Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

AINSLEY

That cocky grin.

His pretty hazel eyes.

Carved biceps.

Sweet, sweet buns of steel.

Those are the thoughts that jolt me out of my sleep, and when I realize it’s only just after five in the morning, I curse my attractive neighbor and then I rub my eyes. It’s not his fault. Well, maybe it is because he’s being super helpful as well as looking cute while doing it. Now he’s offered to stand in as my fake boyfriend to ward off evil spirits and men called Drake.

It’s sweet of him but urgh . How is this my life? Why couldn’t I just voice the words that I’m attracted to him, or at the very least, that fake dating is a good idea and see how that went?

I guess I’m afraid that admitting I feel a spark with Cole might make him think I’m looking for a rebound. Even though it’s been months, me and Drake were done long before that. Then there’s the other fear that Cole is just being a nice guy. I mean, he’s flirty. He is that way with every one, and I can’t blame him for that. He’s young and single. Why shouldn’t he flirt? But now I’m picturing him flirting, I’m just not sure that I like the idea of him doing it to other women. Yep, he helped me unpack my unmentionables and moved some boxes and now I have some weird claim over him. In my dreams.

He’s not interested in me. He was just being nice.

I yawn, throwing back the covers, then step into my pumpkin slippers. Everything is better with fall all around you. It may be the last few days for it, but that’s not the point. In my opinion, fall should occur anytime after July 4th. There’s only so many pumpkin spiced lattes one can drink in such a short space of time.

I use the bathroom, slipping into my comfy, orange waffle robe, and just as I walk into the kitchen, I yelp at the sight of something moving across the floor. It makes me rocket five feet in the air, and I quickly jump up on the nearby kitchen chair for refuge.

“Holy shit!” My hand presses over my heart as I stare down at the scruffy, ginger cat looking up at me.

His expression is one of blind nonchalance. Like it’s his kitchen and I’m the one trespassing. What’s even more bizarre is how the heck he got in here, unless… I glance over to the door that backs onto the kitchen and sure enough, there’s the culprit. A cat door. Maybe the previous renter was used to his comings and goings, but he doesn’t look very friendly. A worse idea hits me; did they leave it behind?

I don’t know if I should shoo him — or her — away, or to try to make friends. I go with the latter.

“Here, kitty kitty,” I say, stepping down gingerly from the chair. I realize I’m being a tad dramatic, but I wasn’t expecting to see a cat in the middle of my kitchen.

I realize I probably need treats o r something to lure it in. Sadly, I don’t have any catnip, but I probably have some tuna in the cupboard. I stop. Do cats really eat fish? Or am I imagining that?

I walk around the cat. His head moves and his eyes follow me. All the while, the furry beast doesn’t budge. This tough little talker really thinks he owns the place.

I reach to the top cupboard and hunt around. Damn it. I didn’t do grocery shopping, but surely I’ve got something in this godforsaken pantry aside from mothballs.

Corn flakes. A box of cookies. Spaghettios.

I turn. The cat hasn’t moved, but he’s still watching me with big, wary brown eyes. Maybe I should’ve tried to shoo it away. Hmm. Do cats drink milk? I have that at least.

I move to the fridge, then hunt around for a dish. Settling on a saucer that matches my teacup, I pour some milk and set it down. He looks at it, then back at me, then back down again.

“I’m sorry, your majesty.” I fake a bow. “But there are no royal biscuits to go with your milk this morning.”

I snort, and the cat hisses at me. Literally hisses, baring his teeth.

“Okay, so we’re not gonna be friends, then? Maybe the last person who lived here let you boss them around with your beady little eyes and cold demeanor, but that was then, buster . This is now.” I reach over toward the broom tucked between the sink and the fridge, just in case the furry critter decides to attack, and I grip the handle. You can’t be too careful where cats are concerned. I’ve heard they’re a different breed, and this one is proving that theory correct.

I didn’t know cats could be so obstinate, but this little character really does look peeved off just at my existing. That and giving him crappy cold milk in a gold-rimmed saucer .

“I’ll have you know that’s Royal Doulton,” I tell him. “And you should feel privileged to have your milk in it. I don’t just give my saucer to any old body.” I realize I’m talking to a cat and a flash of me thirty years from now, in this very house with a slew of kitties running around, causes me to grip the handle even tighter. “Shoo.”

If cats could do the Damon Salvatore eyebrow raise, this cat wins first prize. He really isn’t afraid of me.

“Okay, I give up. You came here to torture me, what is it you want? Cause’ I haven’t got anything suitable for a cat to eat.” I contemplate trying cornflakes, but that wouldn’t be very neighborly of me, even if it is my house, knowingly giving him something I’m certain he shouldn’t be eating.

He raises his butt off the ground and moves his little legs closer to me. Uh, oh. I imagine the 911 call right now. “ Excuse me officer, but this cat broke into my house and just attacked me out of nowhere, and now he’s trying to eat my arm…”

It’s because I haven’t had my coffee yet, that’s what it is. I’m delusional before the caffeine hits.

As politely as I can, I try to shoo him back with the broom, but like Clint Eastwood in a Fistful of Dollars, the damn cat is not deterred. Yes, I’m intimidated by a freaking animal!

“Shoo!” I say again, but his eyes narrow and before I can do anything, it leans back on its haunches and suddenly leaps up onto the counter, making me shriek as I run out the back door and slam it behind me.

I’m too scared to glance back to see if the damned thing made it out, and like a horror film, he’s right behind me, waiting to pounce… but when I peek back through the glass with my hands, he’s up on the counter, laying in the morning sun t hat streams through the blinds. He watches me like I’m a complete idiot, and I feel that right down to my toes.

I straighten my back, ignore the thudding of my beating heart, and begin to march back in to show him who’s boss when I hear, “Morning, Ainsley.”

I stare at the cat before turning to the voice. It’s as if the fur ball on wheels knows my sudden discomfort and dread of being caught outside in my robe by my neighbor, and is secretly satisfied. I know that voice. I know that tone. And I know the way he says my name.

And no, for the record, I did not plan on running into Cole wearing pumpkin pajamas, wooly socks pulled up over the top, along with oversized novelty slippers and my matching pumpkin colored robe. Not to mention, my hair is slung in a knot on the top of my head containing my curls from last night, but now Leo Sayer would be rattled by the frizz. It’s also slipped sideways in a way that was fashionable in the 1980s when leg warmers were a thing. I should be grateful that I didn’t have my sleep mask on, usually, it’s stuck to the top of my head. I reach for my forehead and realize that my nightmare is now complete. My pumpkin sleep mask is sitting on my forehead, completing the look.

I slowly turn, and it feels like it takes eons to do that simple little act. And there he is, over the timber fence line between us.

I clear my throat. “Hello, Cole.”

He’s looking scrumdidilly-dumptuous, of course, at stupid o’clock in the morning, and he’s already dressed for work, even though it’s barely light out.

“You okay?”

Why, do I not look okay? And wh y is he out in the garden at this time of the morning?

It’s then I realize he has a hose in his hand. Is he watering a… veggie patch?

“Um, yes, I just had a fright, actually.”

If he notices I’m wearing weird stuff to bed, he doesn’t show it, but his brow furrows. “What was it?”

“A cat,” I say, looking back over to my back window. The critter has now rolled onto his back, paws in the air like he’s in the south of France, not my kitchen bench. “It hissed at me and then jumped up on my bench, and I ran away like the giant child I am.”

“Oh, no.” He turns the hose off. “Is it ginger and scowls, as if you trod on his ancestors’ graves and did a rain dance on them?”

I nod slowly.

“That’s just Fudge,” he says like that’s meant to mean something to me, then adds, “He’s my cat.”

I stare at him for a few moments while I comprehend his words. “You have a cat?”

“Yep.”

I don’t know why I’m surprised. I mean, people have cats all the time. But something about Cole being a cat dad is… hot.

“Oh.”

“You’re not allergic, are you?”

“Uh, no.” I try to snatch my eyepatch off, but he’s watching, so it just ends up higher on top of my bun. Flattering, Ainsley. Way to go. “He just startled me.”

He runs a hand over his hair, and I follow the movement. It’s shorter than last year, but still shaggy. His light, almost curly locks spring back and I feel a jolt in my lower belly. I did just have a dream about McSteamy over here, so it’s not entirely my fault.

“I’m really sorry. He’s a little, uh, particular.”

“You don’t say? I gave him a saucer of milk and he looked at me like Darth Vader about to shoot down Battlestar Galactica.”

He chuckles. “He’s all bark and no bite. Honestly. Mr. and Mrs. Carruthers just moved into the retirement home in town. They used to feed him, so he’s probably just wondering who you are and when you’ll be handing out the treats.”

“I’m not usually a betting woman, but I’m guessing he only likes a certain brand?”

“Got it in one. Don’t blame the little guy, it’s his owner’s fault.” He jabs a finger into his chest. “Foster fail. His owner dumped him at Presley’s clinic a few weeks after the ‘Christmas spirit’ wore off last year. He was in a cardboard box with no blanket or anything. Poor thing could’ve frozen to death.”

My heart softens. “Oh, that’s awful! People are asswipes. No wonder he’s wary.”

“Well, he wandered into your house without permission. You’re allowed to be a little shaken up, especially with those judgy eyes of his.”

Why does he have to be so freaking cute in the mornings? Or anytime? But especially in the mornings when I look like I just barely survived a wild night wrestling a typhoon.

“Oh, he’s got that stare down pat. At the moment, he’s sunning himself on my counter top, wondering where the good snacks are.” We both look over and sure enough, he’s still watching us from his upside down position, his eyes closing every now and again. I can imagine him purring and I melt a little more. I’ve never had a pet before because my mom is allergic, but I love animals. I just don’t know how to handle them or what they need, but I don’t think it could be that hard.

“I can go get him,” Cole offers. “He shouldn’t be just barging his way into your place unannounced. Even if he does think it’s his second home.”

“While I tend to agree, a simple meow would have sufficed.” We both laugh.

Gosh, he’s so easy to talk to. My cheeks burn when I think about the spicy dream I was having and Cole was on top. Holy crap!

I clear my throat for what feels like the thousandth time. “But really, he’s fine, now that I know he’s yours.” He piques an eyebrow and I realize how that sounded. “Not a stray,” I amend, quickly adding, “Not that there’s anything wrong with strays, of course. It isn’t their fault for the situations they find themselves in; it’s dumb humans who are selfish and shouldn’t get a pet if they don’t take the responsibility seriously.” I also babble when I’m under pressure.

He gives me that cute as sin lopsided grin. “As long as you’re sure.”

I start to walk backward. Who’d have thought the safety of my kitchen with the killer cat inside would be a refuge away from the cute boy next door? I mean, it’s too late, he’s seen me in my pj’s for heaven’s sake. And now I want to crawl under my duvet and never come out.

“I’m sure.” I wave behind me. “Anyway, coffee’s calling. I’ll see you soon.”

I’ll see you soon?

He gives me a chin lift. “Countin’ on it.”

I try not to scurry, but that’s probably the only word I can use to describe my movements as I flee back to the safety of t he house. I shut the door behind me and lean against it, sighing. When I open my eyes, Fudge hasn’t moved.

“Fudge?” I breathe. “Is that your name?” It could just be me, but I’m sure I hear him purring. “You scared me at first, okay, but now I know Cole is your, uh… Daddy… ” My heart rate accelerates. Being a cat Dad is so hot. “We have to learn to co-exist because it’s clear to me that Cole cares a lot about you. And I’m sorry that your selfish humans before him did what they did. Ever heard of karma, Fudge? Well, I believe in it, and when they’re old and gray, I hope they get left out in the cold, too.”

He paws toward me, and my heart softens like gooey caramel. I move toward him and I know it’s a risk, but I slowly reach to him and tickle his tummy. He purrs louder, watching me carefully, but allowing the touch. “You’re a good boy, deep down, aren’t you, bud? Just a little bossy, huh?” Then I lower my voice like I’m a conspirator. “Don’t tell Daddy, but I’ll get you some treats. Only the good kind. It’ll be our little secret, okay?” Then I realize the residents before me used to feed him, and Cole already mentioned Fudge only likes the good treats. I guess that means Daddy probably doesn’t care what he gets up to over here.

He’s so soft, and I get the feeling he is kinda sweet in his own way. I think I might have misjudged him, but in my defense, he stalked me into a corner in my own kitchen and hissed at me. I know I’m technically in my house, but Fudge thinks it’s his second home, and who am I to argue? It’s obvious I need to respect that if we’re going to co-exist.

He rubs his head against my wrist and I think he’s forgiven me for not being Mrs. Curruthers.

I smile. “I think we’re gonna get along just fine.” He stretches out, his body long as h e yawns. “And on that note, I’m making coffee. From now on, I’m only sleeping in silk negligees, you know, in case I have to run outside again and have a conversation over the fence with your hot daddy.” I laugh, shaking my head. I don’t know, but I’m sure Fudge purrs even harder. “Just kidding.”