Page 67 of Hold the Pickle

Mama Cat jumps back to the bar, and Dalton moves her down again. “She’s obviously getting her energy back.”

“She needs to take over her brood.” I snag her and put her in the litter box with Ferris. “Don’t let your kid eat the rocks.”

Ferris noses the litter again.

Mama Cat whacks him on the head with her paw.

“Tough love,” Dalton says with a laugh.

The two exit the litter box, followed by Greyson, who seems pretty pleased with himself, holding up his head as he crosses the floor.

Dalton bends down and extends a hand to me. “Your dinner, Madame?”

I take his fingers, that spark I felt a few days ago returning, becoming a buzz that sizzles through my whole body.

He lifts me up from the floor. “Should we get plates or eat it straight from the box like new parents who don’t have time for dishes?”

“Straight from the box. I’m too tired for anything else.”

“Done.”

We head into the kitchen to wash our hands. It’s strangely intimate, taking turns soaping up and rinsing off, passing the same kitchen towel between us. It’s nothing like showering together, but something about it feels the same.

“You sit. I’ll get us water,” he says.

“Was your shift okay?” I ask. “You must be tired.”

“Not too bad. I might be getting used to it.” He removes two cups from the cabinet.

I open the pizza box, drawing both cats onto the bar again.

“Goodness, kitties,” I say, setting them both down. “No, no.”

When Catzilla crouches like she might jump again, I hold a hand in front of her face. “No, Cattarina. No, no.”

She narrows her eyes at me, then turns and heads to the bed, jumping up to glare from a distance.

Mama Cat looks between Cattarina and me, then hops into the crate where Doppelgänger and Pumpkin are mewing like they’re all alone in the world.

“Now we can eat,” Dalton says, setting our cups down.

The pizza is half meat lover’s, half veggie. Opposites, sharing a space.

He remembers my order like I do his.

Six weeks of living together, and we know each other.

Except what it feels like to touch him. To kiss that mouth.

I focus on my slice of pizza to scatter those wild thoughts, the peppers and mushrooms threatening to slide off as if giving chase to my far-flung feelings.

We tuck into the warm and savory food, each taking turns glancing back at the room to see what the cats are up to.

MC settles in with her two.

Cattarina fetches Ferris and Greyson, the wildlings, and brings them onto the mattress with her.

“So much for the cat bed,” Dalton says, reaching for a second slice. “Are we going to make the parental circle of protection around them again tonight?”

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