Page 114 of The Next Lie

“Why?”

His eyes meet mine. “Nash told me you worry when he disappears.”

That answer punches the air out of me with embarrassing efficiency. I look away first.

“That’s manipulative.”

“No. Just practical.”

“You brought my cat outside to try to make me like you. It’s not going to work.”

“I brought your cat outside because he was scratching at the door, and Nash was threatening to make him into a hat.”

“Nash would never.”

“No. But the kitten believed him.”

Despite myself, I reach for Homer.

Deacon hands him over carefully, then gives me the leash. Homer immediately climbs my shirt like his life has been hard and unjust. I cradle him against my chest, and he buries his wet little nose beneath my chin.

“He’s not even mad at you,” I mutter, scratching the white cross on his forehead.

“He has taste.”

“He fell in the shower this morning.”

“That seems on brand for an orange cat.”

The corner of my mouth moves before I can stop it.

Deacon notices. I know because his expression shifts by almost nothing, and somehow that almost nothing is unbearable.

I look down at Homer. “You should go back inside.”

“The kitten?”

“You.”

“No.”

I sigh. “I’m not in the mood, Deacon.”

“For me?”

“For men who lie to me.”

“Don’t ask me anything I’ll have to lie about.”

I scratch Homer between the ears and keep my eyes on him. “Delia trusts you.”

“She has reason to.”

“She looks at you like she knows you.”

“She does.”

My fingers go still in Homer’s fur.