Page 22 of When We Burn

“She likes you,” Bridger says with a soft voice. “Of course, what’s not to like?”

“Duh,” I reply, without taking my eyes off the cat.

“Daddy!”

“Let me grab Birdie,” he says, disappearing from our side. I lift my gaze enough to see him run across the street, take Birdie by the hand, and guide her over to my house. “Dani found a kitten.”

“Oh, she’s so cute,” Birdie says, approaching carefully. She reaches up and gently strokes the cat’s back, letting out a sweet, tinkly laugh. “So soft. Are you keeping her? What’s her name?”

“I…” I shake my head, but then the darn cat lies down on her back, exposing her belly, still purring, and proceeds to reach for my chin with her tiny front paws. “Oh, darn. It looks like I’m keeping her.”

I hear Bridger chuckle, and Birdie jumps in excitement.

“But I don’t have anything for her.”

“We can go together to get supplies,” Bridger offers. “While we’re gone, just put her in the bathroom, in case she has an accident.”

He lifts the kitten off my lap, and I exhale in relief. Then, an hour later, we’re back with a cat box, litter, bowls, food, and toys. I even bought the cutest bed for her to sleep in, and Bridger bought her a tree thing for her to climb on and look outside from.

“What’s all that?” Bridger gestures to the totes full of food that I have on my dining room table as Birdie plays with the kitten.

“Oh, that’s the snacks and meals that I keep on hand for the kids at school.”

I fill the water and food bowls and set them on a mat in the kitchen, then pour litter into the pan and show the kitten where that is in the mud room.

She uses it right away, and I’m convinced that she’s the smartest cat in the world. And I’m still terrified about keeping her.What if I don’t know what to do and accidentally hurt her?

When I turn back to smile at Bridger, he’s watching me with a frown. “What? What did I do?”

“Why do you keep snacks and meals in your classroom, and why do you buy them yourself?”

“Because sometimes the kids are hungry. Sometimesthey don’t get enough food at home, Bridger. No kid of mine is going to suffer through a full day of class on an empty stomach. And I pay for it because the school never would. It’s fine, I can afford to?—”

I’m cut off when he crosses to me, cradles my face in his hands, and stares at me intently.

“Are you kidding me right now?” His voice is hard and rough and …angry?

“Why are you mad at me over this?” I hate how apprehensive my voice sounds, and he tips his forehead against mine. He’s never touched me like this. It’s intimateandintense.

“Not angry. Definitely not that. Tell me the next time you go, and I’ll help.”

“The kitten loves the cat tree,” Birdie announces, running into the kitchen. Bridger casually pulls back and smiles down at his daughter.

“Is that right?”

“Miss Dani, what are you going to name her?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you can help me name her.”

“Pickles.” Birdie’s voice is as sure as it can be. “Definitely Pickles. I’ve been giving it a lot of thought.”

I laugh and brush my hand over the sweet girl’s soft hair. “Pickles it is,then.”

The weekend went by too fast. I didn’t get nearly enough done because I was too busy watching the cat, in case she needed something, and now, here I am, on Monday morning at the drop-off line, yawning.

“You need a nap.”

I turn at the familiar deep voice and grin. Holy heck, he’s wearing his baseball hat backward, and I’m pretty sure my ovaries are singing the “Hallelujah Chorus.” “Good morning.”

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