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CHAPTER FIVE

BECKETT

Elsie’s still grinning as she gestures at the living room. “Sorry about the mess. I had grand plans to deep clean, but Mr. Snugglebutt had other ideas.”

Mr. Snugglebutt, as if summoned by the sound of his own name, flattens his ears and flicks his tail so hard it thumps against the chair leg. The message is clear: Die, interloper. Die slowly.

I set the takeout bag on the counter and raise both hands in a gesture of surrender, but the big bastard doesn’t blink. Elsie rolls her eyes and nudges him with her foot. “Don’t mind him. He hates everyone, including me. He’s basically a feline mafia boss. You’re safe if you stay away from his food bowl and don’t insult his weight.”

“I’ll remember that,” I mumble as I follow her into the small apartment. While I head to the living room with our dinner, she grabs us two glasses of water.

“Water is the only thing I have.” She apologizes and sets the two glasses on the table. “I haven’t been grocery shopping this week.”

“Water is great,” I tell her as I open the bag.

She flops onto the couch, legs tucked under her, grinning like a kid at Christmas as she stares at the Mexican takeout bag. “You’re my new hero.”

I slide onto the couch beside her, close enough that my knee brushes hers. “I couldn’t have my girl going hungry,” I tell her.

I take a second to scan the room, letting my brain inventory every single detail. There are two cat trees—one in the corner with frayed sisal posts and tufts of orange fur caught in the carpeted platforms, another by the window where a half-dozen catnip mice have been abandoned like casualties. Books are stacked on every surface, medical journals mixed with dog-eared paperback romances. A collection of mismatched coffee mugs crowds the end table, most sporting animal puns or rescue clinic logos. The whole place radiates Elsie—warm, slightly chaotic, and unapologetically lived-in.

Mr. Snugglebutt is still posted up, tail flicking, watching my every move like he’s expecting me to rob the place. It’s both impressive and slightly unnerving.

Elsie follows my gaze and sighs. “Ignore him. He’ll warm up… or he’ll hold a grudge forever. Could go either way.”

I snort and start scooping out enchiladas onto a paper plate, lining up the plastic utensils before handing the setup over.

The heat comes off her in waves. I fight the urge to reach over and tuck that wild red hair behind her ear, just to see if it’s as soft as it looked in the bright lights of the vet’s office. Her eyes search my face like she’s seeing something she likes, and I don’t hate it one bit.

We make a dent in the feast, talking about everything and nothing. She tells me about her day, and I grumble about the new firefighter’s latest fuck up. Every so often, I catch her glancing at the orange bastard still sulking in the armchair.

There’s a beat where neither of us talks, just breathing the same space, while the orange cat still glares at me, but now he looks a little less homicidal.

I let my gaze sweep the apartment one more time. It’s not the perfectly staged shit you see in magazines. It’s better. Real. There’s so much of Elsie in every detail, it makes my chest go tight. She’s the kind of woman who’d wake up at three a.m. to check on a sick animal, then come home, and still remember to feed the cat before passing out on the couch in her scrubs. The kind of woman who collects goofy mugs instead of wine glasses, who chooses pet beds over bar carts, who builds kingdoms out of cat towers, just because her beast likes to perch where he can judge the world.

She’s fucking perfect.

And she’s looking at me like maybe, just maybe, she thinks I’m pretty damn good, too.

I lift my glass of water in a silent toast, feeling the icy glass against my skin. “To surviving the wrath of Mr. Snugglebutt.”

Elsie clinks her glass to mine, laughter bubbling up in her throat. “May the odds be ever in your favor,” Elsie says, her voice just on the edge of a giggle.

Her cheeks flush as she takes a sip, and I can’t fucking look away. I want to see her laugh like this every goddamn day.

Mr. Snugglebutt jumps up on the arm of her couch, glaring at me like he’s plotting my murder. The orange bastard’s so huge he could bench press my wiener dog without breaking a sweat. I stare him down, giving him my best Don’t-Fuck-With-Me face, but he just blinks slowly and curls one paw around a catnip mouse like a fucking trophy. Ballsy. I think this fucker is trying to warn me off.

Not likely, buddy. I’m in this for the long haul.

And as I watch Elsie wipe a smear of salsa from her chin with the back of her hand, grinning at me like I’m the best fucking thing that’s ever walked into her living room, I realize I haven’t felt this damn happy in forever.

If this is what chaos looks like, count me in.

Elsie’s sitting cross-legged right next to me, her hair a goddamn mess and her cheeks flushed, laughing like I actually did something funny. Fuck. I want to eat her alive.

Mr. Snugglebutt levels that psycho cat glare at me from the arm of the couch, but now he’s only half-hearted about it. I see right through his game. He’s jealous, and not just because I brought legit Mexican food. He senses his girl’s into me, and the bastard’s plotting my murder. Joke’s on him—I’m not letting her go, ever.

“Do you want to watch something?” Elsie asks, catching me staring. She’s so fucking pretty it hurts to look straight at her.