Page 21 of The Little Black Rose

Chapter10

I Play to Win

Ava

Iclick on the all-natural, grain-free cat food I always buy for the shelter’s residents and submit my usual order for a hundred pounds’ worth of bags. Then I search the pet supply website for some new toys and a couple of scratching posts for the common room to replace the ones that are falling apart from constant use.

Pepperoni is resting peacefully in my lap, and once I finish my order, I scratch him behind the ears. I pick up my phone with my free hand to check my notifications. No text yet.

Zeke has been texting me every morning since our doctor’s appointment a week ago. He asks how I’m feeling and if everything is okay with the babies, and I assure him everything is fine and that I’m feeling great––which I am, since the morning sickness finally faded away. It’s so nice to come into work and not puke from the smells of cats and litter boxes.

Before I can set my phone back down, it chimes with an incoming text. I smile as I open my chat thread with Zeke, but my mouth quickly drops into a frown. This text is different from the others.

Zeke:Can you meet me for lunch today? I need to talk to you about something important.

I read the words for a second time, my mind spiraling with questions. Has he changed his mind about us? Does he want to cut ties and leave me alone in raising our children?

“Ugh. Fucking hormones need to chill out,” I mumble, tapping out a response.

Me:Sure. What time and where?

I can’t jump to worst-case scenarios and freak myself out. Zeke has been nothing but supportive, and has proven he’s all-in on being a father to these babies. There’s no way he’s backing out, now. And if for some strange reason he does, then I’ll manage. Women do this every day, and I’m perfectly capable of handling it, even if I don’t really want to.

Zeke:Jonathon’s at twelve-thirty?

Me:Sounds great. See you there.

Now, I just have to get through the next two hours without stressing over what he wants to talk about. I can do that, right?

“Hey, boss.”

I look up to see Chuck’s head poking through the open doorway of my office. I give him a smile I don’t really feel, and he arches a brow, but doesn’t mention it.

“You’re ten-thirty appointment is here. They seem really interested in Popeye.”

I suck in a sharp breath, and he nods at me with wide eyes. Plucking Pepperoni from my lap, I set him on the floor before pushing myself to my feet. I brush the cat hair from my leggings as I walk toward the door, my heart racing with the possibility of finally finding a home for my longest resident.

“Hi, I’m Ava,” I say as I approach the older couple standing beside the windows of the cat common room. “Welcome toCurious Cats.”

“Hi, I’m Bruce, and this is my wife, Allison,” the man says as I shake both of their hands.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say. “Chuck tells me you’re interested in meeting Popeye?”

I look through the window to see the cat in question curled up in a corner of one of the couches. His black fur is shiny and smooth beneath the fluorescent lights, a picture of dozing perfection.

“We saw on your site that he’s special needs?” Allison says, the last word rising an octave to make the statement sound like a question.

“That’s right,” I say, meeting her gaze. “Popeye came to us as a feral kitten five years ago. He was attacked by a stray dog, and a kind gentleman found him bleeding and barely alive beside the road and brought him to a local vet, who called me. I paid for his surgeries and nursed him back to health while socializing him and teaching him to trust humans. He only has one eye and one of his back legs had to be amputated, but he’s a very loving boy that will be an amazing addition to any family.”

“Five years is a long time to live in a rescue,” Allison says softly, her gaze moving back to Popeye.

“It is,” I agree. “Black cats are the hardest to find homes for. Even without realizing it, most people associate them with bad luck and evil omens.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Bruce says, and I can’t help but smirk.

Itisridiculous. I’ve been telling Sophie that for years, but she’s so superstitious, she was terrified of black cats until she got together with Jared and had to learn to love his very sweet, veryblackcat, Deuces. Now, he’s her constant cuddle-buddy, but if you’d told her it would be this way six months ago, she’d have laughed in your face before knocking on wood and burning some sage to get rid of the bad mojo.

“It is,” I say aloud, “but it’s a fact, nevertheless. And add to that his impairments, and well, you see he’s still here after all this time. Would you like me to bring him out so you can meet him properly?”

---