Page 77 of Interference

“Yes. Exactly. So half the time, we end up splitting up. Whoever’s walking Moose goes on ahead, and whoever has Bear gets to patiently take the slow, scenic route.”

“That… actually sounds really cute.”

Anthony smiled, unaware of how cute that was. “It’s hilarious. And I mean, that has to be a pretty fun way to go through life, you know? Being absolutely fascinated and entertained by everything? Including the pine cone you think you just discovered because you’ve completely forgotten you were playing with it ten minutes ago?”

“Huh. I hadn’t thought of that, but you’re right. He never gets bored.”

“Thank God for that. Moose is enough of a little shit when he’s bored. I don’t need Bear going there, too.”

“What?” I glanced over my shoulder at the cats. Moose was chilling, eyes half-closed and paws curled over the edge of the seat. “He doesn’t seem like much of a troublemaker.”

“Trust me—he is. He’ll just randomly decide he wants to open a cabinet and pull everything out. That’s why I have childproof latches in the kitchen and bathrooms.”

I snorted. “Seriously?”

“Uh-huh. Otherwise I’ll come in and find the contents all over the floor and his smug ass curled up in the empty cabinet.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “There’s never a dull moment with a Maine Coon in the house.”

“Says the man who got two of them.”

“Well, yeah.” He shrugged innocently and glanced at me. “I didn’t want them to be lonely.”

“So now you have two house lions with a thirst for destruction.” I gave him a thumbs-up. “Well done!”

He just laughed.

And I just kept wondering how I was going to keep my sanity around someone who was that hot and this adorable.

We got out in a gravel parking lot beside the Slough in Redmond. Anthony double-checked the boys’ leashes, and he took both cats while I walked Lily.

From the lot, there was a short dirt path that led to the grass-lined multi-use trail winding along the Slough, which was a somewhat narrow and lazily flowing section of the Sammamish River. There were a few cyclists out today, not to mention people walking or running, but it wasn’t packed. This was, after all, late November, so while it wasn’t unpleasant, it was chilly enough to warrant jackets.

It’s going to be cold as balls after the sun goes down.

I shivered, nestling my face into the collar of my parka. Even though I’d be sleeping in a warm bed tonight, that habitual dread still set in as if I were facing down a bitterly cold night on the street. Plus my situation with Anthony was temporary, so while I wouldn’t be spending this night out in the cold, that day was coming.

I tamped that thought down. No point in being miserable about something that hadn’t happened yet. I was going to enjoy the good—the fucking amazing—for as long as I had it.

As we walked, I looked down at Lily to make sure she wasn’t cold. She was panting happily and wagging her tail, and she didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable. I’d packed a T-shirt and a small blanket into a backpack I’d borrowed from Anthony; if Lily got cold, the T-shirt would help, and if we stopped to eat or something, she could wrap up in the blanket if she wanted to.

So far, though, she seemed just fine.

Unsurprisingly, whenever we encountered people, the cats stole the show. Most people barely noticed Lily and me at all, or even Anthony. They were way too busy fawning over the pair of enormous cats on leashes. Kids especially marveled at cats that size, and their jaws dropped when Anthony held up treats to get the cats to stand on their hind legs. It was definitely impressive, especially Moose—who the hell designed cats to be that big?

Every time we stopped to let people photograph and pet the cats, though, I found myself cringing inwardly. Most people didn’t pay any mind to anyone other than the cats, but I kept bracing for someone to try to touch Lily. I would never in a million years have had her ears cropped or her tail docked, but admittedly, there were moments when I almost wished she had that stereotypical Doberman look. That was usually enough to get people keep their distance. A gentle-looking dog with floppy ears and a wagging tail just wasn’t intimidating.

And sure enough, as a couple of little kids were petting Moose and Bear, one of them noticed Lily. Her eyes lit up as she asked me, “Can I pet your dog?”

At least she knew to ask instead of just putting her hands on Lily. Still, I smiled as I shook my head. “Sorry, no. She’s a service dog. She’s working.”

The girl’s face fell.

Her mother glared at me. “Just let her pet the dog.”

“No,” I said, firmly but not rudely. “She can’t do her job if she’s distracted.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Cassidy, go ahead and pet the—”

“Absolutely not,” I growled. I looked down. “Lily, watch my six.” She immediately stepped between my legs, facing away from me. I didn’t actually need her to stand guard right then, but it helped me create a physical barrier to protect her. With Lily safely in position, I met the woman’s gaze. “The answer is no.”

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