Page 33 of The Best Wrong Move

The cat falls in line beside me again, following me all the way back to the townhouse, where I have to slide my body through the door and push her out gently with the side of my foot just to get it shut. I can still hear her meowing outside when I sit down to type again.

“Forget the cat, Olivia. Focus on the script,” I say loudly, even though no one else is here except me.

Hovering my hands over the keyboard, I manage to type my next sentence.

But she’s too cute to forget.

I immediately erase it.

I sigh and look toward the front door, pausing to listen for another soft mew.

Right on cue, an angry meow rifles through, followed by four more.

Without thinking about it, I walk right over and open the door, hoping against all my better judgment that Pru will run in. Pru, short for Prunella — she looks a bit mangy, like a pile of prunes. I started calling her that earlier when we were bonding together on the sidewalk.

I stand with the door wide open, looking around.

“Oh my God, Liv, what the hell are you doing?” I mutter to myself. I can’t have a stray cat in here. I don’t even have a litter box. I’m about to give up when she suddenly sprints inside. Just a blackish-brown streak flashing past my feet.

“Pru!” I cheer, clapping my hands, shutting the door with her safely inside.

She jumps onto my laptop, then lies down across the keyboard, just like Toby likes to do back home.

“Thank you for joining me,” I whisper to the cat. “Toby sent you here, didn’t he?” Maybe cats are telepathic like that.

She flops onto her back and starts purring like she did on the sidewalk an hour ago, inviting me to do more belly rubs.

“I knew it.”

However, she’s a little less naturally intuitive than Toby. Fifteen minutes later, writing inspiration has struck, and I’m shoving her off the laptop so I can get the words down before I lose them again.

I finally free the laptop from under Pru’s purring body, and hold it over my head with both hands, wondering where I’m going to write that she can’t reach. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. She hops to her feet on the table and starts pawing at my stomach while the laptop waves overhead.

“Olivia!” I hear Juju’s singsong voice at my back door, followed by a gentle knock against the glass.

When I swing around, she’s watching me, wide-eyed, with two mugs of coffee clasped in her hands.

I still hate these giant windows whenever anyone is out on that deck.

“Is that a cat?” Her voice sounds thick behind the windowpanes.

I nod, knowing I must look ridiculous with a shabby cat pawing at my abs while I hold my computer over my head.

“Well, I want to meet her!” she calls out.

When I slide open the door, Juju hands me one of the mugs, then walks past me to get inside.

“Thanks for the coffee,” I mutter, then survey the deck for Rex.

It’s empty.

I spin around, wondering if he told Juju about our history yet. He’s an idiot if he thinks she’s not going to find out on her own, but it isn’t my story to tell. He’s her boyfriend — it’s his job to tell her.

“You got a cat?” She rushes over to pet Pru. There’s no judgment to her voice, which I appreciate, since I’m starting to feel a bit unhinged right now. I’d never let a stray cat in my apartment back home.

“Sort of. More like the cat got a human,” I tell her. Pru hops off the table and starts weaving around Juju’s ankles. “She followed me home from the store earlier. When I opened the door, she ran in.”

“There are so many strays on the island,” she says sadly, bending to pet her. “Cats and chickens everywhere. I’m glad this sweet little girl has found a good home. Even if it’s only temporary.” She rises again, beaming. “Have you told the owner yet?”

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