Page 109 of The Chance

I inhale deep, letting the smell absorb into my blood like oxygen.

God, I’ve fucking missed him.

“Her name’s Cookie, by the way.” I look down at the ball of fur and huff out a short-lived chuckle. “I think she’s two.”

“Was Oreo already taken?”

Jordan snorts. “Too obvious. Everyone names tuxedo cats Oreo.”

“Cuz you know so many people with cats.”

Reality slaps me like a cold-water bath.

He might know lots of people with animals now.

But he chuckles as he works and says “There were a few when I was younger, but you’re right. I don’t know anyone else with a cat.”

My hands freeze, fingers lost in the fur of his companion.

It’s slow, but when I turn to glance over my shoulder, he’s completely unfazed by the admission of something from his childhood and my heart gives a patter inside my chest.

He’s never volunteered that before.

“You had a cat?”

“No.” His head shakes, dislodging a few strands of his hair. It’s a little longer now and I let myself imagine for the briefest of moments what it would feel like in my hands. Would it be as soft as the fur already curling around my fingers? “They were alley cats. Ones that the whole neighborhood took care of, or the older ladies, depending on where I was.”

That last bit has me furrowing my brow.

I want to ask what he means—where was he?—but I don’t.

He shared something on his own and I don’t want to minimize that.

“So, Cookie, then.” I shift back to the sleeping feline and blink against the sudden burn in the backs of my eyes.

“Here.”

A bowl with a spoon already in it is shoved beneath my chin, the scent of cheesy-rich noodles filling my nose and making my eyes water even more.

“Thanks,” I mutter and accept the dish of my favorite meal with both hands.

“It’s nothing fancy,” he mumbles as he slumps into the cushion beside me. “Just a box.”

I clear my throat. “You know I don’t care.”

My jaw clenches, stomach in knots when I risk a glance at the man that knows me better than anyone. Even after all this time, he’s got me.

Only … he’s holding a fork over the bowl beneath his chin, the tines lined with green leaves.

Those knots in my stomach tighten.

“I know, Vida,” he murmurs around his fork, chewing.

Do I watch his Adam’s apple bob with his swallow?Yes.

Should I?Clearly not.

It’s sexy and thoughtful and—

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