Page 74 of Texting Dr. Stalker

“I’m going to make you eat those words in three to five years from now when you get married.”

“I hate that you’re so positive and believe in fairytales.”

“Meh, what can I say? It’s my superpower.” He chuckled. “Now go. If you’re still at the market, offer your services and help her pack everything up—if you can stay awake of course. Call me later and tell me how it went.”

He hung up.

I looked past the still busy car park to the slowly emptying market. With my ass leaning against the hood of my Chrysler, I crossed my arms and peered down the aisles of the stalls still operating.

The market was winding down, but customers still darted into the showgrounds, scooping up end-of-day bargains.

I deliberated doing exactly what Colin suggested.

If I went to help, could I slowly teach her that all those phantom pains had nothing to do with me? I wasn’t the one to almost kill her. But…she hadn’t messaged me as X even though I’d texted her a few times to check in. She’d shut down on me, and it hurt to have her slam a door in my face when I’d gotten so used to having her respond.

Sighing heavily, I took off my glasses and rubbed my eyes.

I was too exhausted for rational thought.

With how cloudy my mind was, I’d end up calling her Lori and screwing everything up.

Best go home, crash for a bit, and then possibly sneak into her garden as X and—

You’re not sneaking anywhere.

You’re not allowed to go anywhere near her.

Texting is all you’re allowed.

The softest meow wrenched my gaze to the gravel by my front wheel. The scruffiest orange kitten appeared, its whiskers bent and fur dull with mud.

With heartbreakingly bright green eyes, it looked up and screamed. Padding toward me, it wound its tiny body around my ankle. Its meows grew louder and more pitiful, begging as manically as it could.

Stealing my leg back, I ducked to my haunches and cupped its little head. Its fur was coarse and malnourished, his little skull terrifyingly fragile in my fingers.

Instead of running away petrified, the kitten tried to crawl into my hand. Its meows turned to caterwauls and every instinct inside me—every urge I’d had as a kid and the calling I had as a doctor—instantly reacted.

Scooping the skeletal cat from the car park, I cradled him in both hands. Holding him up to my nose, I inspected his little face.

He tried to headbutt my chin, wriggling and squirming to get closer.

“You’re definitely not afraid of me,” I said softly. “Where did you come from?”

He screamed in response, trying to get free, not to leap down but to crawl higher up my arm toward my neck.

Holding him tight, I looked over the sea of parked cars. Had someone brought a litter here to sell? Had he escaped? We had a pretty big rainstorm the other night. Perhaps he got flushed from somewhere?

A woman walked by, her car keys jingling.

“Excuse me?” I held out the kitten. “You didn’t happen to see anyone who this little guy could belong to, did you?”

The orange furball screamed again and tried to scramble up my arm.

She laughed. “I think he’s saying he belongs to you.” Scratching the top of his head, she winked. “Congratulations, you’re now a cat dad.”

Unlocking her car next to mine, she climbed in. With a quick wave, she drove away, leaving me standing with an unwanted patient.

I didn’t have time for a pet—even though I would’ve adored to have another soul in the house. Each time I felt lonely enough to contemplate getting an animal, I always reminded myself that it wasn’t fair with my long, erratic work hours.

---