Page 23

He didn’t want to know the answer.

Ethan fidgeted with his hands as Joyce’s words needled at his mind.

I don't think I've ever heard you talk about a single friend. A date. Nothin'.

Ethan almost laughed to himself. Dating? That was absolutely out of the question. Plus, he was busy. Very busy, in fact.

At least, that was the excuse he repeated to himself. Sure, he’d downloaded some dating apps when he got here, swiped a few times, and then immediately deleted them. Not that he wasn’t attractive or anything. In fact, he’d had plenty of girls interested in him throughout his life.

He ticked off the typical boxes of conventional attractiveness—athletic build, forest-green eyes, and emotionally mature, to a degree. Was his sense of style the best? No. But in terms of physicality? That wasn’t the concern.

The reality was that nobody wanted to date damaged goods, and Ethan didn’t want to burden someone else with all his bullshit and baggage. He’d mastered being socially awkward at this point, and overthinking was a skill that he’d practiced all his life.

Alone.

Alone was best.

The bus groaned to a stop in front of his apartment on Capitol Hill. He, of course, had chosen the least-Ethan location he could have when frantically applying for apartments.

Capitol Hill was a prime location for partying and nightclubs. On the bright side, he saved plenty of money by constantly staying indoors.

Raucous laughter filled the streets across from his place, and even though he never went out, it almost made him feel like he was a part of it. Or at least, tricked his brain into thinking he had the choice if he wanted to.

Ethan swung open the door to 3B, his gaze landing on the black void of fur that waited for him on the floor. Teddy sat waiting for him as she always did, rolling onto her back and pawing at the air before coming to greet him.

She wound around his legs, her sleek, black fur soft against his ankles. She looked up at him with her emerald-colored eyes—much like his own—another reason he’d decided to keep her. Not that Ethan had actually had much of a choice in the matter. Teddy had really picked him, and he was grateful for her every day.

Teddy had shown up right when he needed her most. A week after he’d moved here is when he’d found her, scratching at the windowsill in the middle of the night. Practically howling—or whatever it is that cats do—until he couldn't stand it anymore.

He’d stumbled to his window, and there she sat, staring back wide-eyed at him.

This scrawny, black cat with green eyes that seemed to glow in the dark, perched on his three-story windowsill as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Which had made no sense at all to him, given there was no fire escape, but he’d been way too tired to question it.

Teddy had hopped right inside, immediately jumping into the unpacked boxes from New York that had been there for weeks. In fact, that was really the only thing that got him to accept that the move was real, that his Dad had died, and he was starting over in this new place.

After that, well, she just never left.

Thank God.

“Hey, you. Miss me?” He crouched down, scratching the spot between her ears as she meowed with approval. “Me too. Today was… a lot.”

Ethan recounted his day to Teddy, something he deemed rather endearing or deeply sad, depending on how you looked at it. But he chose not to think about it too much. It was either that or talk to nobody. His therapist would say it was significant progress, given the alternatives, so it was good enough for him.

Emptying a can of tuna into Teddy’s bowl, Ethan warmed up some frozen pasta thing that promised to taste homemade.

It didn’t.

Teddy hopped onto the tiny dining table that was wedged between his living room and kitchen. Something Seattle apartments liked to market as quaint.

“Joyce said she thinks I need to get out more,” Ethan said, pushing the rubbery pasta around with his fork. “I do plenty of things.”

Teddy blinked absently back at him before turning back to her food.

“Gee, thanks,” he laughed.

After finishing his sorry excuse for dinner, he plopped down on the couch, Teddy following close behind.

Ethan’s gaze fell to the open notebook on top of his writing desk. He thought about going over and working on something, but the thought quickly faded. He hadn't really written since his Dad died. What would I even write about? Grief? Sadness? That my boss is an asshole?