Page 37 of We Can Stay
My phone buzzes on the counter. A text from Rach at the clinic:
Maverick’s owner is here early. Again. He’s fine but she insists you check him.
Be there by 8.
With the pot gurgling happily, I fill the kitten’s water fountain—only to notice that she’s taking the dry food in her mouth, moving it over to the sliding door that goes out to the porch, and eating it on the floor there. Whatever caused the habit, it’s not surprising. Animals develop all kinds of weird behaviors after going through stress, and just getting lost in the streets was probably traumatic for Cat.
“How about this?” I move the food bowl so that it’s next to the sliding door. “That’ll make it easier to eat where you want.”
She launches back into her meal, eating with vigor, while I cook Flick breakfast. I’m taking a stab based on what’s in her fridge, hoping that she likes her eggs scrambled and both butter and jam on her toast. The simple domesticity of it—standing in her kitchen, making her breakfast—hits me unexpectedly. When was the last time I did this for someone? Jessica always preferred granola bars, eating on the go. Said sit-down breakfasts were a waste of time.
By the time I’ve finished cooking, she’s still not awake—which is exactly as I want it. Carefully, I put two plates of food and two cups of coffee on the tray that was next to the stove and carry it all upstairs.
It’s perfect timing. Flick is just sitting up, blinking her eyes into focus. The sheet sliding down to bare her gorgeous body to me has my thoughts suddenly going astray.
“Good morning,” I say, clearing my throat.
She squints at me, then her eyes widen. “Hi.”
“Cat is fed, and I made you breakfast.”
She stares at me. “What? Really?”
“I hope scrambled is okay.” I set the tray, which has legs on it, over her lap.
“Any way is perfect. Thank you. This is...” She bites her lip, and I see it—that flash of something like fear. “Too much.”
“It’s not a problem,” I laugh, though her reaction tugs at something in my chest. “You looked so peaceful sleeping, I wanted to bring you breakfast up here.”
She searches my face, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the sheet. “That’s so sweet of you. You really seem too good to be true, Sebastian.”
The words hang between us, loaded with more than just gratitude. There’s suspicion there, or maybe self-protection. I recognize it because I’ve worn that same armor.
I shrug, settling on the edge of the bed. “Truth is, I don’t usually have time or energy to be sweet with anyone except for animals—and some of my four-legged patients would disagree about the ‘sweet’ part.” I realize with Flick, though, I want to put a pause on my whole life just so I can make everything perfect for her.
“Nobody’s perfect,” she says quietly, picking up her fork. “Perfect people leave when things get hard.”
The words land like a punch. “Is that what happened? Someone left?”
She takes a bite of eggs, chewing slowly. “Isn’t that always what happens? People promise forever until forever includes bad days and medical bills and...” She trails off, shaking her head. “Sorry. Morning philosophical moment.”
I want to push, to tell her about Jessica, about how I understand that particular betrayal. But something in her posture—defensive, ready to bolt—stops me.
She sips her coffee. “This is good.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking a sip of my own. “I put your beans in the fridge, by the way. They’ll stay fresh longer that way.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that. Thanks.” She offers me a soft smile before her gaze drifts to the morning sun breaking through the window. “I kind of wish I could stay in bed all day.” She shakes her head. “That’s a weird thought. I never want to do that.”
My hand finds her upper thigh through the sheet, the draw as natural as a moth to a flame. “That would be dreamy.”
“Maybe not all day, but all morning, for sure.” Her smile turns playful, but there’s something underneath it—like she’s testing whether I mean it.
“Would I be invited?”
Heat flashes in her eyes. “Depends. What are you bringing to the experience?”
A low growl slips from my throat. “I can think of a few things.”
