CHAPTER 52 Rowan
CHAPTER 52
Rowan
I t’s Charlie’s thirtieth birthday, and I wake him up with a blow job.
“Happy birthday to me,” he pants when I’m done. “I fucking love you so much.”
“I love you, too,” I whisper, crawling up to kiss him.
Over the past few months, things have calmed down. Charlie’s been only taking cases he likes and has started drawing again. I’ve helped him and Cam on some DIY projects, and he’s spent time editing his videos. He gets lost in the creativity, and I love finding him.
I smile and snuggle into him. “Congratulations. Your ten-year plan is complete. Or do you want to go get a cat?”
“I like cats, but I’m okay with waiting until we find the right one. I like Danny’s cat, Mamacita, a lot, but he’s never agreed to part with her. Asshole.”
“You could kidnap her. St. Thomas tradition.”
He rolls his eyes. “Um. No. That’s not part of your narrative anymore.”
I giggle. “And you’re sure you don’t want to be married.”
“For now,” Charlie says, and my heart flutters, because I know Charlie will always give me everything I want. I just want to make sure it’s right for him, too. “Is that okay with you?”
“Absolutely. We’re mated for life. We don’t need a legal ceremony to prove it.”
“Yep,” Charlie agrees. I swoon. “I’m not disparaging the idea in general.” He gets a glint in his eye. “Come to think of it, we need to go shopping.”
An hour later, we’re walking into Cartier Beverly Hills.
“Um, Charlie? It’s your birthday, not mine.”
He fingers the ring I gave him, which he wears around his neck, on a chain that matches mine. “I get to decide how I want to celebrate.”
“That’s true.”
Charlie takes my hands in his and brings them up to look at my fingers. He kisses my knuckles. “We’ll leave space for whatever the future holds.” He marches up to the counter. “My partner needs nine rings, please. Nine Love rings.”
I blink. “That’s a fuckton of money, Charlie.” Not that I can’t afford it. But can he?
I’m already in love with Charlie. He doesn’t need to give me presents.
But this may be the sexiest thing he’s ever done. Making me his nine times over. Maybe it’s Charlie’s middle finger to the way the world works—a little rebellion against the mainstream. But it feels like us.
When we walk out an hour and a half later, I’m wearing a Love ring on every finger except the ring finger on my left hand.
I spread my hands in front of me like I’m some kind of hand model. “I really like them,” I whisper. I get a lump in my throat.
He leans down and kisses me. I of course kiss him back just as hard.
“Come on, let’s go to your parents’ house for your birthday dinner.”
After a celebratory meal with Charlie’s entire family, we’re spending the night up in Montecito, because he wanted to wake up by the beach.
As we step out of the Mercedes that Hector drove us in, I pause. It’s a clear night, full of stars, and I can hear the ocean beyond the house. The air smells of salt. This place is starting to feel like home.
Actually, home is anywhere Charlie is.
I’m walking up to the kitchen door when I hear a soft, high-pitched noise. I pause and squint, tilting my head.
“What is it?” Charlie asks.
“I’m not sure. I think I hear something. There it is again. It sounds like a bird chirping.”
He stills, listening. After a moment, he whispers, “Yeah, there’s something all right.” He starts off in the direction of the noise, and when he gets around the corner of the house, stops by a little enclosure where the gardeners store hoses.
Charlie gets down on a knee and peers at the ground, holding up his cell phone flashlight. “There you are,” he says, his voice a low rumble.
I stand beside him and see what he’s looking at.
A tiny baby kitten, his eyes still closed, is crying piteously. He has gray fur except for a white stripe across his eyes like a reverse raccoon and a dark stripe along his nose.
“Where’s the mama?” Charlie asks, looking around.
Hector comes up behind us. “What did you find?”
“A kitten,” I say.
“Have you seen its mom?” Charlie asks.
Hector shakes his head. “There have been a few feral cats along the beach, but I haven’t seen one in days.”
We all stand there looking at the kitten .
“What are we supposed to do with it? Do we call animal control?” Charlie asks.
“We could,” I say. “But … Charlie, you always wanted a cat. Do you think we can keep it?”
He scoffs. “It’s barely a cat. It looks like a mole rat.”
“But … his mama left him.” Charlie looks at me, and I don’t need to point out the obvious parallel.
He kneels down and gently picks up the shivering little creature. He’s dirty, and I think I see fleas. He squeaks at Charlie’s touch, and he fits in the palm of Charlie’s hand.
“I don’t know how to take care of a cat-rat,” Charlie says, moving toward the kitchen.
“Then let’s find out,” I say.
Inside, we quickly google and learn that we need to bottle-feed the kitten and clean him up and keep him warm. Hector heads off to the store for kitten formula, bottles, a heating pad, and a carrying case for him to sleep in tonight. Tomorrow, we can check in with a veterinarian.
“Guess we’re going to be cat parents,” I say, smiling.
Matilda brings Charlie some towels, and we gently bathe the kitten in warm water, then dry him off. By the time we finish, Hector is back with supplies, and we manage, with Matilda’s help, to make a warm bottle of kitten formula.
Charlie wraps the tiny cat in a soft blanket, which he cradles to his chest, and holds up the bottle until the kitten fumblingly starts nursing.
I was already in love with Charlie, but watching my softhearted man baby this feline baby? Heart eyes for days.
He cradles the kitten after the bottle is empty and murmurs, “Hey, Junior. You’re going to be okay. We got ya.”
When we’re ready for bed, we place the kitten in the warmed nest in our room, under Wilbur, and the kitten, after mewing a bit, curls up and falls asleep, safe, satisfied, and comfy.
We both sigh in relief.
#PlantDads. #CatDads.
“What do you want to name him?” I ask.
“Maybe Remi. After your dad. The one who gave you roots.”
“If you keep the kitten,” I note, “then you’ve basically got everything on your list. Except being married.”
“We don’t need my list,” he growls, stepping toward me and kissing me. “You know that.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I do. We’re mated for life. I really did manifest the daddy of my dreams.”
“I’m not your daddy,” Daddy says.
I kiss him. “Yes, you are.”