I close the notepad and follow Boone into the booth.
Grace greets me at the door with a dramatic yowl that sounds less likeI’m hungryand more likeI’m mere moments from death.
“Okay, okay.” I head for her food.
While she eats, I change into something more comfortable, but when I come back downstairs, she’s nowhere to be found. Which is odd, because Tara warned me she gets clingy whenMactravels.
I find her outside Miles’s bedroom door, letting out the kind of cry that says,I’m not going to shut up until you let me in there.
“You’re ridiculous.” I tell her, but I open the door, so maybe I’m the ridiculous one for giving in to a ten-pound cat’s demands.
She walks in like she owns it. I suppose she does.
I’ve never been in here.
It’s tidier than I expected, which is saying something because I’ve seen the rest of his house. Everything is exactly where it should be. Closet door shut. Curtains even. The books on his nightstand are stacked smallest to largest.
Grace hops onto the bed and kneads the comforter before settling against his pillow.
I shouldn’t sit down, but I do, perching on the edge of the mattress, and immediately regret it because the sheets smell like him. Pine and something crisp and clean.
I willnotlie down on this bed.
Grace butts her nose against my hand.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I tell her.
She blinks.
“Okay, fine.”
I lie back.
Only for a second. The bed is ridiculously comfortable.
My phone is in my hand before I’ve made a conscious decision. The cursor blinks at me in our text thread.
Me:
Gracie demanded I let her into your room
The diva herself pads up the bed and puts her paw on my arm.
“I know,” I say.
She meows.
“I said I know.”
Miles:
You can let her in
I kinda already did
Where are you?
Not in your bed
