Page 25 of Revv

Three dots appear.

Disappear.

Appear again.

Then nothing.

I smile despite myself.

Finally got him.

Then my phone buzzes.

Revel: You’re already planning to see me again? Cute. Do me a favor, go out to your porch.

I frown.

“My porch?” I say out loud.

Guacamole lifts his head again.

“Don’t get up. I’ll handle it. Since I’m the only adult in this house.”

He immediately gets up and follows me.

“Chismoso,” I mutter.

He trots behind me anyway, tiny claws clicking against the floor like he’s part of the investigation team.

I unlock the front door, already irritated, confused, and preparing to text Revel something mean enough to make myself feel balanced again.

Then I open the door and stop.

There is a brand-new car battery sitting on my porch.

Beside it is a drink tray with coffee, and a paper bag from Taco Veloz.

My brain short-circuits so hard I just stand there in the doorway, one hand on the knob, hair probably insane, shirt falling off one shoulder, and my sock half sliding down my foot.

Because absolutely fucking not.

This is cute.

Fuck.

Flowers, I can hate. Flowers die, smell weird after two days, and leave sad little crumbs all over the counter. Big romantic gestures, I can roll my eyes at. Men love doing shit with an audience so everyone can clap because, wow, look, he remembered women like attention.

But a battery?

Coffee?

Tacos?

My fucking tacos?

All left on my porch with no one around to watch him do it. Not even me.

No credit. No grin. No “look what I did, Mama.”