Page 107 of Wish You Were Mine

I shrugged. “In the kitchen maybe? Wherever you’d like. Anywhere is fine with me.”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

He set the carrier on the ground, dropped to his knees, and opened the door. “Come out, pretty girl.” He made that clucking sound with his tongue that people use to attract cats. “It’s okay.”

Cookie didn’t emerge. Considering how many different places she’d been dragged around in the past few days, I wasn’t surprised.

“While you do that, I’ll get her litter box set up,” I told him.

“You don’t have to—”

His protest faded out as I left the room. I pulled a jacket on and went outside to the car, where we’d left the stuff we’d bought for Cookie on the way home. All of her usual things were still in Asher’s house, out of bounds, so she’d needed more.

I tucked the heavy bag of litter under one arm and stacked the bedding, toys, and food in the shiny new litter box to carry inside. I locked the front door and set up the litter box on a few sheets of newspaper in the laundry before filling a bowl with water on the kitchen floor and adding a few treats to another.

When Asher strolled into the kitchen, there was no sign of the cat. “She wouldn’t come out, so I left her in there with the door open. She’ll leave eventually.”

I grimaced, sympathetic to the cat’s situation. “It must be a stressful time for her.”

He huffed out a breath. “For all of us.”

I opened the fridge. “Want a beer?”

“God, yes.”

I usually preferred wine to beer, but some days called for it. I got two bottles out, popped the tops off, and handed him one.

He drank deeply, then let out a sigh. “I needed that.”

“I’m not surprised. I’m exhausted, and it wasn’t my house that caught fire.” I rubbed my belly as it rolled uncomfortably at the memory of how frightened I’d been when he’d bolted toward the burning house. As long as I lived, I’d rather not experience that level of terror again.

“I’ll understand if you want to go to bed,” I continued. “Even though it’s early, you’re probably having an adrenaline crash.”

But he shook his head. “I don’t need a bed, but curling up with a movie on sounds nice.”

“Let’s do that then.” I took my beer to the living room, and he followed close behind. I gestured at the sofa. “Sit.”

While he got comfortable, I brought up a comedy film on Netflix. I didn’t think either of us were up to watching an action or thriller movie, and a romance would have felt a little on the nose.

As the opening credits played, I hurried into the hall and searched the cupboards for the biggest, fluffiest blanket I owned. I sat beside Asher, tucked my legs beneath myself, and pulled the blanket over us.

During the first scene, Asher tugged me around until he was spooning me, his strong chest pressed against my back. I relaxed into the embrace, breathing in his masculine scent, appreciating the fact that any trace of smoke had been cleaned away.

When the movie ended, I cooked nachos, and we ate them at the table.

“We’ve never talked much about the future,” Asher said out of nowhere.

“I guess not,” I replied. I hadn’t thought much beyond securing our relationship.

“What do you want it to look like?” he asked.

“The future?” I frowned, considering. “I suppose we date for a while, and if it goes well, we eventually move in together. I don’t mind whether that’s at my place, your place, or somewhere else.”

I loved my cottage, but it was just a house. People mattered more than places and things.

“Do you want marriage?” He paused for a moment, then quietly added, “Children?”

I smirked. “I think you know my stance on marriage. Did you not see the hearts in my eyes at both Kennedy and Grace’s wedding ceremonies?”

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