Chapter Seven
Lucia
Why won’t I let you help me?
Because every second I spend with you is like a delicious torment I can’t seem to shake myself free from. Because the more I let you be around, the more I fool myself into believing in things that I know can never be.
Because too much has happened between us to ever be able to set things straight.
“Fine,” I mutter, surprising myself with the even tone of my voice. “You’re right. Thanks for the help. It would have taken me forever and the kittens are beginning to get cold now that the little heater is packed up.”
Like an actor waiting for his cue, the orange kitten's plaintive meow cuts through the cold evening air. He’s the last one out. All the others are waiting, safe and secure in the truck.
Waiting for their new families to pick them up in a few days. All except this one.
It’s not fair, but it doesn’t surprise me, either. I look down to see the orange kitten pawing at his carrier door, his green eyes bright and utterly convinced that freedom is just a latch away. Heat blooms against my throat as I unclip the door and lift him out.
“The event went as good as your mother hoped?” Gideon asked in a soft tone.
“Yeah.” I run my fingers on the top of the kitten’s head as he purrs like it’s his life’s mission.
My fingertip rests for a second longer on the top of his missing ear, the result of frostbite that the vet at the shelter couldn’t fix.
He’s still completely adorable in my opinion, but my opinion didn’t seem to sway the adopters as they filled out their adoption forms. “We got applications for all the kittens and most of the adult cats. They’ll spend Christmas with their new families. Well, all except this one.”
The tiny weight settles against my chest, tucking under my chin with a purr like a toy engine. His miniature paws knead my coat, and something in my chest squeezes at the sight.
"I’m so sorry no one picked you, little one," I murmur, stroking the downy fur behind where his missing ear should be. "You're quite the charmer, aren’t you?"
Gideon watches with an unreadable expression, his eyes following my fingers over the animal’s silky fur.
"I'd bring him home with me in a heartbeat, but my dad’s allergic. Has been since I was little. Mom always said it was the one thing that could make him sneeze like a cartoon character. Guess that’s why she spends all her time at the shelter.
That’s where she gets her cat fixes!" I tell him, scratching under the kitten's chin until he stretches his neck almost comically.
"Still, it would be nice to have someone to keep me company when I go back to the city. "
The admission reveals more than I intended, this longing for something to nurture, to care for. Something that would love me unconditionally, no matter how spectacularly I mess up my deadlines or my life. Something I could love back.
Shit. Is my life this empty?
Gideon shifts his grip on the equipment we're still technically moving and says, almost hesitantly, "Martha keeps saying the house is too quiet."
I glance up at him, and I can’t suppress a surprised gasp.
"She talks to the TV like it's a person," he continues, a hint of warmth creeping into his tone. “Argues with the weather reports. Talks back to the newscasters like they’re her best friends.”
I chuckle at the thought of his golem mom, so sweet and soft-spoken, arguing with the people on TV.
"Remember Pebble?" I say before I can stop myself. "How he used to climb on your shoulders when you were trying to do homework?"
Gideon's expression softens with genuine fondness and his face breaks into a smile that threatens to send me to my knees. As if I needed more reason to find him irresistible.
“You sound like you miss him,” I say, easing the kitten toward him.
"He was my best friend," he says, accepting the small weight like it's made of precious glass.
The kitten immediately begins his assault on Gideon's defenses, climbing up his coat with determined little claws and bonking his fuzzy head against the underside of Gideon's chin. An unguarded, boyish laugh rumbles from deep in his chest.
"Cheeky little bugger," Gideon scolds, but his voice has the softest tone and the sound does dangerous things to my heart.
The tiny wannabe tiger reaches up with a soft paw and pets the large golem’s cheek, like Gideon is the pet and not him, triggering another wave of laughter from him.
A memory surfaces without warning in my mind. Gideon at fifteen, sprawled on his bed, homework sheets in disarray while the tabby cat headbutted him, walking all over our papers.
It feels cruel and incredibly sweet at the same time, the vision so vivid in my mind I have to blink it away.
"He'd knock over my pencil cup every single time, like he was personally offended by geometry." He pauses, stroking the kitten's tiny head. "Martha swore he was trying to help me."
The memory flows naturally between us, a bridge to our shared past that doesn't hurt for once. Just two people who used to know each other's histories, each other's secrets, each other's everything.
“I could adopt him.” He says the words softly, the tiny creature cradled in his huge hand like the most precious treasure in the universe. “It would be a great present for Martha. For me, too."
The words surprise me with their quiet vulnerability and I get a glimpse of him I never suspected. Like maybe, just maybe, Gideon is as lonely as I am.
Maybe I am going crazy after all.
I search his face as he looks at the cat, now snuggled against his neck, his eyes closed, fast asleep. Like part of the feline knows he is safe now.
"You'd really do that?" I ask, still incredulous. "Take on a tiny dictator who's clearly going to rule your entire household?"
"Someone has to," he says, turning his tender, open smile from the cat to me. "Might as well be me."
I reach for the box of adoption forms, retrieve one, and begin filling it out as fast as I can while Gideon looks at me. I’m positively melting from the sight of the giant golem cradling the tiny kitten.
Gideon glances at me before signing. "Do you think I can take him home tonight?"
"Positive. If anyone asks, I’ll vouch for you.
I’m glad he’s not going to spend another night at the shelter.
" I grab a pen and scribble feeding notes on the flip side of a spare form. “This is the brand of food he’s eating so you can buy the same for now. He’s going to need a litter box and bowls for food and water, too, of course. ”
I glance at him, then write my phone number at the bottom.
"For the kitten," I clarify quickly. "In case you have questions about his care."
"Right. For the kitten." But there's something in his voice that suggests we both know it's not just about the kitten.
"He needs a name," I decide, watching the kitten, still kneading Gideon’s neck in his sleep. “Something sweet and spicy at the same time. Oh, I know! How about Cinnamon?”
Gideon huffs like he wants to object but can't find a legitimate reason.
"Cinnamon," he repeats, tucking the kitten more securely inside his jacket. Bright-green eyes and one perfect ear peek out above the lapel like a tiny, furry periscope. “I think Martha would like that.”
"Text me when you get him settled," I say as I take a step back, feigning casualness. By the look on Gideon’s face, I’m not good at it. Then again, he knows me too well.
"Thanks, Lucia," he responds, his gaze traveling on my face like he wants to remember every inch of it.
Around us, the square exhales into evening. Doors thunk shut, tires hiss away through snow, firepits are extinguished. Voices call goodbyes across the emptying space as Saltford Bay wraps up another day of holiday cheer.
But for once, the distance between Gideon and me feels measured in inches rather than years. Maybe, that's enough for now.
"See you around, Stoneface," I say softly.
He nods, snow melting on the skin of his head. "See you around, Lulu."
I'm halfway to my car when my phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number.
Cinnamon says thank you. Also, he's already claimed my lap as his favorite chair.
I find myself smiling as I type back.
He's got excellent taste. That chair was always the best spot in your house.
The response comes quickly. Still is. You’re welcome to sit on it anytime.
I blush, all alone in my car, then look around like a naughty schoolgirl before returning to my phone. Am I flirting by text with Gideon Flintman?
Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll do more than sitting on it.
I’m mortified at my own boldness, but at the same time, I haven’t felt this alive in months, if not years. My stomach flips over when another message appears.
You’re welcome to do anything you want on my lap.
Duly noted. This should make for good dreams.
I stare at the screen as the message is marked Delivered. Three ellipses appear, disappear. Then another message pops up.
Good night, Lulu.
I sigh.
Good night, Stoneface.
And as I drive home through the snowy streets of Saltford Bay, I can't shake the feeling that something fundamental just shifted between us. Something small but significant, like the first crack in a dam that's been holding back a decade of unfinished business.
But just as I pull into my parents' driveway, my phone rings.
Derreck's name flashes on the screen, and my stomach drops as I remember the ultimatum he delivered earlier.
The real world comes crashing back, with its deadlines and contracts and the possibility that my entire career is circling the drain.
I stare at the phone until it stops ringing, then sit in my car for a long moment, watching the Christmas lights twinkle on my parents' house.
Tomorrow, I'll deal with Daniel and my editor and the mess I've made of my professional life. Tomorrow, I'll figure out how to write my way out of this hole.
But tonight, for just a few hours, I'm going to let myself believe that some problems can be solved with a devastating golem smile and a tiny orange kitten who's probably already convinced he owns Gideon Flintman's entire heart.