Not entirely.
Even if I’d spent the whole of that little coffee date earlier with the kind of butterflies in my stomach that I’d thought were make-believe.
“Cats aren’t really my type,” I said.
“I’ve seen some of the fights over your ass,” Avery said. “Are yousure?”
“That’s not nice.” I headed over to see Hemingway, who’d already approached the front of the cage and pressed her little pink nose to it. In the daylight, I could see that the tips of her fur glowed a kind of amber color when the light hit them.
She really was a pretty cat, even if cats weren’t really my thing.
“And I’m pretty sure they’re not fighting over my ass,” I added.
“You sure?” Avery asked as I crouched down to offer the back of my hand to Hemingway through the bars. “It’s a nice ass. I could be moved to fight over it.”
I snorted. “Thanks, I think.”
He wasn’tactuallyhitting on me, but I hadn’t been lying to Felix when I said it wasn’t as if he was the first gay guy to show an interest.
Except hewasn’tshowing an interest, was he? He was just asking me to do him a favor, and doing me a favor in return.
And then he was leaving. He was practically halfway through the goddamn book he was meant to be writing already.
“So am I here to drop her off with her owners, or…?”
“No chip.” Avery shrugged. “No collar, obviously, and no one’s reported a pretty girl like this missing.”
Avery opened the cage and scooped Hemingway up, passing her to me.
A deep, rumbling purr started up in her chest, newly-washed fur silky under my fingers.
The look Felix had given her flashed into my mind. He’d fallen head-over-heels for this cat instantly.
“But she looks…”
“Expensive,” Avery said, bluntly. “Yeah. See, you do know something about cats. But she’s also black.”
“So?”
“Well, you know how black cats are bad luck, right?” Avery said.
“Uh. Kinda?” I’d heard that a black cat crossing your path was bad luck, but never in what specific way. It was just one of those things people said, like walking under a ladder was also bad luck, or finding a four-leaf clover wasgoodluck.
Avery chuckled. “Yeah, I don’t believe it either,” he said. “But a lot of people do. Black cats get abandoned all the time. This sweet little girl can’t be more than eight months old, she’s probably been fending for herself. You said you found her in the Delaney cabin?”
I nodded, letting Hemingway charm me into scratching behind her ears as she kept purring, obviously thrilled to be held.
“Got a suspicion or two about who she belongs to, then. Orbelongedto. I’ll call around and ask, but… I doubt anyone’s likely to claim her back. She’ll have to wait for adoption.”
“People must be banging your door down for this one,” I said, smiling at the happy little trill I got as a reward for scratching just the right spot on her neck.
“Were you… not listening to the part about black cats?” Avery asked.
“But she’s so sweet,” I said. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”
Avery sighed, offering me a wry, lopsided smile. “Always the optimist, huh? You should adopt her, if that’s how you feel. Or foster her, at least, until someonedoescome banging on my door. She could use a loving home, and she likes you.”
Oh no.
