“That is exactly what a guilty tomcat would want me to believe.”
This time my cough comes out dangerously close to a snort.
Mrs. Nepine narrows her eyes. “That creature has been terrorizing her. Last week he sat in the window for two hours staring at Princess. She had to take her supper in my bedroom afterward.”
“Sounds traumatic,” I manage.
“It was. She licked a cushion for twenty minutes.”
Brody presses his lips together. “I’ll speak with him.”
“See that you do. And use a firm tone. Cats respect boundaries when delivered properly.” She draws Princess Anastasia Snowdrop closer, then points one slippered foot in my direction like a tiny gavel. “And you, young lady. Come to a committee meeting. We need more young people. Also someone who understands email attachments. And bring your Alpha.”
“He’s not my?—”
The door closes in my face.
The porch light clicks off.
For a second, Brody and I stand in the dark, silent.
Then he leans closer and murmurs, “Should I be offended that she thinks I’m yours or flattered that she thinks I understand email attachments?”
We both turn and hurry away, laughing before we even make it off the porch. It bubbles out of me too loudly, too freely, and I slap a hand over my mouth as if Mrs. Nepine might fling the door open and accuse me of disturbing Princess Anastasia Snowdrop’s recovery.
“I almost lost it back there,” I say, still shaking with laughter. “Please don’t let Damien impregnate her cat. I don’t think Mistberry Cove is ready for that scandal.”
Brody laughs, and the sound rolls through me in a way that makes my steps go slightly unsteady. We walk back down the neat little path, his arm brushing mine once, then again, not enough to call deliberate. Each tiny contact sends a bright, reckless spark through me, and instead of moving away like a sensible person, I drift closer until we nearly touch more.
“I mean,” he says, glancing down at me, “she was right about one thing. You should bring your Alpha wherever you go.”
My laugh catches. “I don’t have an Alpha.”
His gaze meets mine in the lamplight, the teasing slipping just enough to show something underneath it. “Not yet.”
My stomach flips so hard I nearly miss the next step, and his hand catches my elbow instantly, steadying me. His fingers are firm, and for one ridiculous second, I forget about the cold path, the sleeping houses, and the fact that I am standing outside in the middle of the night discussing cat paternity with a man I have known only for a few weeks and somehow can’t stop wanting to touch.
“You okay?” he asks, voice lower now.
“Fine,” I say too quickly. “Just betrayed by pavement.”
“Pavement can be vicious.”
“Runs in the same circles as cats, apparently.”
His thumb shifts once against my arm before he lets go, and the loss of that contact annoys me more than it should. We stroll back toward our houses, my cheeks hurting from smiling and the night gone fully surreal around us. Brody stays close enough that every few steps our hands almost meet.
I should say good night, thank him, retreat inside, and pretend my pulse isn’t out of control. Instead, I hear myself say, “So.”
Brody looks over. “So?”
My brain offers me several reasonable options, includingThanks for helping with the catandPlease forget I entered your house with a stolen Persian.
“Want to come to a wedding with me?” My mouth chooses violence. The words tumble out, fast and clumsy, and the second they find the air, my whole body goes hot.
Oh no.
No, no, no.
