Page 56 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
“Living the dream.”
We work in companionable silence for a minute or two. She passes things when I ask—torch, cloth, tape—and occasionally mutters encouragement like I’m onThe Repair Shopand about to cry over a broken vase.
When I lean back, the leak’s been bandaged in what can only be described as plumbing cosplay. Not elegant, but secure.
I wipe my hands and glance over. “There. The worst of it’s handled.”
Miranda exhales. She slumps back against the cupboards. “Thanks,” she says quietly.
I nod. “Wasn’t going to leave you to do battle solo.”
She gives a small smile—barely there, but real. A loose strand of damp blond hair has fallen across her cheek. Without thinking, I reach over and tuck it behind her ear.
She stills.
I don’t quite move my hand fast enough.
“Stress like that,” I say, my voice lower than I intended, “doesn’t help with… tension.”
There’s a beat.
Then a strange little sound—half cough, half laugh—escapes her. She turns to look at me, wide-eyed.
I immediately regret everything I’ve ever said, done, or implied in my entire life.
Brilliant. Just brilliant.
Because now I’m thinking about the last time we saw each other properly. The conversation about tension and my hands on her tense muscles.
Bloody hell, Jasper.
“Right,” she says abruptly, pushing herself upright and brushing her hands off on her leggings. “Tea? I’ll put the kettle on.”
She doesn't wait for an answer, just heads for the counter like it's a lifeboat.
I sit back on my heels and clear my throat. “I should probably take Lucy home soon anyway. Before she starts trying to redecorate your furniture with glitter glue.”
Miranda’s back is to me, kettle in hand. She fumbles with the switch, then says, without turning around, “I… I did think about it, you know.”
I blink. “Think about what?”
She fidgets with a mug, still staring at the cupboard door like it’s safer than looking at me. “Your offer… to—"
“Uncle Jaaaasssper!”
The word rockets down the hall a split second before Lucy herself does, bursting into the room at full speed, cheeks flushed and sticker in her hair. Twinklesocks barrels after her like a small furry missile.
“We played with the castle!” she announces triumphantly. “And I’m queen now because I had the most stickers and SJ said I could make the rules.”
Twinklesocks launches herself onto me and promptly settles on my arm like I’m a deluxe cat tree.
I glance at Miranda. She hasn’t moved. Her knuckles are still tight around the mug.
“Is that so?” I say, keeping my voice light as I adjust the cat’s claws out of my collarbone.
Lucy nods enthusiastically. “But now we need snacks. For the royal banquet. And maybe something fizzy. But not the sharp fizzy. The nice one.”
I give her a smile. “Tell you what, Your Majesty—why don’t we head home and get you some proper dinner first? You can plan your next royal decree on the way.”
