Page 32 of Desperately Seeking Kitty

Was that what she liked to be called? I needed to ask.

Besides, this wasn’t only about me. Sure, it had been initially. I absolutely did not want to be matched with my mother’s newest “lonely friend.”

But Kitty wasn’t in a good place. She hadn’t said it in so many words, but I could read between the lines.

Her mom and dad situation. Her spartan apartment with virtually nothing personal. None of the usual girl stuff like knickknacks and throw pillows with fake jewels or fringe or snowmen with dopey grins.

That gigantic shapeless bathrobe, which would be fine to wear at home alone. But to meet someone new?

Sorry, dude, she’s just not that into you.

And worst of all, her indifference to Christmas. Who was indifferent to the holidays? I mean, once in a while, fine. Everyone had their bah humbug moments. But it seemed like more than that for her.

I might not love the holidays but my family put on a display worthy of a Griswold family Christmas. Mostly because it actually ended up on TV every year.

No one could be indifferent surrounded by that much ho-ho-ho. It just wasn’t physically possible. Perhaps it might even put a smile on her too-serious face.

And maybe she’d rue the day she’d ever met me.

“Clint?” Theresa leaned forward to peer into my eyes. “Are you all right?”

“Fine. Dandy.” I flexed my hands and tried to lose my grimace. My own attitude needed some serious repair. “Anyway, the weekend after Thanksgiving is booked, then I’ll be back to work my usual schedule.”

“Are you sure? These long hours between your day job and your volunteer hours can take a serious physical and mental toll.”

Was I imagining her extra emphasis on the wordmental? I didn’t think so.

“I’m sure,” I replied tightly, unfolding myself from my chair. “Trust me when I say this is all not nearly as salacious as it might seem. She just used words to try to get attention. Her first post wasn’t even noticed.”

Theresa rose to stare me down across her crowded desk. Her entire office was crammed to the gills with secondhand furniture and piles of paperwork stuffed in straining files. “Well, I commend her then for meeting her objectives. That post has been down for days, and it continues to receive attention. She was very popular.”

With a grunt, I turned to leave.

“I assume you don’t want me to forward any messages to her inbox?” she called as I shut the door behind me with more force than necessary.

No, I did not want her to forward anything. In fact, I didn’t even know for certain that she wasn’t talking to anyone else from the site. For all I knew, she could have set up five meetings to meet other men—or women—in her bathrobe.

It wasn’t as if she owed me exclusivity for our fake dating arrangement—that she had not even formally agreed to. Or informally.

Besides, it would become very real very fast, if I had my way.

I wasn’t asking for lifetime fidelity or anything. I was almost sure that wasn’t in the cards for me, anyway.

Any woman I brought into my life on a long-term basis would be subject to the Hauser vetting process, which was much more rigorous than one might expect.

My dad intended to pass the mayoral torch to me someday. It was our family legacy and my opinion on the matter didn’t hold much weight. So my future wife would be evaluated as future mayor’s wife material.

Unless I disappeared to parts unknown, which seemed as good an option as any.

I tugged out my phone and texted Kitty.

Clint

How do you feel about not fake dating?

She didn’t answer for over five hours.

Five.

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