“Rupert’s mom’s favorite song was ‘Mustang Sally.’”
Guess I won’t be making fun of the dog’s name, since his mom died.
“I should get him another dog. It’s been long enough,” Callie says.
“I bet he’d want you to get a cat. He seems concerned about you.” I pull out of the parking lot.
“I don’t think you understand how much he hates cats.”
“I’m sure he loves you more than he hates cats.”
She looks out her window and sighs, but doesn’t say anymore. So I do what any good muse would do, I drive to a feline rescue shelter.
“Flynn.” Callie eyes me, frowning when I pull into the parking lot.
“We’re just going to look. What’s the harm in looking?”
Lucky for Rupert, there are no white cats when we peruse the ones available for adoption. Unfortunately, there’s a small gray kitten with a white face, belly, and paws that look like socks. His name is Loki, and Callie has hearts in her eyes.
I smirk at her.
“Don’t give me that look, young man. I’m just holding him.” She kisses his head as he purrs nonstop.
I bite my lips together to hide my grin.
“Loki is a cuddler,” the stocky guy with long, brown hair says as Callie pets Loki. “He likes a place with lots of windows where he can watch what’s going on outside. And he’s great with a litter box. His previous owner had to let him go because she wasmoving to a place that didn’t allow pets. He’s only six months old.”
“Well, we’re just visiting,” Callie says, handing the kitten back to the guy. “I’m not in the market for a …” She wrinkles her nose. “Why isn’t he purring for you?”
He shrugs. “He must like you better.”
“I don’t think that’s it.” She takes Loki back as if to prove a point. He instantly starts purring.
“Oh …” Her expression melts.
An hour later, we pull into the garage with the newest member of the Rawlings family and bags of cat supplies. She carries Loki into the house, and I follow with the bags.
Just as she heads upstairs, Rupert appears at the top, eyes squinted. They have a silent stare-off.
“You’re fired,” he says to me.
“No, he’s not,” Callie says, continuing up the stairs. “Flynn said you surely love me more than you hate cats. Is he right?”
Why did she have to say that?
“His name is Loki and he only purrs for me.” She holds him up to Rupert’s face.
He flinches, rearing his head back, and she laughs while continuing toward her bedroom.
“A word in my office,” Rupert says to me.
“Follow me, Flynn. I have a project for you. My husband will just have to wait for hisword.”
With a tight smile, I shrug and squeeze past Rupert as he glares at me.
An hour and a half later, I’m still sorting through Callie’s boxesand boxesof stationery on her bedroom floor, organizingthe cards into groups—birthday, anniversary, thank-you, and sympathy.
She clears her throat. When I look up at her petting Loki, she wrinkles her nose. “Slow down. You’re bending the envelope. What’s your hurry?”
