Page 29 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
“Details!” Fi demands.
“Dark hair, messy in a good way. Golden streaks in it like he’s been permanently backlit. Eyes that make you forget your name. Stubble. Muscles.”
All four are now staring at me like I’ve been holding out state secrets.
“And he was shirtless,” I add.
Bri grabs my wrist like we’re about to take flight. “Please tell me you have a photo.”
“Oh absolutely,” I say, deadpan. “Because patting his pec wasn’t mortifying enough, I obviously followed it up by asking if he could pose like a thirst trap against the fridge.”
Amelia nearly spills her cappuccino. “Wait. You didwhat?”
I drop my head onto the table with a quietthunk. “I patted his pec.”
“Youpattedit?” Fi echoes.
“Not like I was checking ripeness,” I mumble. “It was accidental. Reflexive. Kitten confusion.”
There’s a beat of stunned silence—and then Lizzie makes a noise like a dying kettle.
“Fucking hell,” Bri whispers, clutching her chest like she’s been personally blessed. “You groped the landlord’s actual chest?”
“I didn’t mean to! I was reaching for Twinklesocks and miscalculated.”
“You confused tense muscle with a furry, little kitten?” Fi asks mildly.
I lift my head just enough to glare at her. “I panicked. My hand betrayed me. I have no defence except... maybe I’m becoming a hormonal cliché.”
Amelia leans across the table, beaming. “We love this for you.”
“I don’t,” I mutter. “I want to crawl back into my reindeer pyjamas and start again.”
Amelia folds her arms, giving methatlook. “Maybe it’s time.”
I frown. “Time for what?”
“To move on.”
I blink. “It’s been less than a month since the divorce was final.”
“Yes, but you’ve been separated since summer,” Fi points out, ever the rational assassin.
“And before that,” Lizzie adds, picking up her croissant like a microphone, “when was the last time you and Sim-Sim even shagged?”
I nearly inhale my flat white.
“Excuse me?!”
“Serious question,” she says, unapologetic. “Give us a ballpark.”
“I’m not ballparking my sex life in a public café.”
Bri grins. “So that long, then.”
“I’m just saying,” Amelia says gently, “you’re allowed to notice an attractive man. You’re divorced, not dead.”
“I didn’t notice him,” I lie.
