Page 33 of Forget Me Knot

Dinah Helped. 2nd date.

“Jack!” She’s blurry-eyed and barefoot, dressed in daisy-printed shorts, an oversized t-shirt that says, “Reading is sexy,” and hair piled high on her head. “What are you doing here and… Hey! Where does that door lead to? I haven’t been able to get it open for months!”

I shake from the shock of seeing her so undone—keeping my eyes focused on hers and not down her long, lean, uncovered legs—and prowl closer, holding out the tiny monster.

“What is this, Dinah?” Then I sneeze six times consecutively. Unfortunate, given I’m trying my best to be intimidating.

Her guilty smile is achingly gorgeous, and it draws a painful growl from my now sore throat.

“Hi, baby,” she says, taking the kitten from my arms and letting it snuggle into her chest. Though he doesn’t stay content for long, trying to climb his way up the length of her arms and around her neck. I scoop him back before he can draw blood. “So, you’ve met Chipper. Isn’t he adorable?”

I hold him at a distance and stare at her, unsure of whether I’d like to yell at her for being an accomplice or kiss her pouting lips. And since when did I think about kissing her?

“Jackson said you’ve always loved Chipper Jones, and even though I have no idea who Chipper Jones is, it just seemed too good of an opportunity to miss.”

“Braves. Hall of Famer. Third basemen.”

“Right. That Chipper Jones. Anyways… J. Jones, Chipper Jones. Come on. It writes itself.” She holds up her free hand like it totally justifies the squirming monster in the mine. “All his food is in the pantry, and the castle and toys are—”

My feet move of their own accord, crowding Dinah before I even know what I’ve done. “I’m not keeping this cat, Polly.”

It’s Dinah’s turn to growl, and she looks like she’s ready to use her claws on me. “He said you’d say that, Grumpy.” Her sass only grows when she crosses her arms and juts out her hip.

“And did he say thatweare allergic to cats? It’s a shared ailment… since childhood.” I glare at her, but only receive her ire in return.

“Take a pill, Jack.” Her teeth skim along her bottom lip like she might feel a little guilty, but then dig deeper. I see themoment she decides to fight me, completely ignoring the fact that I legitimately have an allergy to the fuzzball clawing at my hands.

“I said that maybe you’d surprise him. That maybe you might like the company and to take care of something other than yourself, and thatmaybeunder all that grumbling you do, there’s a softness there that others don’t get to see, because you won’t let them.”

She arches her eyebrow waiting for me to respond, and I find myself speechless. How is it that I’ve known Dinah for all of a few weeks, and yet she’s so clearly under my skin? She’s thrown off my schedule. My expectations for how each day will go. My ideas of what my grim future will look like. And now… she’s worked her way into my thoughts. My routine. My home.

“Listen, I know this is a shock, but I’m right next door. I can help you. I’d like to help you.”

I hate the shakiness of my voice when I answer. “That’s the problem, Dinah. I don’t want your help. I don’t want the cat. I don’t want—”

Hurt washes across her face, and I tell myself I’m doing her a favor, but when tears brim, I know I won’t—I can’t—leave her here like this again.

I flick my eyes to the door. “I keep the door locked on my side. It leads into the hallway to my loft, just like yours.” She sniffles once, her eyes drifting to the horridly painted, orange door at my back. “I’m sorry I barged in here. That was entirely inappropriate. Especially at… what time is it?”

Dinah’s voice is unnervingly somber. “Six a.m.”

As soon as she says it, I realize that in the flurry of the morning, I didn’t check the calendar. Jackson’s note made no mention of the day either, as usual, so I’m in the metaphorical dark. Dinah must see the confusion written plainly on my face,because she adds, “It’s Monday morning, Jack. You aren’t open today.”

“Right. Monday,” I repeat, gaining my bearings. “I’m sorry, again.”

She offers me a close-lipped smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. More timid than usual. “It’s okay. I’m sorry if I stepped over the line with—” She gestures to Chipper—no,the cat—in my arms. “I thought it was… Well, I don’t know what I was thinking, but I thought he might be good. For you.”

“Hmmm,” I hum.

“And I… He didn’t tell me about the allergy. Is it really serious?”

“I won’t die, if that’s what you’re asking,” I admit. It’s more of an irritant than a danger to my health, but I’m not about to admit that to Dinah.

“So, you had another exciting date, huh? First batting cages and now illegal, ill-advised cat adoptions. Can’t wait to see what the guy comes up with next.” I wince, tasting the bitterness on my itchy tongue. I hate that I’m irritated. Hate that I’m holding a cat in my hands that I didn’t want, but I will do just about anything to wipe the sadness off of Dinah’s face right now. It’s a discomfort I haven’t felt in a long time, and I’m not quite sure what to do with it.

Dinah just purses her lips and tilts her head like she's reading me like a book, letting a long lock of hair fall into her face. And her shirt speaks the truth, reading is sexy. It feels like a physiological feat that I don’t reach out to touch that strawberry hair. I deserve a medal.

“J. Jones, if you want to plan our next date, just ask.”

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