Page 79 of Knotted Laces

Cookie stretches in my arms, his whiskers tickling me as he sniffs at my nose. And when his rough tongue laps over the tip, I laugh, gaze sliding to the side?—

Breath hitching when I see Cam watching.

“Beautiful,” he whispers and my heart thuds hard, feelings rippling through me—too big, too beautiful, toowonderful.

“Cam, I?—”

“Excuse me!”

I jerk back, not having realized I was leaning in to Cam, having completely forgotten we’re in a public place.

With an audience.

One of whom is clamping a hand to her mouth, jumping to her feet, and running away.

Rome gets up and follows her, and I don’t miss that Cam watches him go, don’t miss the grief he quickly banks.

He’ll be an excellent father.

I know it.

Just like I know thatheknows family isn’t just genetics.

But I can’t help him with what he lost, can’t make that better?—

“Meow!”

My heart rolls over in my chest as I look down at Cookie.

I still.

Or maybe Icanhelp him see that.

With Cat Dad duties.

He tiptoesdown the hall and into my kitchen, smile wide, but expression tired. “He’s finally asleep.”

I grin and set the plate down in the sink, the warm water running over my hands, sweeping suds and food remnants down the drain..

We’re at my house, having eaten a delicious meal that Cam cooked for us, and, as predicted, Cookie has us both wrapped around his adorable tiny toe beans.

On Chrissy’s advice, he doesn’t have full reign of the house yet, so we’ve been taking turns “putting him to bed”—or really, containing him in my bathroom until he’s a little more comfortable with where the litter box and water bowl and other cat accoutrements are.

“I told you I’d get the dishes,” he says, coming over to the sink, wrapping his arms around my middle, and pressing a kiss to my nape.

“And I told youI’dget them,” I reply tartly.

He nips at the shell of my ear. “Stubborn.”

“Jackson meet Phillips.”

He chuckles as I finish up with the last dish, setting it in the drying rack and turning to face him.

“Your version of pot meet kettle?”

“Does it not fit?” I ask archly.

“Of course it does.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “But I still would have done the dishes, cupcake.”

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