Page 70 of Betting on the Brainiac

“Hello? Is this Madison? Madison Armstrong?”

I clear my throat, realizing I spaced on him for several seconds. “Sorry, yes. You found a foster.”

“Yeah, sorry that took so long. But like I said, they’ll be ready tomorrow.”

“That’s, uh, wow.” I swallow hard. “So great. Can you email me the details so I can get everything ready?”

We hang up, and I look down at Tuxie, who is attempting to climb out of my lap to go roll around with the other kittens. They’re still not good at playing yet, but they’re into it, lurching and bumping into each other.

I should be so relieved about this. And happy for the kittens. Instead, all the tough things of the last several days have been drawn to each other in a vortex of suckiness, collapsing under its own weight to form a hard knot somewhere between my chest and my stomach.

I call Tabitha over, tsking until I have her attention. “Turns out I’m going to need another hug, mama. Can I hold you?”

When I pick her up and settle her against my chest, she purrs, and I feel it all the way up through my crown and down through my soles. We sit like that for a few minutes before I hear Oliver pull in.

A few seconds later Oliver opens the shed door and peers down at us.

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning. I wasn’t sure you needed your workspace here anymore.”

“Been a busy few days. Meetings all over the place, lawyers, contracts.” He has shadows under his eyes.

“You okay?”

“Ish,” he says. “Are the kittens okay?”

“Ish. I want them in the club with me today.”

“I’ll help you bring them in.”

When the kittens are settled in my office, looking like they might try to figure out how to climb out of the carrier, Oliver says, “You don’t seem okay.”

“The rescue called this morning. They have a foster who can take them tomorrow.”

“Oh.” He hovers, eyes shifting between me and the kittens. “That’s soon.”

We watch as Big Stripey makes the first brave attempt to climb out. Is Oliver thinking like I am that it’s unfathomable to imagine not watching more of these antics every day?

“Madi, could I . . . could we, uh, talk?”

I glance up at him. “Sounds serious.”

His answer is a shrug, and it makes the knot in my center harder and tighter. Lesson definitely learned. I should have kept the family drama to myself. I feel . . . stupid. I hate it.

I stand and crook my head toward the main floor. “Your office okay?”

He nods and leads us to the dance floor booth, setting his laptop bag down and slipping his hands into his pockets while I slide into the booth. For the first time, I notice he’s wearing nice pants and a button-down shirt. He looks good. Almost familiar. Probably because this style is a surprisingly natural fit for him.

“We should get married,” he blurts.

I stare at him, thinking I misheard him. “Who should do what now?”

He takes a seat in the booth, clasping his hands on the table in front of him. “Madison Leigh Armstrong, I’m here to make the case for why we should get married. I even have a flowchart. Will you listen to my proposal?”

This is the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me.

I lean forward and prop my chin in my hands. “Oliver Cat Daddy Locke, no power on earth could stop me.”

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