“Not yet.” I tilt my head. “I don’t know what I’m hoping for.”
“Yeah, I mean, if she really belongs to someone else, sure. It would be good to hear from them and return her to them. But if she’s a stray? Then you’ll keep her, right?”
I glance around the room at the cat tree and kitten toys and the foil bag of treats. “I mean, I might as well.”
The truth is, I like the cat. I didn’t realize how quiet and, I’ll admit it, lonely it is around here until she was suddenly here, taking up all the space in the house.
“Good, because the public loves her. So, yeah, I had the team’s social media manager make a list of the questions for me.”
“And then just remind everyone about the gait analysis?”
“Exactly. It’s true, according to my social media manager, that most of the comments have nothing to do with the screening.” His face falls as he sits down on my sofa. “But I think as long as we’re featuring the cat and talking about the screening, it will be fine. Gotta give the public what they want, right?”
“I’m not used to dealing with the public of any kind, but it makes sense.”
“I think we should start off with Miley in the video and just see how it goes. Be spontaneous, like you said.”
“Well, I appreciate it. Let me go get my tripod.”
I run back to my room and take a moment to freshen up. But when I look in the mirror to smooth some foundation over my freckles, I see something different in my expression that both thrills me and fills me with dread. Anticipation. Excitement.
And it’s because of Taysom.
No. This won’t do. I can’t want Taysom. Wantinganythingas badly as I used to want Taysom is a fool’s errand.
I run a brush through my hair, promising myself that that’s all the primping I will do. I’m not going overboard.
I re-enter my living room to see Taysom lying on my hardwood floor, Miley crawling all over his abdomen.
“I see she tackled you.”
“It just sort of happened.”
I giggle, putting my hands on my cheeks. That sight is an aphrodisiac in a bottle right there.
I set up my laptop so he can see himself and then set up the tripod. “Okay, let me see your phone.” I hold out my hand.
He just stares at me, his eyes narrowing. He swings his torso—his big, muscular torso—up to a seated position, which makes Miley protest loudly.
“That cat has a meow that could singe hair off a Viking’s chest,” I say.
Taysom chuckles, but he’s still looking at me, considering me.
“What?” I ask.
“So, I’m here. Filming this spot for you, right?”
I grow wary. “Right.”
“And, so if I asked you for a teensy, tiny favor, you’d say yes, right?”
“No.” I cross my arms over my chest, but then I sigh. “Depends on what it is.”
His lips twitch. “I read the comment report from the social media manager and…there were many people asking about Miley, as you know, but also a lot of people asking about Miley’s owner.”
“So?” I scratch my nose. “I saw a couple of comments wondering about her owner, but…”
“So, join me in the video.”
