Page 192 of Waiting Game

Luckily for me, Mia’s there soon after. I can hear her lugging something because it bounces off each step. When I see her, I chuckle because she’s got a cabin bag in one hand, a cat carrycase in the other, then on her back, there’s a rucksack.

“Are we climbing Everest and I didn’t get the invite?”

“You have a baby. You can’t travel light.”

“How is baby Betsy?” I ask, peering into the shadowy carry case on the hunt for her tiny face.

I can’t see into the murkiness but I hear a soft, disgruntled meow—apparently, she prefers other methods of transportation.

Like my shirt and Mia’s tits.

My girl’s got her priorities straight.

“Doing well,” she assures me. “You need to feed her when we reach your condo.”

Nodding my understanding, I hobble toward the door and open it then use my crutch to drag over the bag so it holds it open.

With me out of the way, Mia can make it to the bottom of the steps.

When she moves toward the door, she pauses to press a light kiss to my lips. “Good morning. Love the pants.”

I preen at that, especially when she shimmies against me before heading outside.

Once she carefully lowers the carrier, she returns to my side for the cake.

It takes another journey to the curbside for her to get us ready for Burrows’s arrival.

My driver jumps out and, leaving me to feel useless, coordinates with Mia so that we’ve got everything.

When I plunk my ass on the back seat, I take a relieved breath to be off my feet before she joins me.

I’d have hobbled up the stairs, but I can’t deny I’m glad I don’t have to.

Elevators FTW.

Mia places the kitten between us. “Betsy’s taking the milk well.”

“Good. We need to return to the vet soon, don’t we?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll book the appointment today.”

Her brows lift. “Youwill?”

“Sure.” I tilt my head to the side. “Any reason why I shouldn’t?”

She laughs. “No. Most of the cats were Chuck’s too. Cupid even lived at the bar with him for a while, but he always left that stuff for me to handle.”

Chuck sounded like a real jerk.

Not that I say that out loud.

Mum didn’t raise no fool.

“I’m a big boy and Betsy’s technically my responsibility because I’m the chosen one.”

“‘Technically,’ she’s ours.”

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