Page 2 of Simply Yours

“C’mon, you’re gonna love this…”

“I can’t wait to see the kitties.”

“They’re gorgeous, too.”

“Are they sweet? Do they make mewy-mewy sounds?”

Matthew snorted. “Mewy-mewy?” He shook his head, grinning. “Nawww. They’re tiny. Like, shut-eye blind. Their little ears were still curled down the other day when I saw ‘em.”

I melted.

“Awwww…” My fingers curled instinctively, already aching to touch one. Toe beans. Whiskers. Tiny pink noses. There was no force on earth strong enough to keep me away from a litter of newborn kittens.

We crept through the tall grass, ducking low as the wind rattled the brittle stalks of last season’s harvest. The old shed loomed ahead, its wood silvered with age, roof sagging under the weight of too many lost years. It stood at the edge of the property, half-swallowed by creeping vines and time itself.

But my gaze drifted higher—up the ridge, to the house that had always sent a shiver down my spine.

The abandoned one.

The Bairds had left it untouched after Matthew’s great-grandmother passed, and time had done its best to erase what had once been a home. Dust-covered windows stared out like tired eyes, the grand wraparound porch sagging under the weight of ghosts and memory. Matthew once told me his great-grandfather had built the inlaid floors by hand—a wedding gift to his bride, a labor of love carved into wood, polished with devotion.

And then they just…left it.

I never understood that kind of love. The kind you build your whole world around, only to abandon when it’s gone.

His family was weird.

But whatever.

“How much further?”

“They’re over there, under the brush,” Matthew whispered, pointing.

The breeze shifted, carrying the musty promise of rain. I hesitated, torn between excitement and the nagging feeling that my mother would have my hide for skipping church to play with kittens.

But then, I saw them.

A tiny pair of ears peeked up from the grass.

“Huh, I guess their ears are unfolding now…”

“Oh my gosh, Matthew, they are sooo stinkin’ cute!”

And they were—little golden-ashy fluff balls with black stripes, their delicate ears lined with dark trim, their still-blind eyes promising to be the most striking shade of blue. Some squirmed blindly, others blinked at me, one even gave a tiny, breathy hiss that was more adorable than intimidating.

“Are they all the same color?”

“Yeah, I was hoping for an orange tabby in the litter. We’ve got mice in the barn again.”

“You have mice in the barneveryyear,” I teased, rolling my eyes as I knelt beside him, completely and utterly entranced.

“Caitlin…”

Something in Matthew’s voice snapped me back to reality. I turned to him, confused—then followed his frozen stare toward the brush.

At first, I expected to see a snake, maybe even one of those big hairy tarantulas that haunted my nightmares.

But no.

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