“Can we not talk about this in the middle of my very respectable business?” I asked, knowing even as the words came out of my mouth what the answer was.
Dante looked around the completely empty bakery and shrugged. “Right, because of all the customers.”
I felt like that wasn’t the point, but I also couldn’t think of a way to argue about it.
“He’s my friend and I want it to stay that way,” I said. “If I never meet him in person then it’s just harmless flirting and he’s…”
“Safe,” Dante finished for me.
“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, fine, I’m being a coward about this, but you know what? Cowards live longer.”
Dante opened his mouth to say something, but the bell above the door rescued me, and for once in my life, I was thrilled to see Muriel and I didn’t care what she was about to say.
At least, I was thrilled for the three seconds it took for a grey streak to dart through the open door and make a break for the wide world outside.
Before anyone could say anything to me, I was out the door, chasing after the impossible kitten I was supposed to be responsible for. If I lost her, the foster program wouldkillme.
Okay, they probably wouldn’t kill me.
But they might not let me keep volunteering for them, and I didn’t want that.
Once I was outside, I scanned the area with my heart in my throat. How far could she have gotten? She was tiny, but she was fast, and while Otter Bay wasn’t exactly traffic central, there were always cars on the road.
I got down on my hands and knees to look at the ones parked in front of the bakery and florist, crawling along the sidewalk and making soft little kissy noises, hoping to draw her attention that way.
“Hello sweetheart,” a voice said behind me.
I turned my head in time to watch a pair of hands scoop my wayward foster-daughter up.
“Luna?” the voice asked.
I looked up, and my stomach bottomed out.
“Seattle?”
6
MILO
“Cat Dad?”
What.
The.
Hell.
I held Luna—and this little kittenwasLuna, I would’ve recognized her anywhere—closer to my chest, more for my benefit than hers. She snuggled against me.
Probably I would’ve enjoyed it more if I could focus on anything other than the rush of blood in my ears.
“Umm,” the man on the ground—the baker, the baker whose bakery I’d been in yesterday—said.
The baker who was Cat Dad. Who’d listened to me telling him last night how good his cinnamon rolls wereandhow cute I thought he was and hadn’t said a damned thing, even though hehadto have known.
My stomach knotted up all at once. He’d known, and he hadn’t said anything.
Did he not… I’d thought… I would’ve at least expected anacknowledgement. We’d been talking for months and I figured he enjoyed it as much as I did, because he always messaged me back.
