Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
I stare at the gray kitten curled up on the small cat bed in the corner of my bedroom. She’s tiny, but the woman at the shelter assured me she was potty-trained and could be left alone for long periods of time.
I’m pretty sure I’ve gone crazy.
Me? A cat owner.
I would have bet money that would never be a possibility. Yet here we are. I’m not sure what I’ll do with her, what I’ll call her. But I am certain that I won’t be telling my teammates about this new situation. The laugh they’d have at my expense is one I’d never get over.
After talking with Maggie half the night in Denver, I couldn’t get those cat pjs out of my head. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw them. I ended up at the shelter where Fran mentioned the litter of kittens. And somehow, I came home with… her.
All I do is picture Maggie seeing her.
See? Crazy.
I’ve crashed out.
I lean my head against the headboard of my bed and reach for my phone on the bedside table.
Me: Movie?
Maggie: That sounds like a date.
Me: Friends can’t see a movie together?
Maggie: They can. But I’m not sure we should.
Me: Is it because you have plans with the Mouse Man again?
Maggie: Who?
Me: You know who.
Maggie: Fine. I do know who. But I haven’t seen the “Mouse Man” again, and I never plan to. You have to know that guy is not my type.
Me: But I don’t know. Maybe if we went to the movie, you could tell me all about your type.
Maggie: You talk during movies?
Maggie: Never mind. Of course you do.
Me: I meant after the movie.
Maggie: After? See, this sounds more and more like a date. No movie, Lucca.
Me: Okay. Then dinner?
Maggie: I’m pretty sure you only know how to date. Face it, you can’t be just friends with a woman.
Me: Of course I can.
Maggie: Friends is pushing it anyway.
Me: Who was it that told me a man and a woman can be friends without more implied?
Her name flashes on my phone screen with three little thinking dots.
Me: Let me assist. It was you.
Maggie: I know that. And I believe that… for possibly all men but you.
Me: You injure me. I have plenty of female friends.
Maggie: Fine, we can be acquaintances—the kind of friends Callum and I are. People who don’t grimace every time they see one another. People who say hello. People who respect each other.
Maggie: The end.
But that’s not what I want. We’ll wave, acknowledge the other, but never speak? Is that what she’s saying? That’s pitiful.
Maggie: Goodnight, Lucca.
Me: Goodnight? It’s barely ten o’clock.
Maggie: Yes—and some of us have to get up early to go on a field trip tomorrow with their six-year-old nephew.
I’m not sure why this surprises me. It’s exactly the kind of thing Maggie McCrae would do. I peer over at the cat. My cat. I’m not ready to let this conversation end. Somehow that gray fluff ball in the corner only draws me to Maggie more.
Me: Field trip? Where to?
Maggie: I’m not kidding, Lucca. Wyatt can be a bear to get up in the morning. Don’t let his angelic face fool you.
Me: Okay. Okay. This is me leaving you alone.
Me: Starting now.
I wait, but she doesn’t write back.
And I am utterly disappointed.
I stand, walk over to the sleeping ball of fur, and scoop her up.
“Hello,” I say to the gray eyes blinking open and looking back at me. “Do you have a suggestion?”
I sit back on my bed, and the cat curls in a ball right on my chest. Huh. All women like me. Even feline. Picking my phone back up, I stare mindlessly at the screen. No thinking bubbles this time.
She’s got a field trip with Wyatt…
“Wait,” I say, looking down at my ball of fur. “Wyatt.”
Weeks ago, Wyatt, while on a tiny soccer pitch with a bunch of other children, invited me to his house for dinner—for avocados and banana cream pie.
It might be time to take him up on his offer.
For the first time in my life, I search for someone on Instagram. I type in Lindy plus McCrae plus Canyon Falls, California.
A handful of options pop up, and I tap on each, looking for the face of Maggie’s sister.
Yes, I’m looking up Maggie’s sister. How else am I supposed to find out McCrae’s type? My ball of fur and I really need to know. For educational purposes.
I curse my memory for names and faces as I try to decide between two women. Which looks the most like Maggie? Which looks the most familiar? I’ve met Lindy. But one handle is called @linda.rochelle while the other is called @belinda.mc.
I study both names, as their accounts are private and I can’t see more. After another minute, I text Roman.
Me: Have you met Maggie’s sister?
Roman: No. Why would I know her sister?
Me: Just a question.
Roman: Are you hitting on Maggie’s sister? Because… that’s messed up.
Me: No.
Me: Do you think Maggie’s sister would have blonde or brown hair?
If Wyatt weren’t blond, I’d go for the brunette, but he is, and for the life of me, I cannot remember clearly what his mother looks like. I should have paid better attention at that birthday party.
Roman: This is weird. You know that, right?
Before I can respond, my phone is ringing. FaceTime call from Stella.
“Hello?” I say, making sure Fur Ball is out of view.
“What are you up to?” Stella says, Roman beside her.
“Is there no team confidence?” I say, staring at Roman.
“Hey, I was confused. I thought maybe Stella could make sense of it.”
“Lucca,” Stella says, her tone sweet, but her expression stern. “Why do you need to know what Maggie’s sister looks like? Haven’t you tortured that poor woman enough? You cannot go out with her sister.”
I groan. “I am not going out with her sister. I was hoping to see Maggie. Socially. In a friendly manner. But she won’t bite.”
Stella smirks and Roman outright laughs.
“I just want to be friends.”
“Right,” Stella says. “Let’s say I believe that. Why do you need to know what her sister looks like?”
“I was going to message her on Instagram. Her son invited me over for a meal. I thought maybe I’d set it up through her.”
“Ah. And socialize with Maggie while you’re at it. I see,” Stella says.
“You do? Because I’m still confused. Maggie’s sister’s son invited you over?” Roman’s squinting, like he’s thinking too hard.
I shrug. “It was a month ago, but still an invitation.” I’m over Roman’s betrayal. Maybe Stella will be helpful. “Her name is Lindy McCrae.” But neither of my options say ‘Lindy’ clearly.
“You’re sure?” Stella says.
“Yes. Mostly.” I’m honestly assuming the last name, but it makes sense. “But her face… it’s a blur. What do you think, @linda.rochelle or @belinda.mc?”
“Well, Lindy could be short for ‘Belinda’ and ‘mc’ for her last name. I’d go for Belinda.”
“I kept going back to that one. But I was unsure.”
“Now you’re helping him?” Roman says to his wife.
“Hey,” I say. “You should be the one helping me. I was willing to commit a crime to help you and Stella get together.”
“Not a crime,” Roman says. And sure, maybe Roman wasn’t actually committing a crime when he married Stella—who did, in fact, not need a green card—but he thought he was. And I was right there, his accomplice, helping him along the way.
“I thought you only wanted to be friends with her?” Stella says.
“I do. I’m just saying, Roman owes me. No matter the situation.”
“I don’t owe you.”
“You do,” I say. “Twenty years to life. I kept you out of jail, man.”
“I’m hanging up now,” Roman says.
But Stella moves the phone out of his reach. “Be short. And to the point,” she says. “Make sure Lindy is aware that you aren’t hitting on her! I can proofread for you!”
Roman’s face comes into view once more, and then they’re gone.
It’s after ten, but I type out a message, hoping she’ll see it first thing in the morning. I think, remembering what Stella said. It’s good advice. I don’t want Lindy getting confused. I don’t want her attention. I want Maggie’s.
Wow. I don’t normally have to try so hard to get a woman’s attention.
Me: Hello. Is this Lindy McCrae? Maggie’s sister? I am messaging about Maggie. No other reason.
There. That should be clear enough.
I set my phone on the bedside table and move the fur ball from my stomach to the bed beside me, when my phone pings.
“Already?”
@belinda.mc: Lucca? @luccacruz3 is that actually you?
She sounds a little too excited. How could I have made my intentions any clearer?
Me: Yes. I’m only messaging about Maggie. Is this the Lindy who has a sister named Maggie?
@belinda.mc: Yes. Mother of Wyatt, whose birthday party you attended—proof enough for you? What about Maggie?
Yes! It is her.
Me: I’m actually messaging about Maggie and Wyatt. Wyatt invited me to dinner a while back. I’m wondering if you can make that happen?