Page 24 of A Love Like Pumpkin Spice
She looks so lost all of a sudden. Not at all like the woman who had been joking about werewolves with me a few minutes ago.
“She might be little and skinny, but she’s not made of porcelain. Anything you do can only be better than leaving her outside to freeze.” It might only be early autumn, but the nights are damn cold already. I’m keeping this to myself, but I’m not sure she’d have made it through the night if Nic hadn’t found her.
“Knowing my luck,somethingis going to happen … I don’t know, maybe a meteor crashing through my window right into this little cutie.” She shakes her head, eyes focused on the now blissfully sleeping kitten. Her eyes dart frantically around the room, wide with panic and her breath shallow.
“I’m not even going to get into how unlikely that is,” I reply with a chuckle. I crouch down in front of her and wait until her ocean-blue eyes meet mine.
Jensen Ackles, the attention-starved creature that he is, immediately trudges over to nudge his nose against my cheek, thinking I got on my knees just for him. The force of it almost makes me lose my balance. Then he lays his head onNic’s thigh, and instinctively, her hands run through his fur, a faraway expression on her face.
Slowly but steadily, her heavy breaths even out, and she sinks back into the chair, all the tension unraveling.
“What’s going on?” I ask her gently, putting my hands on her knees and drawing slow circles with my thumbs.
“I’m scared,” she whispers, her eyes glistening with unshed tears through wet eyelashes as she glances at me.
“That’s okay,” I assure her, trying my best to convey reassurance. “And that’s the exact reason I’d be okay with sending that little creature home with you.”
“But—” She stops herself and keeps blinking at me, and I can almost see her thoughts racing through her mind.
I wonder why she’s suddenly insecure. There are so many pet owners who shouldn’t be. How come the person with the biggest heart I’ve met recently is too afraid?
“No more thinking. You can do it,” I encourage her as I stand up. “Come on, we’re giving her a flea bath, then I’ll show you how to feed her.”
Reluctantly, she lets me pull her up, Jensen Ackles softly protesting when his human pillow becomes unavailable.
“Come on, hold her.” I hand her the kitten before she can object. As anxious as she was, she accepts her instinctively, her tense shoulders slowly sagging in relief when she realizes nothing bad is happening.
“Wait—did you say fleas?” she asks, eyes widening with concern. Immediately, she holds the cat out at arm’s length, glancing anxiously between me and the furry culprit.
“You’ll be fine.” I chuckle and lead the two over to a sink in the corner, letting her step in front of it while I observe over her shoulder. “Now, set her down at the side and turn on the water. Check if it’s a bit warmer than lukewarm.”
She follows my suggestions diligently and then looks up at me expectantly. “Like this?”
“I trust your judgment.” Her expression turns panicked, but I quickly continue to take her mind off the water temperature. “Here’s the shampoo you’ll want to use. Put some of it on your hand. The first thing you want to do is put a ring of it around her neck. Basically a soap necklace.”
“Why?” She reaches for the kitten. Thankfully, she’s more than happy to let Nic handle her. Not without a few weak, whiny protests when she first works the shampoo around her neck, though.
“Because the fleas will try to run to her head once you put the shampoo on her body. If you put the soap around her neck, they can’t.”
“Got it.” She nods, slowly but surely becoming more confident in handling the cat.
“Great. Now soap her up below the neckline. Make sure to work it in thoroughly.” I watch her tenderly working the product into the little kitten’s fur. “You’re doing great!”
“Am I?” she asks. Then she suddenly tenses when the cat protests. Damn, this cat has learned she has a voice, and she sure is making use of it. Even I have never encountered one as vocal as her. “What’s going on?” she asks, her voice an octave higher and full of panic. “Why is she screaming again? Oh God, am I hurting her? Are you sure she’s okay?”
I try not to laugh, but it escapes in a snort. “Everything is okay, Nic. I’m pretty sure she’s just not a fan of water.”
“Okay.” She takes a deep breath and her shoulders start to slump as the tension leaves her body. “I get it. Right there with you, little cat. Honestly, if I’m not in a bubble bath with at least three vanilla scented bath bombs and two rubber ducks named Perry and Daisy, I’m out. And this”—she eyes the flea shampoo—“is definitely not that. Now here we go. You’re all soaped up. I think. What now?” She glances at me. “Does it have to soak in?”
“Now you put her under the faucet and wash it off. Try not to get her head.”
“Got it.”
She flinches when the cat wriggles in her hold, trying to escape. To Nic’s credit, though, she’s holding the creature perfectly. Her fingers are wrapped around it in such a way that it has no way to escape.
“Now you take this sponge,” I say and hand it to her, breath catching in my throat when the scent of her shampoo hits my nose. She’s all vanilla and cinnamon, a cozy evening at home, and it might have become my favorite scent. Quickly, I clear my throat. “Soap it up and wash her head with it. Don’t get her eyes.”
“Okay.” She takes a deep breath, her fingers gingerly moving around the little creature’s face, quickly pulling away when she yawns.
