The kittens were in their carrier in the kennel room, snuggled up in a pile of soft old towels. My gaze was drawn immediately to the orange one—my favorite, because it was the one I’d found—and it was the first one I picked up when Mason opened the door. It was so tiny and helpless, and I held it close to my chest to keep it warm.
“I thought I could bring in a chair from outside,” I said.
Mason gave me a quizzical look. “What for?”
“For staying in here,” I said. “Overnight.”
“Hell, no,” Mason said. “These guys are already in a carrier. We’ll take it upstairs and they can sleep in the spare bedroom with you.” He shook his head, smiling. “I’m not going to make you sleep in the kennel room, Cash.”
We snuggled with the kittens for a while—Mason called it examining them, but it was really just cuddling—and then we put them back in the carrier and went upstairs. It felt strange to suddenly be in what was Mason’s personal space. Or, rather, his uncle’s, because it had that old-man vibe of a bunch of the apartments at Sunny Fields. Everything was a little out of date, but in a comfortable way, and smelled a bit musty like a thrift store. I didn’t mind it. I liked spaces that were lived-in and undisturbed at the same time.
The spare room was tiny, hardly large enough to open the door without hitting the bed. Mason squeezed his way around the bed to the window, avoiding a bunch of plastic crates that were stacked against the wall, and wrenched it open with a squeal.
“Sorry,” he said. “I haven’t really been in here at all. I’ll find you some clean sheets.”
We made the bed.
When it was time to feed the kittens, Mason showed me how to make up their formula properly and how to prepare the bottles and nipples. I tried not to blush every time he used the word, but I could feel my face heating up and I was sure he could tell.
Then Mason watched me feed the kittens, making sure I held them properly and that I knew how to rub them gently with wipes to stimulate them to go to the bathroom.
“Did you eat yet?” he asked me when I was holding a kitten in one hand and a poopy wipe in the other. “I’ve got some leftover chili I’m gonna reheat.”
He wasn’t even trying to be gross. He just dealt with so many gross things that I figured he’d lost all perspective.
“I could eat,” I said, even though I already had, because I never said no to a second meal if it was on offer.
I put the kittens back in their carrier and cleaned up while Mason went to the kitchen to get dinner ready. When I joined him, the chili was heating up on the stovetop, and Mason handed me a can of soda and gestured for me to sit down at the kitchen table. He rattled around grabbing plates and forks, then served up the chili.
I smiled my thanks. The chili wasn’t as good as Danny’s, but it was still good. We ate in comfortable silence, and once the dishes were done, Mason said, “Wanna watch a movie?”
“Yeah,” I said, and I barely had to push the word out at all.
We went upstairs and sat together on the old leather couch in the living room, and Mason put the movie on.
It was some dumb comedy and I tried to watch but I barely saw any of it, too aware of Mason’s presence at the other end of the couch. It was only a two-seater, and I was torn between staying curled up on my end so I didn’t accidentally touch him and shuffling over far enough that I did. I kept sneaking glances his way, watching how the light from the screen lit up the planesof his face and wondering if the stubble on his cheeks would be soft or scratchy against my fingertips if I ran a hand over it. Soft, probably.
A couple of times when I looked his way, I found Mason’s eyelids drooping, and when he let out a soft snore, I leaned over and shook him gently. He startled awake and let out a shaky laugh. “Sorry,” he said, running his hands through his hair. “Don’t take it personally. I haven’t been sleeping.”
“I get it,” I said quietly, before adding, “I have those nights too.”
Mason’s gaze held mine for long enough that it might have been uncomfortable if it had been anyone else, but it was okay. Not quite comfortable, but okay. And then his mouth quirked, acknowledgment and understanding all at once, and any hint of anxiety that had spiked in me at the extended eye contact faded away.
He stretched as the credits rolled. “We should feed the kittens before bed.”
I reached for my words and found them right there for once. “Okay, but you’re on butt patrol this time, because cat shit is gross.”
“Hey, I was training you,” he said, his eyes dancing. “It’s what any good vet would do. If it was my choice, I’d be up to my elbows in cat shit every day, but it’s for the kittens, Cash. Thekittens.”
He was a lyingasshole, and I liked it.
We fed the kittens, and then I set the alarm on my phone to wake me for the middle-of-the-night feed. It felt weird, going to bed in a strange room, where the light that came through the curtains fell differently than it did at home and made unfamiliar patterns on the unfamiliar ceiling. The pillow was too soft, and the sheets were a little scratchy.
I lay awake and listened to the sounds of the house settling and the occupants doing the same. I heard Mason in the bathroom brushing his teeth, and then the tread of his footsteps going to the main bedroom. The click-click-click of Dog’s claws on the hardwood floor as he followed him.
The wind picked up for a moment, and a branch scraped against the side of the house.
A car drove down the street outside.
