Hell, if Kieran was holdingmelike that, I would’ve been thrilled, too.
“Should we get it… I dunno, a saucer of milk, or something?”
“I think I oughta take it to the vet in town,” Kieran said. “Find out if it’s got a chip or something, get it back to its owner. If it has one.”
I gave in to the urge to touch it, finding the fur thatwasn’tmatted silky-soft. It was longer than usual, and as I scratched behind its ear, a big, fluffy tail swished lazily.
“Pretty cat,” I said. “Bet your owners miss you.”
The cat blinked at me, and I grinned at it like an idiot. “I’m naming you Hemingway,” I said.
“You don’t think it looks more like a Kerouac?” Kieran asked.
I glanced up at him, surprised, and then guilty for being surprised. It’d been a lot of years since we’d last seen each other—why shouldn’t he be well-read now?
That was the thing. I was still trying to get the hang of who Kieranwasnow, how he’d changed.
But every change I saw? I liked. He was somehow even more perfect now than he had been when we were fourteen and he was my whole world.
“I’m not calling a cat Kerouac,” I said. “It doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. Besides, he’ll clean up just fine, won’t you little guy?”
The cat sniffed my hand, and then tilted its head for another ear scratch.
I shouldn’t have been naming it. It wasn’tmycat, after all. Probably it had loving owners who missed it and would be thrilled to see it again.
Besides, it’d scared the hell out of me earlier.
I just had trouble resisting its cute little kitty face.
“You should take it to the vet,” I continued. “It probably wants to go home.”
“Yeah, better get on that,” Kieran said, though the car seemed perfectly happy curled up in his arms. “I, uh. I’ll see you around, right?”
“Absolutely,” I grinned at him. “You’rewaymore interesting than a manuscript I don’t even wanna write.”
The tips of Kieran’s ears went pink, which was definitely a good look for him.
“Okay. I’ll get this little guy back home, you… nap or drink fifteen cups of coffee or whatever it is writers do,” he said, smiling at me again. “See you tomorrow for family lunch, at least? I’ll text you the address, or I could come pick you up.”
“Definitely tomorrow,” I promised. “Text me the address, you don’t need to go to any more trouble on my account.”
“You’re my best friend,” Kieran said, like he meant it.
Like I’d just walked out of the room for a second instead of not having seen him in fifteen years.
Hemingway made a soft little curious sound, like he was reminding Kieran that he’d promised to bring him home.
“Tomorrow,” I repeated. “Text me a time and an address, and I’ll be there.”
“Okay.” Kieran nodded. “Anything else goes wrong with this place, don’t hesitate to call. Mrs. Delaney doesn’t pay me a retainer for nothing.”
“I promise that if I’m freezing cold in the night, I’ll call you to come warm me up,” I said.
And immediately regretted the phrasing.
Kieran raised an eyebrow.
“Uh.” I scratched the back of my head. “Totally deliberate?” I tried.
