Page 29 of Passenger Princess

“So she’s all clear? Nothing crazy or contagious?” Jaime asks as I put the soft-sided cat carrier the vet gave me on the floor of the SUV.

I bite my lip and turn, smiling at him, cat in hand. With my eyes in wide puppy-dog mode and Peach’s sweet little face, he can’t bethatmad, right?

“I mean, she doesn’t have rabies or fleas or ringworm or anything,” I say.

“Ava…” he starts, voice low and rumbling.

“Okay, okay, she has worms! It’s no big deal, really, and since she’s one hundred percent my responsibility, you wouldn’t evenknowif I didn’t tell you. She’s got medicine that’s gonna get her all fixed up in no time.”

He stares at me unimpressed before speaking. “I thought we had a deal: no illnesses and she can come.”

I wave my hand at him like he’s overreacting. “Even the vet said it’s no big deal, and she's cleared to come with us. She even congratulated me on being such good person, rescuing this poor little baby.”

“Ava, the thing hasworms.”

“She’s not a thing, she’s a kitten. And it’s just some tummy troubles,” I say. “Like mother, like daughter.” I lift her so her sweet little head is next to mine. “All the best girls have tummy issues, Jaime.” He continues to look at me deadpan, a glaring match in progress, before Peaches lets out a tiny meow, and it happens.

His face softens the tiniest bit, his mouth going less firm and angry before he sighs, checks to make sure nothing is hanging out of the door, then slams the door shut before walking around to the driver’s side, and all I can do is smile.

When Jaime slides in, he starts the car before he tips his head to the backseat. “I got a few things to get you through until tomorrow.” His cheeks are a bit pink, and I wonder if the sun has heated him, but when I look back, I gasp in delight at three filled-to-the-brim bags from a chain pet store.

"Oh my god," I whisper, then turn to look at him with a small smile on my lips. “You knew we were keeping Peach from the start. You weren’t going to let me leave her behind, were you?”

His blush deepens. “No, I just figured ifshewascleared to come with us, we’d need things, and the pet store might close before we hit our next stop.” He looks at me for a split second before looking forward again. “It really wasn’t a big deal. Kind of part of my job. The guy in the store said that litter box should work for travel, and we canjust dump it as needed, and I wasn’t sure what kind of food she would need…”

I might have been able to agree if he’d gone and got the bare minimum. I’d be able to believe that this man was just doing his job by getting whatever I needed to get me on the road and to keep our schedule in tact.

But these arenotthe bare essentials.

This is not a couple of cans of cat food and a litter box.

This is…half of the store.

Shifting to look better at the haul, there are at least four or five brands of food, two litter types, a litter box, and the most entertaining part: an overflowing bag filled with toys.

Pink toys, purple toys, mouse-looking toys, balls and laser pointers, and a fish on a stick to dangle in front of her.

“Did you leave anything?

“What?” he asks, eyes diligently on the road as he pulls out of the vet's parking lot.

“At the pet store. Did you leave anything, or did you buy it all?”

The blush creeps down his cheeks to his neck.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, and I lift Peach to my face until we're eye to eye.

“Oh, he so likes us, Peach," I say with a smile, and Jaime just groans. I put her back into my lap to settle in the blanket there, but as soon as I let go, she stands, walking on unsteady legs across the console.

"Stay here," I say, picking her up and putting her on my lap again. Again, she stands and walks across the console, this time meowing as she does.

“Peach, no,” I say, grabbing her. Unfortunately, as soon as she's in my lap, she tries to move to get to Jaime again. I sigh. "Maybe I should put her in the?—”

Before I can finish my sentence, a big hand moves, his eyes never leaving the road as he grabs the small kitten out of my lap and places her in his. Instantly, she stops meowing and settles in his lap.

“Sorry," I say, reaching over to try and grab her, but his hand moves up, blocking me.

“It’s fine,” he says, his hand scratching Peach’s head. It’s comical how big his hand looks next to the cat, and I have to roll my lips between my teeth to stop the laugh bubbling in my chest. “You’re a sweet girl, aren’t you Peachy girl?” he murmurs low.

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