Page 6 of Rescued By the Rebel

“Is this where you grew up?” I ask him as I climb out of my car, pushing a cat back in as I go.

“No, I grew up in Chicago.”

“Oh. What brought you to Maplewood then?”

“A dart on a map.”

“Wha-really?” I ask, and he grins.

“Yeah. I got out of the military and knew I didn’t want to go back to Chicago, so I tossed a dart at a map and it landed here.”

“That’s kind of crazy.”

“Maybe,” he agrees easily. “I don’t regret it though.”

“Are your parents still in Chicago?”

“Probably,” he says with a shrug. “We aren’t close. I haven’t spoken to them since I was eighteen.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. They’re not great people. They’re selfish and rude. I don’t miss them.”

Aldis is surprisingly open and honest.

I love it.

Everyone I knew in New York were pretentious. They lied as easily as they breathed, trying to appear more rich or important than they actually were. Aldis is a welcome change.

“Should we get the cats?” I ask, and he nods.

“How do you want to do this?”

“I’ll grab a few and you grab a few. It will take a couple of trips.”

He nods, heading to unlock the front door as I round the hood and open the passenger side door. I grab a few of the cats and promise to be right back before I head up to the front door. I pass Aldis on the way.

When I step inside, I take a quick look around. The place is clean, everything in its place. There’s a framed photograph of a motorcycle on the wall, but that’s it.

“Did you just move in?” I ask him as he comes up behind me.

“No, I’ve been here a year. I just don’t have a ton of belongings, I guess.”

“Me either. I sold or donated most of my things before I left New York.”

We set down the cats and they run off to explore their new temporary home. Aldis and I head back out to the car and make a few more trips before we have all of the cats inside. The cats are all a little freaked out, probably from the chaos of the events from tonight, but they seem to like Aldis’s place well enough.

“Are you hungry?” Aldis asks me.

“Starving.”

“Let’s see what we have.”

I follow him into the kitchen and take a seat on one of the barstools at the counter. Aldis starts to rummage around in the fridge.

“I can make some tacos?” He offers, and my stomach growls.

“Sounds good. Can I help?”

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