and gray. The kids have moved out and started families of their own, but when they visit, the grandkids pile into the little playroom to bake colorful toy cookies in a play stove.
“Do you need any help in there?” I ask Brinley. I notice she’s dragging a carpeted cat climbing toy from one side of the cat den to the other. Muffin leaps gracefully onto the top tier, waving her tail as she goes along for the ride. The scraggly one must be hiding somewhere, a thought that sends a shiver through me.
“Nope, I got it,” she calls. “Thanks.”
I figured, which is why I asked from afar. I grin. I still know her.
That thought is disrupted when I hear a small patter behind me. I spin quickly to survey the area, but there’s nothing in sight.
Hmm. Another shiver rocks through me, but I fight it off, lean my shoulder against the pillar once more, and set my eyes back on the area behind the arc. Along the far side wall of the cat den, there’s an even smaller arc leading to a cubby of sorts. I picture little ones crawling into the small space like a secret hut, clutching flashlights and blankets as they go.
For now, it’s thefélin toilette, according to the gold script above. Hopefully, they can get the litter box stench out of the kids’ cave before anyone else occupies the place. At least that area is separate from the living space out here. Nicely done, I muse. Nicely done.
I nod, turning my thoughts elsewhere when the sound—that tiny pitter-patter—echoes at my back again. I’m just about to spin around when what feels like a dozen booster shots jab me in the rear.
