Sabrina
“Cole Opolski is a giant jerk.”
Onyx doesn’t acknowledge my existence on a normal day, so I’m not surprised when he ignores my rant. Obsidian and Oswald are more sympathetic, but that’s because it’s time for food.
To my friends, the three black cats are identical, but I’ve always been able to tell them apart at a glance.
Onyx is always lazing about, relaxing on the furniture like he lives in a palatial apartment on Park Avenue.
Obsidian prefers the high ground. He’s usually hiding in the shadows above my kitchen cabinets or on the top platform of the cat tree in the corner of my living room.
And Oswald…well he’s unique for a cat.
As if on cue he rubs against my legs and chirrups to get my attention.
“Hey pretty boy,” I murmur as I pick him up.
The black cat with a lazy eye behaves more like a dog than a cat. He doesn’t play coy, and he enjoys affection. The other two will let me pet them only on their terms. Oswald seeks me out if he starts to feel neglected. Typically, after five minutes. Ten max.
He purrs as I pet him. I hold him close to my chest like a baby. Within seconds his hair is all over my clothes. No amount of brushing, bathing, or lint rollers will stop the spread of cat hair. Thankfully, none of my cats have white hair or I’d be a Yeti by lunch.
I mumble to Oswald about my first date with Cole. He listens intently but offers no feedback besides a corrective slap to my arm when my hand gets too close to his belly.
“I’m getting married on Friday,” I whisper to him. “And he doesn’t even know I have three cats. What if he’s a dog person?”
Obsidian hisses from his perch on the cat tree.
One time I took him down to the bookstore when he wasn’t feeling well so I could keep an eye on him.
It was the same day Lily Hart brought her dog, River, to her book signing.
River escaped unscathed but not for lack of Obsidian trying to maim him.
My cat was ready to throw hands. Err, paws.
My phone rings and Oswald jumps out of my arms.
“That man better be ready to apologize,” I mumble to myself.
Checking my phone, it’s not Cole, but Noel calling for a date debrief.
“Who is it?” she asks the second I answer.
“I’m not telling you.”
“What? Why not?” she asks, offended.
“You’ll blab,” I say.
“I will not!”
“Name one secret you’ve ever kept.”
“Well…”
“Exactly.”
“What about a hint?”
“He’s a local.”
“That’s not a hint.”
Unable to help myself I quickly add, “He’s got dark hair and wears flannel.”
“SAbrINA!”
My laughter drowns out her outrage until she starts laughing too. Half the town’s men have dark hair, and they all wear flannel year-round. I might as well have told her he has a beard.
“A real hint, please,” she whines.
“Okay, okay,” I concede. “I’ll give you a hint, but only one!”
“Stingy!”
“You want it or not?”
“Yes, please.”
It’s hard to think of a good one. I don’t want it to be too obvious, but I want to give her a real shot at guessing Cole.
“He works with wood.”
“How is that a good hint? He could be a carpenter, a carver, a lumberjack or even a park ranger!”
“Well, he’s not a fireman, cop, or barista.”
Noel takes a long breath through her nose, the slight whistling sound reminding me of a tea kettle.
“Your hint sucks.”
“Too bad.”
“Ugh!”
“He’s older,” I add.
“How much older?” she asks.
“Maybe twenty years,” I say bracing for her reaction.
She’s silent for a second, then she lets out a low whistle.
“Sugar daddy?”
“No!”
“I had to ask!”
It takes me an hour to convince Noel I’m not marrying Cole for his money. The entire time she tries to guess his name and fails spectacularly. The age gap should have given his identity away. There are only so many single men above forty.
Noel is off her game, but I’m not sure I would’ve guessed the burly lumberjack either.
Walking into the cemetery I had no clue what man I was meeting.
But now that I’ve met Cole, I can’t imagine a different man waiting for me amongst the weathered headstones.
A different man kissing me like he never wants to stop.
A different man pining me to the brick wall of an alley.
It feels wrong to even try.