Page 32 of Enemies in Paradise

I sneeze, push the door open wide, and come face-to-face with my biggest nightmare.

Chapter 11

Cassie

I hear the doorbefore I turn around. When I do, Bear stands there, filling the doorway. He holds a vase of flowers, his jaw slowly lowering before he lets out a giant sneeze.

In the seconds it takes Bear to recover from his sneeze, I try to think of a way to explain how the auto shop has been transformed into a cat shelter.

Bear slowly lowers the flowers he’s holding and scans the room, his jaw still open as he rubs his nose. Between his sneeze, running nose, and already watering eyes, it doesn’t take a detective to figure out that the reason he hates cats is that he’s allergic.

I just hope it’s a mild allergy, because I already feel terrible about what I’ve done.

Would I like to say to him what I’ve been rehearsing in my head in case anyone showed up? Would I like to explain why there are cats jumping in and out of the open top of his Mustang and crawling on every surface in the shop?

Of course I would. I am sufficiently humbled by how poorly this has gone that I’m ready to confess and apologize.

Can I be heard over the sound of the meows and screeches echoing off the cinderblock walls?

No. No, I cannot.

“What in the…” Bear’s face twists around the words he’s trying not to say, until he finally blurts, “Sheepadoodle!”

Which is not what I expected to come from his mouth. I bite back my explanation for what’s happening, but I can’t keep a giggle from escaping. “Did you say…sheepadoodle?”

I work with many people who have no problem using every curse in the book, no matter who’s around. So the fact Bear’s go-to word when he’s angry seems to be—say it out loud with me—sheepadoodleis maybe the most naively adorable thing ever. The fact he’s a giant, bearded hockey player only makes it more adorable.

The angry shade of maroon currently spreading across his face, on the other hand? Not so adorable.

“Where did all these cats come from?” Bear’s words rumble over me before he lets out a series of loud sneezes.

His deep voice and surprisingly high-octave sneezes drown out the cats for a few seconds, before disappearing into the cacophony of meows, hisses, and what sounds like it could be a bark, but there’s no dog here.

“I can explain. I didn’t know there’d be this many.” I take a few steps toward him, but he stops me with a searing glare.

“You did this?” He goes still except for the lightning flashing across his face. Then his eyes go wide. “They’re in the Mustang!”

Bear rushes past me, waving his arms, water flying from the flower vase, while yelling shoo to every cat he passes.

“Open the back door!” he calls to me, before dropping the flowers on the top of a tool chest.

I rush to throw open the door all the way, but the cats don’t take the invitation. They only dart around the room, hiding under, behind, and on top of anything they can find. Bear opens the door of the Mustang, yelling for the two in there to get out, but they tuck themselves further under the seats.

Obviously, he can’t touch them. Between his sneezes, I glimpse his red, swollen eyes. And he’s coughing too.

Soooo, this is not a mild allergy to cats.

My bad.

My very big bad.

Bear gives up coaxing the cats out of the car. He whips his head around the room until his eyes land on a broom next to me. The same one I used to fight the mice.

He moves toward it, but three earth-shaking sneezes stop him.

While he tries to recover, I grab the broom and head for the Mustang. “I’ll get them out!”

As I charge past him, Bear grabs the broom handle, bringing me to a sudden halt.

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