Page 75 of Knotted Laces

Then a scowl.

Before her face clears and she strokes a hand down the kitten’s back—an orange tabby who has mischief in his eyes…except when he looks at Athena. She purses her lips and exhales. “Fine. I knew. I just hadn’t allowed my logical self to recognize that fact.” She cuddles the kitten closer, and continues, affecting Jean-Michel’s voice, “If you’re going to be around the team, you should understand some of the charity work we participate in”—her eyes come to mine and she drops the grumpy French Canadian—“so, this”—a nod at the kitten—“is allyourfault.”

“Maybe,” I say.

“Ormaybeyou’re a softie with lots of love for innocent creatures, no matter how hard you try to pretend otherwise.”

Her face is a study in juxtaposition—fear and joy, pleasure and retreat—but just like she’s done since she jumped me at the cabin, she shoves that down and pushes forward.

Fuck, I love her so much.

“And why don’tyouhave a pet?”

“I travel too much.” And I was scared to get attached too anything or anyone after the news.

She seems to hear both of those statements because her face gentles?—

And I fall in love with her even more.

Not the woman I knew from a distance, the one I’d mooned over for years. But rather, the one beneath the icy layers that have melted away. The woman she is in this momentandthe one she has been in the past. The one who cuddles a kitten and comes to the arena. The one who’s simultaneously kicking ass in the shooting range and working on a case against an organized crime conglomerate. The one with baggage but who still manages to be a great friend. The one who offers to pay for food and rehab for her deadbeat of a mother.

The one who hugged me because I looked sad.

And the one who opened up when I talked about what was bothering me, sharing so I wouldn’t be vulnerable alone.

I’ve fallen in deep with Athena—deeper than I ever thought possible.

And I can’t seem to stop.

Don’twantto stop.

“Plus, I intend to be an excellent cat dad.” I hold up my phone, showing her what I’ve just bought—a crocheted superhero mask that will allow the kitten to battle to save Gotham. “And first step is bribing you with adorable hats for the fluffball.”

Her eyes narrow, but I don’t miss the amusement in the brown depths as she continues petting and says, “Thor would be a superior superhero for him to represent.” A kiss to his head, this woman who kept herself so distant and yet holds that kitten like he’s the most precious cargo on the planet.

Like she’d hold a baby.

Bile burns the back of my throat, and I exhale slowly.

More than one way to make a family.

More—

“And his name isn’t fluffball.” She wrinkles her nose at me. “That’s far beneath him.”

“True,” I agree. Plus, he isn’t all that fluffy. His fur is sleeker, the orange—along with his demeanor—more understated than his kitten pals creating chaos through the various rooms of the adoption center. “So, what are you going to name him?”

I already know his moniker isn’t going to remain Rex—the name the rescue group gave him, this round of kittens named after dinosaurs.

She sighs, lifting him up to study his face. Nonplussed, the kitten blinks green-brown eyes and yawns widely before lying limply against her shoulder and going back to purring loudly. “I don’t know.”

I run my fingers through his soft fur, ignoring the way he slits his eyes open and glares. “It’ll come to you.”

“I hope so.”

“It will.”

But those words didn’t come from my mouth and we both shift to watch Chrissy sink down in front of us, looking bright and beautiful…and pregnant.

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