Page 13 of Giddy Up, Daddy

“No.”

“Fine,” she said. “I guess you better come in.”

She turned around and moved over to the couch, settling in beside Mr. Whiskers and Mrs. Flopsy.

He shut the door and stared at it for a long moment.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“The lock on this door is crap.”

“Ah, yeah. I know.”

He spun with a glare. “You should replace it or buy a deadbolt.”

“It’s not my apartment.”

“Your landlord should take care of your safety better. I guess it’s a good thing you’re leaving.”

She let out a small huff. “Yeah, a good thing.”

“You don’t want to leave?” he asked, glancing around.

She knew it wasn’t much. It had come furnished, but the furniture was at least forty years old. Worn and tired.

Like her.

“It’s more like I have to. Mr. Brandt thought that the smoke alarm going off this morning was too loud and he’s told me to leave by the end of the week.”

“Do you have somewhere else to go?” he asked.

“I’ll figure something out.” She grabbed Mr. Whiskers and pulled him close.

The ginger cat had seen better days. His fur had rubbed off in places and was a bit matted. But at least he had both of his eyes, right?

She hugged her toy tight, not caring what Stafford thought.

“Where will you go?” he asked.

“I think it’s time to move on. There aren’t many jobs here.”

“How long have you been here? Why did you move here? Where did you come from?”

She eyed him. What was with all the questions? Should she answer? Eh, what did it matter? It wasn’t like she was going to work for him now.

“I was living in Chicago, but when I lost my job six weeks ago, I thought I’d take a chance and come out here. I’ve traveled around a lot over the past eight years. I’d heard that Wishingbone was a good place to live. That there were a lot of Daddy Doms that lived in the area. But I couldn’t find anywhere to live in Wishingbone, so instead I moved in here.”

“Daddy Doms?” He looked taken aback as he sat on the coffee table. She winced as it creaked. The last thing she wanted was for Mr. Brandt to accuse her of breaking the furniture. “You’re a Little?” He stared at Mr. Whiskers.

“Yeah. Does that surprise you? You must know some Littles, right?” Had he never met any of the Littles who lived in this area?

“Ahh, well, I used to. Sort of.”

Huh?

“I don’t get off the ranch much. I’m not really close to anyone in Wishingbone.”

“I haven’t been able to go to Wishingbone much, either.”

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