32. Violet
VIOLET
I stay longer than I should.
Not long enough to overplay my hand.
Just long enough to matter.
Dinner went well.
Drew spilled his water twice—once when Sebastian questioned my late-night walk again, and once when Mr. Pickles clawed his ankle after Drew suggested Luna might become as judgmental as a certain black cat.
Luna is curled in my lap while Ivy asks questions about food, toys, and whether I think she’ll stay this fluffy forever.
Drew sits across from us, one ankle resting over his knee. He looks more relaxed now, though his gaze keeps drifting back to me.
Mr. Pickles sits a few feet away. His tail flicks every few seconds, and those yellowish-green eyes remain fixed on Luna like he’s personally offended by her existence. But he hasn’t hissed again.
“I still can’t believe how tiny she is,” Ivy says, leaning closer. “She looks like a dust bunny with anger issues.”
Drew huffs out a quiet laugh. “That’s accurate.”
I hold Luna up slightly. “I was defending myself,” I say in a falsetto, speaking on her behalf.
“From what?” Drew asks, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“You.” I turn Luna toward him. “I heard you fall down steps.”
Ivy snorts. “You have no idea. He ripped his pants—”
“You made me,” Drew says, pointing at Luna. He glares at Ivy. “And we’re not talking about that.”
“You need to tell me the story sometime,” I say to him.
“Don’t worry. I’ll tell it,” Ivy says with a twinkle in her eyes.
Sebastian, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, gives a low laugh.
I glance at him.
He’s still watching me.
Not in the easy, distracted way Drew does.
Sebastian watches the way a man checks locks before bed—quietly, thoroughly, looking for weaknesses.
That’s fine.
Let him look.
The only weakness I have is sitting across the room.
“I think she likes you,” Ivy says to me, reaching down to stroke Luna’s back.
“She likes anyone who isn’t trying to escape down the stairs,” Drew says.
“That happened one time.”
He raises a brow. “She tried to kill me.”
Luna lifts her head, blinking sleepily, then settles against me again.
I smooth my fingers over her fur, keeping my tone calm. “She was making an impression.”
“Mission accomplished,” he mutters.
I smile faintly.
Across the room, Mr. Pickles stands.
Everyone notices.
The room seems to hold its breath as he approaches in that slow, deliberate way cats have when they want everyone to know they’re in charge.
Ivy straightens. “Oh my God. Don’t be weird.”
“That’s not helpful,” Drew says.
Mr. Pickles ignores both of them.
He stops directly in front of me, staring up at Luna.
Luna lifts her head again. Watches him back.
No puffing. No hissing.
Interesting.
Mr. Pickles leans in.
Sniffs once.
Then, to my surprise, he brushes lightly against my leg before sitting down beside the couch like this is his decision, his arrangement, his household, and he is generously allowing it.
I look at Drew.
He looks baffled. “That cat hates everyone. Except you... and now he seems to be warming toward Luna.”
I glance down at Mr. Pickles, who is very deliberately not looking at Drew.
“Maybe he just has standards.”
Ivy laughs. “That’s exactly it.”
Sebastian’s gaze shifts from the cat to me.
He pushes off the wall and moves toward the kitchen. “Anyone want anything?”
“I’m good,” Ivy says.
Drew shakes his head.
I do the same, but Sebastian lingers a second too long, his attention settling on me. “You always this good with animals?”
I hold his gaze.
“Yes. I used to have a cat and a dog. Our cat passed away first, then the dog. My sister and I were too heartbroken to get another.” My gaze drops to Luna. “Until now.”
A beat passes.
He nods once and walks into the kitchen.
He’s not convinced, but that’s alright. Time will handle that.
Ivy shifts beside me. “You have to bring Luna by again.”
I look at Drew before I answer.
He watches me, waiting for my response.
"If Drew invites us,” I say softly.
I let the moment breathe, not saying anything.
Something changes in his expression. A subtle shift, like he wasn’t expecting me to hand that choice to him.
“I will,” he says.
My pulse hums under my skin.
Ivy beams like she had nothing to do with it. “Perfect. Then it’s settled.”
I let my fingers trail lightly over Luna’s back.
This is how it happens.
Not all at once, but in small, layered moments.
Until one day, it no longer feels strange for me to be here with Drew and his family.
Until it just feels right.
Natural.
Inevitable.
I glance down at Mr. Pickles.
He’s still sitting beside the couch, close enough that his tail brushes the leg of my jeans every now and then, like even he’s gotten tired of pretending to be indifferent.
More progress.
Eventually, I rise, carefully placing Luna back in her carrier.
“I should probably head out,” I say.
Ivy pouts immediately. “Already?”
“Yeah, I have some things I need to do.”
Staying longer would be indulgent.
And I need Drew to miss me a little.
“I’ll walk you out,” Drew says, standing before anyone else can offer.
Ivy’s smile turns knowing.
Sebastian steps out of the kitchen to witness it.
“Of course you will,” Ivy says.
Drew ignores her.
I pass Luna’s carrier to one hand and head for the door. Drew reaches for it at the same time I do, his warm fingers brushing mine for half a second.
Outside, the air is warmer. The sun is dipping lower on the horizon.
We make our way toward my car in silence.
It’s easy. Companionable.
He helps me get Luna settled, then walks me to the driver’s side like neither of us wants this moment to end.
I turn to him then. “Thanks for inviting me over.”
His hands slide into his pockets, shoulders a little tense, like he’s trying not to say the wrong thing.
“I’m glad you came over.”
There’s a sincerity in his voice that tightens something low in my chest.
“I’m glad I did, too.” I nod toward the house. “Dinner was amazing.”
“I can’t take any credit for that. Dinner was all Ivy.”
I smile and nod.
He glances toward the carrier. “You’ll text me when you get home?”
I allow myself a small smile. “Yes. I’ll text you.”
He nods, but he doesn’t move away.
Neither do I.
His expression eases, like he wants to say something else. But he doesn’t.
Something is holding him back.
“I’ll see you later,” I say.
I’m desperate for him to kiss me, but he needs to initiate it.
He still seems skittish, and I don’t want to push things.
“Yeah,” he answers quietly. “Later.”
I slide into the car and close the door.
As I start the engine, I glance up.
He stands there, watching.
I lower the window halfway.
“Don’t let Mr. Pickles get lonely without us.”
A laugh slips out of him, quiet and real. “I’ll do what I can.”
I drive away slowly, checking my mirror.
He’s still there.
A look of longing on his face.
He's already starting to miss me.
Soon, he'll wonder how he ever lived without me.