66. Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Six
Mac
“What the fuck is this?”
Hands up and eyes wide, I stare at the sudden jabs in my thighs that belong to the curling creature now taking up my lap.
“Oh, shit. Sorry,” Jordan murmurs distractedly.
He’s behind me, at the stove I could see if I turned around but refuse to look at, while the black and white cat circles over my legs.
The thing sniffs my knee, then flops unceremoniously across me and purrs .
I think I just fell in love.
Burying my fingers in the soft fur, the corner of my lips lift when the cat looks at me with brilliant green eyes and slow blinks.
Definitely in love.
Shit, this was a mistake.
I swallow hard and get my hands under the creature with every intention of displacing the animal, but then those eyes meet mine and I slump.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here, cat,” I whisper thickly. “I was supposed to be mad at him. One look at him, and now I’m here. What do I do?”
Nothing but the sound of Jordan clanging around in the kitchen responds.
“Right. I’m talking to a fucking cat.” I blow out a breath. “I’ve lost it for sure.”
“I talk to her all the time,” Jordan admits, and I jump at the sound of his voice near my ear. “She can be a good conversationalist when she wants to be.”
Biting my lip, I nod and scratch behind her ear. She lets loose an appreciative noise and lays her head down on a paw.
Shit, that’s cute.
I clear my throat and risk a glance next to me where Jordan leans over the back of the couch and reaches to pat the cat’s head lightly.
My heart nearly stops at the adoration softening his face. The closeness of his person. How, if he’d redirect by like an inch, he’d be touching my leg.
Goddammit, this was a terrible fucking idea.
“I should go.”
“Food’s almost done. At least eat first,” Jordan says almost like he’s happy , then backs up, wafting his clean apple scent as he moves.
I inhale deep, letting the smell absorb into my blood like oxygen.
God, I’ve fucking missed him.
“Her name’s Cookie, by the way.” I look down at the ball of fur and huff out a short-lived chuckle. “I think she’s two.”
“Was Oreo already taken?”
Jordan snorts. “Too obvious. Everyone names tuxedo cats Oreo.”
“Cuz you know so many people with cats.”
Reality slaps me like a cold-water bath.
He might know lots of people with animals now.
But he chuckles as he works and says “There were a few when I was younger, but you’re right. I don’t know anyone else with a cat.”
My hands freeze, fingers lost in the fur of his companion.
It’s slow, but when I turn to glance over my shoulder, he’s completely unfazed by the admission of something from his childhood and my heart gives a patter inside my chest.
He’s never volunteered that before.
“You had a cat?”
“No.” His head shakes, dislodging a few strands of his hair. It’s a little longer now and I let myself imagine for the briefest of moments what it would feel like in my hands. Would it be as soft as the fur already curling around my fingers? “They were alley cats. Ones that the whole neighborhood took care of, or the older ladies, depending on where I was.”
That last bit has me furrowing my brow.
I want to ask what he means—where was he?—but I don’t.
He shared something on his own and I don’t want to minimize that.
“So, Cookie, then.” I shift back to the sleeping feline and blink against the sudden burn in the backs of my eyes.
“Here.”
A bowl with a spoon already in it is shoved beneath my chin, the scent of cheesy-rich noodles filling my nose and making my eyes water even more.
“Thanks,” I mutter and accept the dish of my favorite meal with both hands.
“It’s nothing fancy,” he mumbles as he slumps into the cushion beside me. “Just a box.”
I clear my throat. “You know I don’t care.”
My jaw clenches, stomach in knots when I risk a glance at the man that knows me better than anyone. Even after all this time, he’s got me.
Only … he’s holding a fork over the bowl beneath his chin, the tines lined with green leaves.
Those knots in my stomach tighten.
“I know, Vida,” he murmurs around his fork, chewing.
Do I watch his Adam’s apple bob with his swallow? Yes .
Should I? Clearly not .
It’s sexy and thoughtful and—
Tearing my sight away from him, I stare into the bowl and have to will myself not to fucking cry over mac and cheese. That Jordan cooked. Just for me. While he eats rabbit food.
It might be a simple box of noodles and flavored packet. Something as easy as boiling some water and making sure the pasta part doesn’t turn to mush. Yet, I can’t help but feel like my heart is ready to burst out of my chest and present itself to him right here on the couch.
“This is the first homecooked meal I’ve had in over a year,” I mutter, and it comes out thick as shit.
I think he nods, but I’m too afraid to look.
Blinking hard, I finish the whole bowl.
It’s the best fucking mac and cheese I’ve ever had.
And when I scrape the last bit of cheese sauce from the sides of the ceramic, Jordan offers to get me more.
Sniffing, I let him take the bowl and set both on the coffee table next to his hat when I shake my head.
He scoots close enough that his knee grazes mine.
“All it took was a hotdog.”
When I swing my furrowed brow on him, he nods to the curled-up creature in my lap.
“She was hanging around outside and I was worried she’d get hit by a damn car. So, I coaxed her with a hotdog.”
If I wasn’t worried I’d scare the shit out of the cat, I’d let the laugh that bubbles up out.
“Sometimes it’s that simple,” I murmur, and it cracks.
“She doesn’t normally like other people,” he half blurts out and I’m not sure why, but that makes me feel good. Like I’ve been chosen or some shit. “She only tolerates me because I feed her.”
His chuckle is all air.
And it sends a spike of warmth down my spine.
“I’m only tolerating you because you fed me, too.”
The responding laugh is deep and reaches somewhere in the depth of my soul and pets it like I’m petting his cat.
“Are you … Do you want to watch a movie?”