Page 85 of For You & No One Else (Say Everything 3)

Twenty-Two

Mabel bounced around Beckham’s feet as he carried a bag of takeout and a carrier full of needy cat through Eliza’s front door. “Whoa, there,” he said, being careful not to step on the overexcited pup. Her tail was wagging so hard, he feared she’d tip herself over with the momentum. Trent meowed from his carrier. “I’d take this welcome as a compliment,” he told Mabel, “but I think you’re much more excited about the shrimp po’boys and Trent than you are about seeing me.”

Mabel whined, confirming his suspicion, and nudged her nose against the bag, declaring po’boys more interesting than cat.

Eliza reached down to take Mabel’s collar before the dog took off with their dinner. “That bag does smell exceptionally tasty,” she said. “I can’t blame her. Mabel, sit.” She nodded toward the carrier. “Um, what’s up with Trent?”

Beckham bumped the door shut with his foot as Mabel reluctantly sat. “Long story. Do you mind? He can stay in the carrier. I picked him up from the cat sitter and brought him home, but after being gone a week, he…would not let me leave again. The yowling he did was like a knife to the heart. So I took him to the pet store for treats and supplies, then brought him here. He’s a needy cat. Sorry.”

Eliza laughed a little and stroked Mabel’s head. “It’s fine. You can let him out if you want. Mabel is friendly with cats.”

“I’m not sure Trent will be friendly to Mabel, but we can see how they do. I’d also need to get that bag of kitty litter out of the car. Do you have a box or something I could put some in? I don’t want Trent christening your house.”

“Yeah, I have a cardboard box that could work. Go ahead and grab the litter. Just meet me in the kitchen,” she said, taking the carrier and bag of food from him. “If we eat at the counter, Mabel won’t be able to bother us too much. And I can give her some dinner to distract her.”

Beckham hurried back out to the car, grabbing the bag of litter, and then headed to the kitchen. Mabel was giving Trent’s carrier a curious sniff when he walked in. Trent meowed, but Beckham couldn’t tell if it was aHey, what’s up, doggo?meow or aGet the hell out of my face, canine scummeow. Mabel didn’t seem to be deterred either way.

Eliza went to the pantry to get Mabel’s food while Beckham unloaded the sandwiches, the mayo already leaking through the butcher paper they were wrapped in. He grabbed napkins and two bottles of water from the fridge, setting everything up in front of the barstools at her counter. Then he fetched the Tabasco sauce from her cabinet by the stove. He realized how comfortable he’d gotten navigating her space over the last few weeks. He’d never known where any other woman he’d slept with kept her hot sauce.

No wonder she wanted to talk.

“Who’s hungry?” Eliza said in an animated voice as she shook Mabel’s bowl at her. “Who’s a pretty girl?”

Mabel hurried over and whined, hopping up on her back paws. Beckham smiled, the warmth on Eliza’s face hard to look away from. No matter how tonight turned out, he was happy he’d said yes to Eliza on Christmas. She and Mabel were a match meant to be. And he and Trent…well, they’d come to an understanding in their stalker/stalkee relationship—the understanding being that Beckham allowed himself to be stalked.

Eliza made Mabel sit and then put her bowl of food in front of her. The dog buried her face in it, sending the bowl skidding along as she ate. Eliza shook her head, smiling, and then disappeared into her laundry room. When she came back out, she handed him a low-sided cardboard box. “Will this work? You can let Trent out and see how he does, if you want.”

“Should be good. Thanks.” He poured some litter into the box, set it by her back door, and then washed his hands. Beckham leaned down and unlatched the cat carrier. “Want to be social, dude?”

One lone paw stretched out of the carrier as if testing the air temperature and wind speed. After a long moment, Trent sauntered out, tail flicking with judgment. Mabel hurried over to see what new friend was here, and Beckham stood guard, ready to intervene. But to his surprise, Trent allowed Mabel a sniff, and then he flopped on his side to start cleaning himself. Mabel quickly lost interest and went back to her food.

“Well then,” Eliza said with a shrug, “I guess they’re both equally unimpressed with each other.”

“So it seems.”

She looked over to him, her smile no longer there. “Thanks for picking up food.”

“No problem. Thanks for letting me come over.” He sat on one of the stools, hating the stiff turn in the conversation.

She stayed on the other side of the counter, her hands gripping the edge. “Yes, just what I wanted after my awkward confession on the phone. A face-to-face come-to-Jesus meeting.”

His brows lifted. “You could’ve said no.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m trying to be a grown-up.”

The distasteful way she’d said it almost made him smile, but he kept his reaction in check. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re one of the most grown-up people I’ve ever met.”

She snorted. “Sure. Let’s press that age-difference button for some added fun.” She made a pointed motion with her index finger. “Poke. Poke.”

“I’m not talking about that. You know I don’t give a shit about our age difference.” He leaned his forearms on the counter, trying to find the right words. “To be honest, I’m in fucking awe about how straightforward you are. That phone call today?”

She narrowed her eyes, as if bracing herself.

“It was the work of a stone-cold, badass grown-up. You don’t play games or tiptoe around stuff. I don’t have to guess at what you’re thinking.” He cleared his throat. “It’s…one of my favorite things about you.”

Her suspicious expression softened. “Oh.”

“So I came here to do the same. To return the favor.”

---