Page 44 of The Holiday Clause
“I don’t think so. He’s small. I don’t recognize him.”
“It’s a male?”
Craning his neck over the box, he lifted the cat and took a quick peek at his undercarriage. “Yes. He’s dirty and probably needs a trip to the vet.”
“Is he injured?”
“No, just cold.”
“Okay. I’ll be right there. Keep him warm and give him some milk if you have it.”
“Already done.”
When he hung up the phone, he felt better about clearing up any mixed messaging. “Your new mom’s going to be here in a minute. Hang tight.”
It chirped at him, droplets of white sprinkled over its tiny muzzle.
Greyson lifted it to eye level. “You’re a mangy little thing.”
Despite how dirty it was, he held it as he waited for Wren. The little guy vibrated happily as he hunkered into the crevice of Greyson’s elbow. When several minutes passed and Wren still hadn’t arrived, he stopped pacing by the window.
The kitten was sound asleep, so he tucked it into the front pocket of his flannel shirt, allowing him to use his hands for other things while keeping an eye on the little guy. It also served as a good reminder that her visit to his home was about a cat. Only about a cat.
By the timeWren arrived at Greyson’s, the sun was setting. She hadn’t meant to take this long, but on her way out of The Haven, one guest after another stopped her for help. None of that mattered, however, as she pulled up to Greyson’s cabin.
When he called, she’d suffered a surge of relief, only to deflate when he confessed he was only contacting her about a stray.
That was her! Hideaway Harbor’s official cat lady—spinster for life.
With a sigh, she grabbed the basket of supplies off the passenger seat and went right into Grey’s house, only to pause when everything was silent. “Greyson?”
A low rumble stirred from the next room, where she found him sitting up and sleeping, his hands folded over his chest as he softly snored. She took a moment to just watch him.
Regret and confusion surfaced as she once again recalled his hands on her. The thought of him never kissing her like that again left her hollow.
She couldn’t think like that.
Setting the basket down, she scanned the room for the cat. When she saw a box on the counter, she peeked inside only to find it empty.
“Uh-oh.”
Searching the kitchen, she found no trace of the kitten anywhere. Making soft little cat calls, she whispered about the house, looking for the stray. When she returned to Greyson, she debated how he’d react to a possibly feral cat being lost in his house.
He looked so peaceful, she hated disturbing him. An open copy ofWalden Pondrested over his chest. That was Grey. He always preferred the quiet classics, like Thoreau and Rilke. She closed the book and set it on the table.
“Grey.” She tapped his hand. “Greyson, I’m here.”
He drew in a deep breath and stretched his legs before opening his eyes. When he saw her, he smiled. “Hey.”
“Where’s the cat?”
He sprang up and scrubbed a hand over his face, then searched the cushions. He didn’t seem to be fully awake yet, but the moment his brain roused, his panic disappeared. “He’s here.” Reaching into the front pocket of his shirt, he withdrew the tiny puff of grey.
“Awww.” She took him into her hands and cradled him close. “He’s precious.”
“I call him Rat.”
She frowned at him. “That’s horrible.”
