“You took that thing off the street?” he asked. “Is it sick?”
I shifted on my feet, distracting myself by mashing the potatoes a bit more. “I’m not sure. I’m taking him to the vet tomorrow.”
I was over mashing the potatoes now, but I didn’t stop as his silence stretched. “We couldn’t leave it, Roman. It’s freezing outside. He needed help.”
In my periphery, I saw him push a hand through his hair.
“I’m gonna have to let her keep it,” he muttered, voice low as if he were speaking only to himself.
Despite the guilt lingering in my gut, I stifled a grin.
12
Roman
“Ithinkhelikesme,Daddy.”
I stiffened at the sound of my daughter’s voice.
Hailey walked into the kitchen, the gray rat—no, thefeline—still curled up on her chest. A faint purring came from the skinny little thing, like it was in heaven.
I’d never liked cats. Dogs were more my thing. I’d actually been contemplating for a few years about getting a dog forprotection. I hadn’t pulled the trigger because I was always so busy, and I wanted to make sure I’d be able to train it well enough so it would be safe for Hailey.
When my daughter looked back up at me, though—her eyes were shining with love and contentment. There was no way I could tell her to get rid of the rat…or cat.
“I don’t know how anyone, or anything, couldn’t like you,” I muttered, realizing I was grimacing and trying to fix my face. I wasn’t very good at it.
Palmer tensed beside me.
My attention cut to her. She had ceased her potato-mashing, and was staring down into the pot like she might’ve offended them. Her full bottom lip was sucked in, her jaw moving like she was biting at it.
“I’m really sorry,” she murmured, low like she didn’t want Hailey to hear.
My grimace turned into a sharp frown.
Hailey meandered over to the table and sat down, her whole attention on the ball of fuzz purring on her chest.
“For what?” I asked, softly.
Palmer glanced at Hailey. “I should’ve asked before I brought an animal here. It—it wasn’t my place.”
The sudden edge of panic in her expression caught me off guard. Sure, I didn’t love cats, but I wasn’t mad at her.
Before I could linger on why such a small thing had brought her to the brink of panic, I reached for the potato masher.
She jumped as my fingers brushed against hers.
Her scent wrapped around me as I stepped closer—something herbal and earthy, like essential oils and greenery. She smelled like spring in the dead of winter.
My stomach tightened, but I pretended it was hunger surfacing at the proximity of the food.
“Here.” I shifted in front of the stove.
She stepped back, but she was still close enough that we almost touched.
“Let me serve dinner. Go sit down.”
A sweet blush bloomed beneath the smattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks, but she still seemed worried.
