Page 28 of A Love Like Pumpkin Spice
“Car keys?” Mumbling, she pulls them out of her pocket and puts them into my palm. Her car is parked right in front of mine, so I quickly collect the kitten and put the box into her lap while I climb into the driver’s seat.
“Can I have some coffee now?” she asks, followed by a loud yawn.
“Just a little longer,” I assure her, the way you would tell a toddler they’ll get something tomorrow but actually mean never. “Why don’t you close your eyes for a while?”
“I can’t,” she tries to argue, wiggling in her seat to sit up. Subtly, I turn on the seat heater, hoping the warmth will help her relax. “Damn. Anyone ever tell you you’re hot when you’re bossy?” I almost don’t hear her over the sound of the engine, but when I do, I freeze. She thinks I’m hot? “I like you more when you’re nice, though.”
By the time we make it to her house, she can barely keep her eyes open. Her head keeps falling forward as she drifts off to sleep. Meanwhile, my thoughts circle around what she’d admitted.
“I did not fall asleep,” she mumbles with a pout as she unlocks her front door. Jensen darts right past her, curious about the new place, but I don’t think she minds.
“Suuure,” I tease, as she rolls her eyes and turns back toward the door. She’d shoved the box with her sleeping kitten into my hands to dig for her key, and now she’s taking it back, heading into the living room.
“Have you thought of a name yet?”
“No,” she admits softly as she takes off her jacket and hangs it over the stair railing. “Sorry, the hook must have been offending to Chaos; she pushed it off, and I haven’t gotten around to putting it back. Make yourself at home.”
Nic walks off to where I assume her living room is, and I bite my lip to keep from chuckling when she almost runs into the door frame. She’s not even trying to resist me being here anymore. She must be drained.
“Why?” I ask after shucking off my shoes and retrieving Jensen from the back door in her kitchen, where he was threatening bodily harm to a leaf outside.
She glances at me, but then returns to watching the kitten, her elbows propped up on the coffee table as she sits on the ground. Her head keeps dropping, and she hides a big yawn behind her hand.
“Look how cute she is,” she mumbles, lips stretching into a small smile. “So tiny. So precious. Soquiet.”
“Come on, get on the couch and I’ll get her next meal ready.”
“I can—”
“I got it, Nic,” I say, a finality in my voice. She’s a pretty independent woman, I know that much, but what I don’t understand is her stubbornness accepting help. “Sit down.”
Nic stares at me as if she’s thinking about picking a fight, but ultimately, her shoulders relax as she gives in.
Good.
I find everything I need on the kitchen counter. When I make my way back to the living room, I freeze in the doorframe.
Nic is curled up on the couch, her head resting on my dog, who has made himself right at home on it, looking awfully comfortable. When I enter, he glances at me with an expression that says“shut the fuck up—she’s sleeping,”before he lays his head back down and closes his eyes, too.
I spot a blanket draped over the armchair and quietly set the bottle down. When I gently tuck the blanket around her, she stirs, and I hold my breath—but thankfully, her breathing evens out again almost right away.
“Yes, yes,” I whisper when the nameless kitten whimpers her complaints. “I know you’re hungry. I got you, little nameless one.” I lift her to my chest, smiling when she immediately latches onto the bottle. “You’re a little fighter, aren’t you?”
Jensen’s eyes follow me as I walk to the far side of the room, softly cooing at the small animal in my hands. Thankfully, she quiets down as she’s eating. “You’ll be fine.”
My eyes wander across her home, taking everything in. I pace her living room while I feed the kitten. It’s a lovely house. It's homey yet has such a subtle luxury to it that I just know it was expensive as hell.
Her shelves are stacked with books and pictures. I step closer to one, trying to take a peek at them, before I freeze. When did I become someone who snoops while their host is asleep on the couch?
Then again, is it snooping if they’re all on display? Not really, right?
The photos are beautiful—all of her, some with Lauren—but I hardly recognize them. They’re almost unrecognizable: dressed in designer gowns, hair immaculately styled, their striking faces almost hidden beneath layers of makeup.
They’re cuter without it.
She’scuter without it.
She doesn’t seem happy in those pictures either. Her smile is forced, and it doesn’t reach her eyes—and the way her eyes light up is truly my favorite thing about them.
