Slowly, I approach, keeping a healthy distance between us. “What are you doing?”
He glances at me, as if slightly startled, then he gives me a neutral look and keeps his voice quiet enough not to scare the cat away. “Feeding him.”
“Him?”
Wyatt shrugs. “I think it’s a him, anyway.”
I blink back at him, still completely off-center by this small revelation. “You…feed strays?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looks genuinely confused by the question, almost like it should be obvious. “Because he’s hungry, and I caught him climbing up the fire escape before.”
I don’t know why this detail seems so hard to grasp, but I can’t help it. It’s an odd sight, seeing someone likehimgoing out of his way to feed a stray. One that would just be a dirty inconvenience to most.
“You’re a walking contradiction…”
Wyatt snorts at that with a small shake of his head. “Maybe I’m just full of surprises.”
My knee-jerk reaction is to not allow myself to believe that, but given what I’ve seen from him already, it seems more substantiated than I care to admit.
He has been surprising me, even if I shouldn’t care.
With a measured breath, I cross my arms and lean against the windowsill in front of me. “How long has this been happening?”
“A couple months, I’d guess.”
“Months,” I murmur back, watching as the cat eats. “This isn’t a one-time thing then.”
“Nope. It took two weeks for him to let me stand this close without darting off,” he adds, looking at the little creature with more fondness than anticipated.
After a beat, I hum to myself. “You name him yet?”
At this, he scoffs, throwing me an unimpressed glance that seems more on-brand for him. “Don’t push it.”
Despite myself, I smile and keep my eyes on the matted grey fur on the other side of the glass.
Eventually, he finishes eating and moves into a small stretch before settling closer to the window and settling down in a loaf shape like he owns the place.
Wyatt doesn’t move. Instead, he watches while the faint crease between his brows eases away, seemingly glad to know the cat has gotten his fill.
“You’re not worried about getting attached?”
He shrugs again, seeming more noncommittal than his actions are. “He comes and goes. So long as he comes back, I’ll keep putting food out.”
Something about those words lands harder than it should, and neither of us says anything for a long moment.
That silence lingers as the cat’s eyes shift to a squint before slowly closing and resting, paws nestled on his tail, within the windbreak of the balcony. He looks perfectly comfortable, even if he’s still outside.
When the wind stirs through the window, Wyatt glances at me and breaks the quiet. “You should stay warm.”
“You’re worried about me now?” I ask, part teasing, part genuine in my curiosity.
Without hesitation, he meets my gaze, letting those dark eyes say everything before he even needs to. “Always was.”
Those two words stick somewhere inside me; they never should’ve come close to, and regardless of how gently they were spoken, they’re dangerous. This is dangerous.
