Another knock, gentle.
I stand slowly, heart in my throat, and pull the door open.
And everything inside me collapses.
Nathan is standing there.
At my door.
In the dark hallway.
Holding Dr. Doom in his arms.
“Oh, my God!” I gasp, grabbing the cat instantly. “You found him…Nathan, thank you…thank you, thank you.”
Dr. Doom meows, likehehad the traumatic night, not me, and burrows into my chest.
I look up just in time to see the scratches on Nathan’s forearms.
“What happened?”
Dr. Doom wiggles out of my arms and makes a beeline for the kitchen.
Nathan clears his throat, understated as ever. “He was under Glynys’s recliner. Didn’t like being picked up.”
Emotion surges so fast I don’t think, I just wrap my arms around Nathan’s neck and hug him hard.
He stiffens at first, surprised, but doesn’t pull away.
When I let go, I see the perfect smear of rose-colored lip liner I left on his collar.
“Oh, my God,” I whisper. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, no, I can fix it—come in for a second.”
I pull him in before I know what I’m doing. Shirt unbuttoned. Collar in the sink. Sponge in my hand. I’m in autopilot mode, scrubbing like a lunatic.
And then I look up.
He’s shirtless in my apartment.
Jesus.
I freeze mid-scrub. “I—uhhh.”
He steps behind me. Gently grabs my hand. “It’s okay. It’s just a shirt.”
Scrubbing harder, I whisper, “No, no, I’ll get it out, and you brought my cat back, and tonight has been…”
His fingers wrap lightly around my wrist, stopping my hand.
It’s not firm. Not forceful. Just enough to make me pause.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “It’sokay.”
I swallow and finally turn to face him.
