Nash: Good to know. Maybe I’ll check it out sometime.
I return my gaze to the water. Puget Sound is as smooth as glass today. Unlike my emotions. I shove my phone into my back pocket and head down to the very edge of the park where a gentle breeze slaps the water against the rocks. With each step, I wonder if I did the right thing. Until I hear another loud beep. My phone’s so old, its silent mode broke a year ago.
Raelynn: Tonight, Mr. Fix-it. Unless that kiss meant nothing to you.
I almost drop the phone. So I didn’t fuck up as badly as I thought. But what’s a guy supposed to wear to go line dancing?
Chapter Nine
Raelynn
I can’t tell if I feel more like myself than I have in years, or if a complete stranger has taken up residence in my body. I’ve been to the Little Red Hen half a dozen times since I moved to Seattle, but never once dug out my vintage red cowboy boots. Or put on a dress.
It’s been a day of firsts. First kiss since Brooks died. First time I let another person see me cry. First time I shared my problems with West. First time I asked a man out.
And, assuming he shows, this will be my first date since high school.
Shit. What am I doing?
“Living.”
My inner voice is right. So why is this so hard? Brooks would want me to be happy. Hell, I want me to be happy.
“He’s into you, Raelynn.”
West better be right. Otherwise I’m gonna make a damn fool out of myself tonight.
I agonized over what to say to Nash for an hour after I left Hidden Agenda. Until I looked at the calendar. Line dancing is safe. A crowd. Loud music. Little to no touching. We’ll either have a good time and put this morning behind us, or it’ll be so awkward, I’ll never want to kiss him again.
My black leather jacket slides over my shoulders like butter, and I feel more like me than I have in a long time.
Kiki meows at the big picture window. “Dinner time?” I ask. Snagging the bowl of kibble from the table by the door, I try to slip outside quickly, but the cat darts around my ankles faster than greased lightning.
He jumps onto the couch, sitting up proudly, and kneading his little paws as his purrs fill the room. “Git,” I say, pointing to the door. “I’m goin’ out, and you can’t stay here by yourself.”
As if he understands me—and doesn’t like what I’m saying one bit—the cat extends one of his legs and starts cleaning himself.
“Absolutely not. You might be cute, but the last thing I need is to come home and find a puddle of cat piss in every room.”
When the little freeloader shifts to give me a prime view of his ass, I huff and stalk out to my rental car. I stopped at the pet store for a carrier on the way home. Even looked at litter boxes—food bowls and toys too—but I couldn’t bring myself to admit the truth.
I don’t want to drop Kiki off at a shelter on Monday. I’d miss the little fluff ball too much.
In five minutes, I have the carrier set up on the porch with its door latched open and one of my sweatshirts folded inside.
Crouching down in front of the couch, I run my hand over the cat’s sleek fur. “You can’t stay inside tonight, little guy. I don’t have a litter box for you yet. But I’ll get one tomorrow. Deal?”
He gives my hand a tentative lick, then rolls over to show me his belly.
“Nice try. And you better not have fleas.”
After another few minutes of belly rubs and scritches, I pick up the food bowl and shake it. The cat jumps up and follows me back outside with only a single meow of protest. Tossing a few pieces of kibble into the open carrier on top of the sweatshirt, I hope he gets the hint.
“I still don’t think this is a good idea, you little monster, but you ain’t gonna give me a choice, are you?”
He ignores me, his face buried in the bowl. Before I lose my nerve, I pull out my phone to order a litter box and the most expensive litter I can find to be delivered tomorrow. When Kiki finishes eating, he looks up at me like he knows he’s home.
I just hope I don’t fail him like I’ve failed everyone else in my life.
