Chapter 11 #2
The garage door keypad glared back at her like an accusation. After a moment of hesitation, she punched in the numbers Gina had given her. To her surprise, the door rumbled open immediately, groaning like some kind of mechanical monster.
She stepped cautiously inside, her heart kicking into a sprint. The cool shade of the garage wrapped around her—and then a sharp click followed by a low electronic beep.
Motion detector.
Correction: motion detector and camera.
Nettie froze, glancing up. A small red light blinked above her like a watchful eye. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. There was no hiding this from Tate. She was already backing toward her car when the static crackle of a speaker stopped her cold.
“What’s going on?”
Nettie jumped a full foot in the air. Her purse strap nearly slid off her shoulder.
“Hey, um, hi Tate,” she stammered, forcing what she hoped was a friendly, casual tone. Instead, she sounded like an intruder caught mid-break-in.
“Where’s my sister?” he asked bluntly.
“At the hairdresser’s,” Nettie rushed out, shifting her weight from foot to foot like a guilty teenager.
“She asked me to come in her place because she knew Mulligan was on a schedule and… hi.” She lifted her hand and gave the camera a mortified little wave.
Then, realizing how ridiculous she must look, she pointed weakly toward the driveway. “I can go. This was a bad idea.”
“I’d really appreciate it if you took care of Mulligan for me,” Tate’s voice crackled through the speaker. Then, before she could react, her phone buzzed in her hand.
Nettie looked down.
Incoming call: Tate Cassidy.
Oh mercy— now I’m in trouble.
“Hello?” she answered, throat dry.
“This might be easier,” Tate’s deep voice rolled smoothly through her phone speaker. “I won’t ask how or why Gina talked you into this, but thank you.”
“Look, this is awkward, and I’m really not a fan of going into someone’s house when they aren’t home,” Nettie said, already spinning on her heel to march back toward her car. “I’ll have Gina come by shortly and—”
“No.” His tone snapped like a whip. “Just go inside – now.”
“No,” she shot back, spinning around with fire in her veins. Her voice pitched hotter, faster. “I’m sure not doing it if you are going to order me about or get all nasty with me. This call can be over right-freakin’-now, Tate.”
“Go inside, please,” he stressed, firmer now but less sharp. “There are bobcats in the area, and I am concerned because the garage door isn’t closed yet. Please go inside where I know you are safe.”
Her jaw went slack. “B–Bobcats?”
“Yes.”
Forget the coffin or green fog… feral feline killer worked just as well, Nettie thought immediately.
Every muscle in her body locked up. She squeaked, grabbed the garage door handle, and shoved her way into the house.
Immediately, the shrill beeping of the alarm system went off like a fire drill, sending her heart into a panicked sprint.
She scrambled around, looking wildly for the keypad.
“The alarm pad’s on the wall…” Tate barked into her ear.
“I’m looking!”
“It’s on the wall—”
“You said that! Which wall?”
“It’s a hallway—there are two walls!”
“I see that!”
“Obviously you don’t.”
“Hush.”
“It’s on the wall!”
“I’m looking at the wall!”
“If it’s not on your left—then turn around!”
“Quit yelling at me!” Nettie shrieked, fumbling desperately.
“You’re yelling at me!” Tate exclaimed in disbelief. “The cops are going to come—”
“I know! I know!”
“If they show up, the password is hockey—”
“Shush so I can—” Nettie ordered, finally spotting the panel - behind the door panel and not on either wall. Rolling her eyes, she punched the numbers with shaking fingers until the alarm cut off mid-wail. Silence flooded back in, broken only by the frantic hammering of her heart.
“Did you get it?” Tate asked.
“Oh my goodness, can you give me a moment to breathe? Sheesh, my hands are shaking. I do not like stress, and this is stressful.” Nettie pressed her palm to her chest, trying to calm her racing pulse.
She blinked around at the shadowy entryway.
“Don’t you have any freakin’ light bulbs? Why’s it so dark in here?”
“Cats can see in the dark.”
“Yes, but they are also sensitive, and it stresses them to be in pitch-black.”
“Oh my gosh—are you serious?” he mocked, and her temper roared to life again. Gosh, he was so annoying sometimes.
“Yes!” she bit out hotly.
“Nettie, I’m teasing you,” Tate chuckled, maddeningly calm. “The bulb must have gone out because I always leave it on for Mulligan. Walk forward and you’ll see the kitchen light is on too.”
She huffed, muttering under her breath as she stepped cautiously forward. The conversation might’ve been the strangest, most polite argument she’d ever had.
Then her sandal pressed down on something soft, and something nearby hissed. Mulligan.
Nettie shrieked and hopped sideways. For a moment, she was afraid that she’d stepped on him and said as much, but then realized that wasn’t the case.
“What?!”
“Oh my gosh, I stepped on something and it hissed!”
“Did you step on my kitten?” he yelped angrily, in an obvious panic.
“No—but how’s it feel to be teased?” she snapped hotly, shaking her foot out as if it had been contaminated as a streak of something ran away, catching her eye. “And why do you have your shoes everywhere? I thought your sister said you were a neat freak?”
Tate’s laugh was a low, deep rumble that made her stomach clench in a way she absolutely did not want to analyze. It rolled through the phone like a warm wave.
“I am a neat freak when compared to Gina. Her bedroom is a pigsty…”
“Always has been,” Nettie quipped before realizing she might’ve said too much. “Don’t tell her I said that.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” His chuckle deepened. “Do you see Mulligan?”
“I do,” Nettie breathed, her annoyance melting when she spotted a tiny gray fluffball scrambling up the back of his couch before taking a seat, perched on the back of the couch. The kitten glared at her like a miniature dragon, then let out a ferocious hiss that was meant to be fierce.
It wasn’t.
“He’s adorable.”
“He’s a pest,” Tate said softly. But there was something else there—an affection that tugged at her unexpectedly.
“I’ll feed him and leave,” Nettie said firmly, still eyeing the kitten.
“There’s no rush.”
“Tate, I’m not going to snoop around.”
“Fine.”
“Okay.”
“Yep.”
“Yep,” she echoed, exhaling a sharp sigh. “Where are you playing tonight?”
“Toronto. I’m actually about to head down to the locker rooms,” Tate explained. Then, quieter, “You could stay and watch the game—if you wanted to.”
“I appreciate the offer,” she said politely, though her cheeks warmed. “But friends don’t take advantage of other friends.”
“Hmm. Back to the ‘friends-thing,’ huh. Fine. We’ll play by your rules.” His voice dropped into something teasing, threaded with challenge. “Text me when you head out… or a photo of yourself holding Mulligan.”
“I’m not – and we’re barely friends.”
“Up to you.”
“Why do you do this, Tate?” she asked, utterly exasperated.
“Why do you argue so much?” he countered openly.
“I’m not.”
“It sounds like it from where I’m sitting.”
“Then stand up,” she hissed, too flustered to think of anything better. “I’ve got things to do, and you are dragging this out much too long. Can you just go grab a stick and slap something to get whatever this is out of your system? Isn’t that what hockey players do?”
“I guess you’ll see at the next game with Gina.” His chuckle was velvet-warm in her ear.
Nettie paused, pulse skipping.
“I’ll text you later,” he added.
“Sure.”
The line clicked off. Nettie stood in the semi-darkness, staring at the kitten now glaring at her from the couch with the same unimpressed expression she could practically feel radiating off Tate whenever she argued with him.
The kitten hissed at her - again.
“Oh great,” she muttered. “Apparently, there’s two of you.”
It took less than ten minutes for Nettie to lose her heart to Mulligan.
The kitten was a whirlwind of contradictions—tiny and helpless one moment, then spitting out mock growls as if he were a lion disguised in soft stripes and fuzz.
His ears flicked back in mock ferocity, his little jaw snapping toward her fingers whenever she tried to stroke him.
Nettie giggled despite herself, because instead of delivering the bite he threatened, Mulligan leaned in with a rumbling purr, pressing his head into her palm like he’d been waiting his whole short life to be loved.
And oh, that tail of his. It twitched like a pendulum whenever food appeared, his back paws prancing in place as though the joy inside him could only escape through movement. Each bite was a celebration, his entire body too full of delight to stay still.
He was fearless, too—utterly without hesitation.
“Oh mercy,” Nettie whispered under her breath as the kitten launched himself at her jeans, claws pricking just enough to announce his ascent. In seconds, he had scaled her thigh, scrambled onto her lap, and shoved his face against her sweater with triumphant purrs.
If she leaned on the counter, Mulligan found the kitchen towel and used it as a makeshift ladder, dangling halfway up with his tiny claws while glaring at her as if to say, ‘Well, aren’t you going to help me the rest of the way?’
Her heart melted, puddled, and then promptly drowned in affection. How could such a small creature demand so much love with so little effort?
And all the while, Tate’s house surprised her.