13. Leo （Now）
Leo (Now)
In the morning, Leo woke to start bottle feeding, only to find Mama curled up in the playpen with the litter, contentedly letting them feed.
“Lynne! Come see this,” Leo called.
Lynne came rushing into the guest bedroom. When she saw what he’d seen, her eyes welled up. “Oh, Mama, really?” she whispered. She turned to Leo. “This is the best thing I’ve seen all year.”
“Looks like all she needed to do was warm up to you, huh? Get used to the place.”
“Maybe.” Her eyes brightened. “I know you’ve got to head to work soon, but want to do a video quickie for the socials? This is worth sharing.”
“It’s a Kelly day. No work for me. Not another 24-on until later this week.”
He put on his sweats as Lynne freshened up, and the two of them recorded a happy reel of Mama and the kittens in their cozy corner, Fred meowing for his breakfast already, dammit, and the two of them sharing how relieved they were.
Lynne published it to O’Donnell’s feed and started dressing to go to work downstairs.
But something about the way things unfolded during her shift kept him uneasy.
He couldn’t help but notice one follower kept asking Lynne if she was single.
He didn’t want to judge, but the guy’s photo—if it was actually him—was handsome.
Location: Eastmoor. Leo was low-key obsessed watching the comments unfold throughout the day between kitten checks:
Lynne—Single? I’m currently outnumbered by cats.
The guy—Need help? I’ll bring coffee.
Lynne—Tempting. But are you good with chaos?
The guy—Happy to prove it.
Lynne—Ask me again after I sleep.
He noticed around the kitten’s weigh-in time, Lynne stopped replying to the post altogether. The thought of them maybe taking it offline, the guy sliding into Lynne’s DMs, needled him. It was, frankly, none of his business. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t curious.
He texted The Nine’s group chat once they’d all seen the post about the kittens feeding again: Now that we’re almost out of the woods, he texted, thoughts on names?
This kept them busy and him distracted, especially as they started bickering.
Minka teased that all the boys should be named Fred, Jr. and all the girls Frederica.
Bastet replied with an eye roll emoji and rattled off five cool-sounding car models for their names.
Freya chimed in with a bunch of cute flower-themed names, which almost had Mrs. Ellery convinced.
But Cali insisted, if they were going to keep Mama named Mama, the kittens’ names should all start with “M” as well.
When Lynne didn’t reply right away, he messaged her separately: Checking in. Should I grab more formula today, just in case?
We’re good, Lynne messaged back. I reached out to Nina. She said to still weigh them but twice a day. And hold off on supplemental feeding unless their weight gain stalls. We can probably start moving them to kitten food next week.
Then Lynne texted The Nine. Twig. I want to name the runt Twig. He’s gray and brown and delicate. Pick whatever else you want. But make it pair with Twig.
Leo scooped up a sleepy Twig into his arm and snapped a photo. Twig approves, he messaged back. The kitten’s fur was impossibly soft. He nestled Twig between his hands and petted him as the chat kept vibrating his phone.
Finally, they landed on some names—Maple, Cider, Pumpkin, Harvest, and, of course, Twig. Fall-inspired for the season they were born.
He liked how Twig sounded most. Small. Precise.
Something that could snap if you weren’t careful.
But the list unsettled him more than he expected.
Naming them made the end of his time with Lynne feel closer, heavier, more real.
He wrote each name on masking tape and pressed the labels to the edge of the playpen, the corners already curling.
Then he straightened up the table where their notebooks and bottles were scattered, refilled the water dish, and checked the heating mat’s temperature.
Everything finally looked … normal. Too normal.
Leo thought about texting Mike just to check in, maybe brag about how Mama had decided to mother again.
But the half-typed message, Guess this means I’m headed back soon, huh?
, sat on the screen until he backspaced it away.
Fred twitched in his sleep, batting at the air, and Leo let the sound of tiny breaths fill the room.
It should have felt like relief. Instead, it just felt quiet.
So he spent the next hour making a photo-collage post of the kittens with their new names, tagging O’Donnell’s and everyone from The Nine.
Then he spruced up the place in whatever small ways he could.
For the first time since they’d found the litter, the apartment felt orderly.
He was still awake when Lynne returned from work—an early night for her, too.
Kicking off her shoes and socks, she dropped beside him on the couch.
He’d been trying to get through The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk for this month’s book-club pick.
But the trashy reality show was already queued up just in case.
“You going to club next week, now that everyone’s on track again here?” she asked.
“I was hoping to,” he admitted. “You know how I jump at book club’s nonfic picks. The crew have been talking about this one for years. So I plucked this copy from the station shelves.”
“I mean, it’s insightful.” Lynne shrugged.
“I’ve read it before. But it’s kind of a downer around the holidays, though, right?
I still think we should’ve bumped Lessons in Chemistry up the list and saved this one for the new year.
” She glanced around them. “Wow. You cleaned,” she said, inhaling the lemony scent left from mopping.
She tossed her apron into the hamper and let her hair down. “Looks great.”
“Yeah,” he said, closing his book. “Want to watch another episode?”
“Hello? Is this your first day here?” She grinned. “But I’m starved. Popcorn?”
“Do cats have nine lives?” he asked. “The movie theatre butter one, please.”
“I see what you did there.” Her brow quirked. “Dad jokes. But cat dad jokes. I’ll let it slide tonight.”
Something about her seemed lighter than before. She sighed as the corn kernels started popping in the microwave. “You know, this is the first night neither of us has to set an alarm to prep to feed in two hours.”
“Right? Such a relief.”
“Yeah, I can’t even remember what I used to do on nights like this—before Fred and the kittens. Before you.”
Leo felt a lump form in his throat. “Hey, Lynne?”
“Yeah?” she called from the kitchen.
If he didn’t ask now, it would kill him—the not-knowing, the waiting for her to ask him to leave. “You think I should head home after the show?”
She came back balancing two bowls of popcorn, brows pinched. “What? Are you kidding me? What if Mama changes her mind again tomorrow?” She scoffed and set a bowl in front of him. “You’re not getting out of this that easy, Leo March.”
Relief swept through him. He laughed, the tension loosening.
But Lynne’s face shifted, uncertainty creeping in just as quickly. “Wait. Did you want to go home?”
“No,” he said quietly. “That’s not what I meant.” He patted the seat beside him, and she sank back down, the couch dipping under her weight.
She looked almost shy now. “I mean, if Mike needs you back or you need a break, I totally get it. But…” Her voice softened. “I’d like you to stay a little longer—if you can.”
“I can,” he said simply, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Where else am I going to get popcorn this good, anyway?”
She smiled, settling in. They found their usual spots at opposite ends of the couch, bowls resting on their laps, the trashy reality show casting flickers of light across the room. Fred, snored between them, looking perfectly at peace.
Halfway through the second episode, Lynne’s legs stretched out toward him. He propped them up on his knees, careful not to disturb Fred. It felt so intimately casual, Leo realized he had lost the plot for a moment.
By the time the credits rolled, she was laughing sleepily at the screen. “Can you believe these people?” she grinned, propping herself up again. “Just leave the bowls. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”
They stood almost in unison and found themselves shoulder-to-shoulder at the bathroom door.
“You go first,” he offered.
“We can share,” she said with an easy shrug, grabbing her toothbrush.
He smiled and followed her in, setting his change of clothes on the sink. The bathroom was small enough that their elbows kept brushing as they washed up—their reflections caught mid-move in the mirror, like a life they hadn’t planned but somehow built together.
For one suspended moment, it felt like a glimpse into something possible. Side by side at the sink each night, her hair piled on her head, his shoulder brushing hers. Ordinary. Perfect.
He blinked the thought away.
Lynne toweled off her face and headed toward her bedroom, still talking about the kittens’ next livestream. He followed her and stood in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame.
“Yeah,” he said, half-distracted, “that sounds like a plan.”
And then, without warning, she lifted the hem of her shirt.
For a fraction of a second, his brain didn’t register what was happening. Then fabric moved, light shifted, and skin flashed pale against the dim glow spilling from the hallway. He froze.
She was still talking—something about timing the livestream, maybe—but he couldn’t hear a word.
Because there it was: the long curve of her back, the slide of red hair over her shoulder, lace trim peeking out from where her shirt had ended and her sweatpants began. A vision he had no business memorizing.
She slipped on a t-shirt just before he tore his eyes to the doorframe so fast it made his neck jolt.
“Oh my God. Did I just—?” Lynne spun, realizing what she’d done. Blood rushed to her face. “Shit. Autopilot.” She tugged the shirt back down like she could erase the last ten seconds.
“It’s fine,” he lied. Everything inside him said otherwise, heat crawling up from his chest. He lowered his gaze to the floor. “I should’ve looked away faster.”
“No, it was me,” she said quickly, still flustered. “I wasn’t thinking.”
Leo was grateful for the shadow that hid most of his expression—and the fact that she couldn’t see how his pulse had gone wild. “I’m just gonna … take that shower, then.” He gestured vaguely toward the bathroom.
“Yeah. Of course.”
The moment stretched, awkward and breathless, until he stepped back into the bathroom and shut the door.
The water was colder than it had any right to be, but not cold enough to drown out his thoughts. Every image replayed in pieces: the arch of her back, the hint of lace, the casualness of it all. He braced his hands on the tile and let the spray hit his face until his lungs steadied.
Jesus. He was hard as a rock, just because she’d been comfortable enough to change in front of him.
You’re her friend, he reminded himself. Her safe place. Safe places don’t wonder what it would be like to touch that lace.
The water stayed cold, and so did he. But his thoughts wouldn’t stop pulsing with everything he’d just seen—and everything he knew he couldn’t want.
When he finally shut off the tap, his breath came out in visible puffs against the chill. The mirror hung there, sharp and unforgiving. He dried off, dressed, and stepped quietly past her closed bedroom door into the living room.
Lynne had laid out fresh blankets on the couch, Fred already tucked in a warm heap at the center. She hadn’t changed her mind about him staying. That counted for something.
The thin strip of light under Lynne’s bedroom door blinked off.
The apartment went still. Leo sank onto the couch, staring at the ceiling until the patterns blurred into shadows.
The hum of the heat clicked on, soft and steady.
Beyond the wall, Lynne was somewhere in the dark—breathing, sleeping, entirely out of reach.
Temporary. That’s all this was. The kittens nursing, her legs across his lap, their elbows brushing at the sink. She’d wake up one morning not needing him here at all. Back to book club on Thursdays. Birthday drinks if he was lucky.
Leo tugged the blanket under his chin. Sleep wouldn’t come easily for him tonight. Not after glimpsing what his life would be like beside hers. Not now that his brain wouldn’t let it go.