Page 33 of The Luminosity of Loriana Harper

What if she’d lost someone? What if someone had died a violent death, and he’d made a joke about it? He couldn’t have known, of course, but that didn’t change—

“I’m fine.” She squeezed his hand. “Just thinking about all the missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls. How they’ll likely never be found.”

Which was a national Canadian tragedy, to be sure…and not what she’d been thinking about. She’d just lied to him. So easy to tell because she rarely, if ever, lied. And how did he know that after such a brief acquaintance? He justknew.

She offered him her megawatt smile. “You still up for hot chocolate?”

“Are you sure? I can go. It’s just a short walk—”

“Don’t be silly. I make a mean hot chocolate. Plus, you can’t leave until you’ve met Plato.” She pointed to the front window where a very fat cat stared at them.

“He looks…”How do I say this diplomatically?

“Fat.” She happily supplied the pejorative. “And my vet is forever lecturing me about it. Except he’s twelve years old without a single health problem. And given how sickly and scrawny he was when I got him…”

The cat in the window looked about as far from sickly and scrawny as Mitch could imagine. “When did you get him?”

Loriana unbuckled her seat belt, so Mitch did the same.

“About twelve years ago.” She exited the car.

He followed suit.

“A litter of kittens was found down by the railway tracks. All of them in rough shape. Dickens, the teenager who found them, struck a deal with our local vet—if he could collect enough money to pay for the medications the kittens needed, then she’d donate her veterinary services.” Loriana armed the car alarm and then moved to the side door where she unlocked it. “Now, I’m ninety-nine percent sure she’d have done it anyway, but it proved an excellent lesson for Dickens. He cajoled everyone he knew into baking stuff for his bake sale, and then he convinced them to buy the questionable results.” She snickered.

“I take it you partook?”

“I was new in the head librarian job and wanting to make a good first impression. I made my grandmother’s chocolate mousse pie, and then I bought several pies, several loaves of bread, and dozens of cookies. My freezer was packed with enough calories to last me for months.” She opened the door and stepped inside, holding it open for him.

He followed suit and stepped inside.

The cat, who’d been twining in between Loriana’s legs, paused and stared up at Mitch unblinkingly.

It’s just a cat. You’re a human. Stay strong.

He still remembered his neighbor’s vicious cat who attacked him regularly when he was a kid. Definitely traumatic memories.

“You’ve never had a cat.”

Her perceptiveness should’ve startled him, but it didn’t. “Uh, no.” He winced as the cat stepped toward him, but he held his ground. “So, uh, bake sale…?”

Loriana hung her coat on a peg and indicated he should remove his, which he did. She hung that one up as well. “Dickens raised the money. He also called dibs on the littlest one. He named her Aristotle—Ari—and she’s almost as big as Plato. If you’re ever wandering down First Avenue and happen by The Owl’s Nest, Dickens’s bookstore, you’ll probably spot Ari in the window.” She bent over to scratch her cat. “I wasn’t going to adopt a cat—I’d only just taken on the head job. The place was a bit of a mess, and I was putting in lots of hours to bring it up to speed. Like into the twenty-first century.”

“Ah.” He followed her example and removed his boots.

“I adored Mr. McPhee, but even convincing him to use a computer was a challenge. He preferred to write out lists by hand. I worked under him for several years after I arrived in town, and I struggled. When he retired, I was the only one who wanted the job. Now, I was young—just twenty-seven—but I was ambitious. We had a progressive city council, and they gave me a chance. Not so sure they’d do the same thing again.” She wandered into the kitchen. She held her hand by a cupboard door, suspended in mid-air.

The cat meowed, spun, and went up on his hind legs.

Cats can do that?

“Such a good boy,” Loriana crooned. She opened a container of wet food, dumped it onto a plate, and set it on the ground—off to the side.

Plato’s rumbling purrs reached Mitch who was clear across the room. “That’s enthusiasm.”

Loriana rolled her eyes. “Don’t ever let him fool you. He isnothard done by. He’s got a full bowl of kibble he can graze on whenever he likes. His preference, however, is wet food.” Her mouth twisted in a wry smile. “And I might give him the occasional treat.”

“He’s spoiled.”

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