Page 90 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
I shut the front door behind me and lean on it, eyes closed.
Why can things never be simple?
Chapter twenty-four
Snuggle Bells
Jasper
The lights are on in her flat.
I stand outside a little longer than I should, hand already half-raised to knock. From inside, there’s movement—faint, quiet, domestic. The sound of someone loading a dishwasher or boiling a kettle. The kind of background you don’t realise you’ve been missing until it starts to matter.
She told me to come by.
I nodded. Of course I want to come by. I’ve spent almost every night with her since our first official date.
But now I’m not sure if it still holds.
Her ex didn’t just drop by. He fit. Knew the tone, the rhythm. Said hello to everyone like he’d never stopped being part of it. SJ lit up. Miranda didn’t seem upset that he was there.
And I didn’t have a reason to be annoyed. Except I was.
I’m not proud of that. But it is what it is.
We’ve been doing this, whateverthisis, for a few weeks. We haven’t spoken about it but there is enough between us that I don’t like the feeling that I might be standing outside while someone else already has a key.
I knock. Two short taps.
She opens the door almost straight away. Same hoodie from earlier. Bare feet. No surprise on her face.
“You took your time,” she says.
I shrug. “Didn’t want to assume.”
“You were invited.”
I nod, but the hesitation’s still there. “Wasn’t sure if your ex would... change the invitation.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just steps forward and kisses me. No warning. No preamble. Just her mouth on mine—soft, steady, certain.
When she pulls back, she looks up at me like she’s waiting to see if that’s cleared things up.
And, fuck, yes it has.
She turns and walks back inside without another word. I follow.
Twinklesocks is sitting on the arm of the sofa, staring at me like she’s been waiting for me. I reach out and scratch under her chin. She leans into it with a purr before giving my fingers a good lick.
“Charming,” I mutter, giving her one last ear rub.
I head down the hall.
Miranda’s already in the bedroom, back to me, switching on the small lamp beside the bed. Warm light spills over her shoulders. She pulls her hoodie off and lets it drop to the chair without a glance.
The door shuts with a faint click, before I cross the room and press my mouth to hers, one hand sliding into her hair, the other at her waist. She exhales against my cheek, fingers curling in the front of my jumper, holding tight, as if she’s afraid I might pull away.
