11. 11 #2
I edge toward the front door, each step careful, deliberate.
My fingers slide the safety lock into place more out of instinct than strategy.
I pause, letting the silence stretch, grounding myself with a few steady breaths before cracking the door just enough to peer through.
I release the breath I’d been absentmindedly holding, because of all people—of course—it’s him.
Michael stands out the front, that insufferable, smug grin pulling at his mouth, one side deeper than the other, forming that damned dimple he seems so proud of. He raises a brow at the sound of the lock still engaged.
“Relax with the locks. I’m not here to rob you.” I keep the chain on, eyes narrowing. His gaze flicks to it and lingers. “Were you expecting someone else? What’s with the Fort Knox treatment?” His tone lacks the usual teasing edge. There’s something measured about it, a beat slower, more observant.
I straighten. “Why are you here? How did—how did you get my address? This is trespassing.”
He holds up a single hand in mock surrender, the gesture only making me more annoyed. “Easy there, tiger. You’re one hard woman to track down.”
“And for good reason,” I snap, the air between us thickening. “I’m going to ask you again—how did you find out where I live?”
Michael’s shoulders rise and fall with a slow breath. “It’s a small town, love.” My eyes narrow further. “A little birdy told me.”
The words lodge under my skin, and my mind instantly spins. Who the hell told him where I live? He must notice because he’s quick to reassure me.
“Relax, Freckles,” he says, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Isla, from the animal hospital, and I pieced it together. Turns out she knows your mother, and one thing led to another, and… here I am.”
My stomach knots, but before I can reply, he shifts, cradling something in the crook of his arm, behind his back.
“I come bearing gifts. A peace offering.”
“I don’t need a peace offering. And you better not have flowers behind your back. I’ll throw them right—”
My words are cut off when I see it. Tiny paws, a soft mewl, and the familiar patch of white above its eye. My kitten. The one I rescued.
“What the—”
“So you recognise this little one?”
I blink, lips parted, the brush still in my hand. He smiles, and I hate the way it looks good on him. “I—I dropped it off at the vet a couple of days ago. How did you even know?”
Michael shrugs, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “I didn’t. This is purely a coincidence.” The kitten lets out another meow as if to contradict him. He runs a hand over his buzzed hair. “I saw it and thought of you.”
Something in me wavers. My hands twitch by my sides, my chest tightening with something that feels far too tender. I feel it then—the wall, the familiar armour—starting to slip, and I force it up again.
“Okay, and? Why don’t you keep it?” I don’t mean for it to sound so bitter, but the words cut through the moment like glass.
“Because I don’t need the company, and—”
“And what, I do?” I snap, sharper this time.
I’m tired of people deciding things for me, assuming they know what I need, like I’m incapable of making my own choices.
He doesn’t flinch. “Yeah, Freckles. I think you do.”
There it is again—that nickname. It grates at me, like fingernails dragging down my spine.
He continues talking, something about his mum being severely allergic and only just finding out, but I don’t buy it.
Not entirely. He steps closer, gently placing the kitten into my hands.
It stares up at me, soft and small and impossibly trusting, letting out a meow that feels like a string tugging at my chest.
“Oh, would you look at that? Best buds already.”
He peers behind me into my space, his eyes roaming the small lounge, the blanket on the armrest, the stack of unopened mail on the bench.
“Nice place.”
“It’s temporary.”
“Not anymore. Not while you’ve got this little gem.”
“Michael, I am not keeping the cat.” He places a bag by the door and starts to turn. “Wait—Michael.”
He pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “I’ll be waiting for you to bring your car by. And trust me, you’re gonna want do it sooner rather than later.”
The sudden shift in topic catches me completely off guard. “And why would I need to do that?”
Inside, I already know the answer. I’ve just been avoiding it.
“Because it’s leaking fluids again,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
My brows lift. “And how exactly do you know that?”
A slow smirk curves his mouth. “Maybe I’m smarter than you think.”
I scoff, but he’s already heading down the path, sliding into his ute and pulling away like he hasn’t just turned my afternoon upside down. And as I glance toward my car, I see it—plain as fucking day—a dark, glistening puddle spreading beneath the engine. Smartass.
The kitten suddenly shifts in my arms, its tiny claws catching in my shirt before it settles again, warm and soft against me. I stare down at it, conflicted. Part of me is relieved—grateful, even —but the bigger part bristles. I didn’t ask for this. I don’t need company.
And who the hell does he think he is, deciding I do? He doesn’t even know me.
Yet, my chest tightens, betraying me. Because deep down, beneath the ache and the instinct to shove everyone away, I know he’s right.