Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Winnie
“He’s wooing you. You’re being wooed. Stop moping and enjoy it, chica.”
Val sounds distracted, or maybe even annoyed. She’s trying to finish the same painting that’s looked finished to me for a week. I’m slumped on my usual stool, whining about James, like I’ve also been doing for a week.
I guess I’d be annoyed with me, too. It’s been seven days since I walked out of the warehouse, sure the unofficial nonrelationship between James and me was over for good.
It’s been six days since he started his texts and his barrage of questions.
Five days since I started finding things like freshly baked chocolate chip muffins or the new novel by my favorite romance author on the porch.
I’m not sure which day I was ready to cave. Maybe … on the second day?
Look—I don’t want to complain about being wooed. Wooing is amazing. And the word is fun to say: woo, wooing, wooed, woos. Woo woo!
In all this time, though, I haven’t laid eyes on James Graham. And I miss the big hunk of grump. Badly. His growly voice and his intense eyes and the back and forth we have.
His near-constant daily texts are A-plus material. But they are no replacement for in-person banter.
“Would I be desperate if I—”
“Winnie, please !” Val spins around to face me, and I almost fall off my stool at her tone. “I love you. You know that I do. But I cannot work like this! You love James.”
I swallow, my throat suddenly feeling tight. “I don’t love him. I just—”
“Fine! Don’t admit it’s love.” She throws up her hands.
But since there’s a brush in one of them, it sends a splatter of paint across her cheek.
She doesn’t seem to notice, and I won’t point it out.
“Call it what you want. I’m calling it love.
Because you are one lovesick woman, and I cannot listen to it for one more minute!
Go to him and let him grovel. Wait for him to come and grovel.
I do not care so long as there is groveling of some kind, an amazing kiss, and a happily ever after.
But I have to get this painting done today, and you’re killing my vibe. ”
For now, I’m ignoring most of what she said. Because I’m processing. There were a lot of big ideas in there.
Instead, I’m going to focus on what’s most interesting to me in an immediate sense.
“Why do you need to finish today? Are you finally going to talk to the new gallery owner?”
Val’s mouth clamps shut, and she turns back to the canvas. “I don’t know. Stop changing the subject.”
Touchy. So, maybe she is going to the owner of the new gallery setting up on Main Street.
I saw the sign up the other day, though the windows were papered over so I couldn’t see inside.
Not that I’ve been hanging around downtown, hoping for a glimpse of James.
I totally was just visiting Lindy. Because that’s what friends do—they visit their friends.
Maybe excessively so, given the fact that Lindy finally passed me off to Val, who seems just as tired of my moping.
I’m about to say something else about the gallery, because I’d rather focus on anything other than James, when Lindy’s dogs start barking like mad. I hear the sound of tires crunching over gravel.
Val groans. “Can you go see who it is? And tell them to go away?”
“Gladly.”
Only, when I walk out of the side door, I’m shocked senseless. Because standing there in all his gorgeous grumpiness is James. The sight of him after a week is enough to make my breath catch, but then I see why Amber and Beast have gone so wild, and I’m not sure I believe what I’m seeing.
The Orange Cyclops, as we call him, my one-eyed white whale of feral cats, stands in the driveway, hissing at the dogs. That part is unusual enough. But the leash and collar he’s wearing, complete with a tiny bow tie? THAT has my jaw dropping.
“Go on, Amber,” James says to the dogs. “Scram, Beast. Get!”
After fending off a last swipe from the cat, the two dogs run for the house and settle on the porch. James hasn’t noticed me, and so I continue to watch him. Because what in the ever-loving WORLD is going on?
“All right, OC. Are you ready for this?”
James is talking … to a cat. The cat. While holding its leash in his hand. OC, as I guess he’s being called now, looks up at James with his one eye, then gives his front paw a good licking.
“Sure. No problem,” James says drily. “I’ll wait. Not like I’m in a hurry to tell the woman I love I love her or anything.”
I bite my lip to hold back a gasp. James just used the L-word! About me!
… TO A CAT!
The Orange Cyclops sees me first, his one eye zeroing in on me before his entire body tenses. Oh, he definitely hasn’t forgotten me, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing. His attention draws James’s gaze, and now I’m engaged in a five-eyed stare-off with a man and a cat.
I finally break the silent whatever kind of moment we’re having. “I have so many questions.”
James, using the Ultimate James Graham Starter Pack, does not answer. He grunts.
“Not starting in order of importance, but what kind of voodoo magic did you work on the Orange Cyclops?”
“I call him OC now.”
James glances down at the cat, and I swear, there’s the tiniest hint of pride in his expression. Like James is suddenly this proud cat dad. I wouldn’t have EVER predicted this, but I am here for it.
Looking back my way, James gives me the smallest smile—one I feel all the way down to my toes. I lean on the garage wall for support, needing something to ground me. Otherwise, I’m liable to skip the talk we need to have in favor of the kissing part I hope will be coming right after.
“It took some doing, and some help from Big Mo. I didn’t come out unscathed.” He tilts his head, and I can see a healing scratch along his cheek.
“Bad kitty,” I say, but my tone sounds a lot more like praise.
James’s lips twitch. “I took him to the vet to get him, uh, fixed. But Doc Maddie said he already had been. I guess this guy was less feral and more … abandoned. She got him all cleaned up and up to date on his shots.”
“Did she also get him the bow tie and leash?”
At my question, James tilts his head as though issuing a challenge. “He likes it.”
Shockingly, the orange cat does seem to like it. Or, at least, not mind it. “Me too. But I didn’t think you were a cat person.”
“I did it for you, Winnie. It felt like something I needed to do to show you—” He stops himself here, and I can see the thoughts whirring in his head. “How much did you overhear when you were eavesdropping?”
I love that he sounds irritated. I know he’s here to apologize, but James wouldn’t be James without this bit of rough edge to him. I happen to love that edge. Even if I’m more than ready for the apology he promised was coming days ago.
“I wasn’t eavesdropping. I came out because the dogs were barking. Then I heard you talking to the cat.”
His frown deepens. Is it weird I find him hotter frowning than smiling? Are frown fetishes a thing? If not, I’ll gladly be the start of this trend.
“You weren’t supposed to hear it like that.”
“Like that as in, you telling a cat you love me?”
Groaning, James tilts his head back to face the sky. “I’ve ruined this,” he mutters, almost under his breath. Then he takes a breath and meets my gaze. “I'm going to leave. Then I’ll come back. You’ll pretend I was never here, and I’ll do this right.”
Of their own volition, my hands go to my hips. “Don’t you dare get in that truck, James Graham! You’re going to stand there and apologize, maybe grovel a little. Or a lot. The level of grovel is up to you. Then you’ll tell me, not the cat, you love me. Do you understand me?”
“So bossy,” James says, not sounding like he minds a bit. “And what are you going to do?”
“I'm going to stand here, pretend like I’m still mad, and like I wouldn’t have forgiven you five days ago.”
He shakes his head, fighting back a small smile. “It was the chocolate chip muffins, wasn’t it?”
“They were excellent muffins. But I think I liked the book better. It showed you paid attention. And I found some pages with turned down corners—which, I’ll have you know, is a capital punishment—but it made me think you actually read the book.”
That, or he got it at a thrift store or drove to Austin for one of the used bookstores. But the copy he gave me is in great shape, and it’s a new release, which is hard to find used. I’m hoping my guess is correct.
He rubs a hand over his jaw. “Capital punishment, eh?”
I nod.
“Well, that’s unfortunate. I’ll have to plead my case before the court for not using a bookmark. Yes, I read it. Not saying I’ve got a new favorite genre or anything, but I … like romance.”
“Romance and cats. Who knew?”
We seem to have come to a conversational impasse. Or one of those silences I heard occurs every seven minutes. For now, we stand here. Not speaking. Not moving. Just staring like it’s our sole purpose in life.
Finally, I cross my arms and raise a brow. I’m trying to keep the semblance of cool. Call me a head of iceberg lettuce fresh from the crisper. A mountain stream after winter snow melts. Liquid nitrogen.
“About that apology … need some pointers on how to get started?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
James takes several steps forward, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at the way the Orange Cyclops saunters along next to him.
They have matching strides and wear the same intense expression.
It is … a-freaking-dorable. I’ve seen dogs that resemble their owners—Lindy wrote a whole article on that once—but I’ve never seen a cat match the attitude of its owner.
James stops a few feet in front of me. The cat stops next to him.
“What’s funny?” he demands.
Apparently, I’m not hiding my amusement over his new feline twin well enough. I take off my glasses and buff the lenses on my shirt, giving me a brief reprieve from seeing them in focus.
“Nothing. Just preparing for this stellar apology.”
“Winnie,” James growls.