Chapter 4 #2
I sat down on the couch, bourbon in hand, and stared at the fire. The cat immediately jumped onto my lap, circled twice, and settled in like it had been doing this its entire life.
“I told you not to get attached,” I whispered, but I was already running my hand through its soft fur.
The cat purred louder.
And then, without warning, I started crying.
Not the quiet, dignified tears I’d shed in my apartment. Full-body sobs shook my shoulders and made it hard to breathe. The kind of crying that came from a place so deep I hadn’t known it existed until Ollie and Roger had ripped it open.
Three years. Three years of building a life with someone who’d been using me the entire time. Sleeping with my assistant. Making me feel like I was the problem—too rigid, too controlling, too unwilling to just relax and go with the flow.
The cat stayed perfectly still on my lap, warm and solid and real. Its purring vibrated against my chest like a tiny motor, and somehow that made it worse. This stray cat was showing me more genuine affection than my boyfriend of three years had managed in months.
“I’m so stupid,” I said to the cat through my tears. “I should have seen it. Everyone probably saw it except me. I was planning to propose, did you know that? I bought a ring. A really expensive ring. And he was fucking my assistant in coat closets while I was planning our future life together.”
The cat opened one eye—the blue one—and closed it again, still purring.
“You’re a good listener,” I said, wiping my face with my free hand. “Better than my therapist, honestly. And you don’t charge two hundred dollars an hour.”
I sat there for what might have been ten minutes or might have been an hour, crying into my bourbon while a stray cat purred on my lap.
The fire crackled. The wind whispered through the pines outside.
And slowly, gradually, the sobs subsided into hiccups, then into shaky breathing, then into something approaching calm.
“Thank you,” I told the cat quietly. “I don’t know why you’re here, but... thank you.”
The cat’s purring was my only answer.
I was considering whether I had the energy to get up and add another log to the fire when I heard it: a knock at the door.
My body went rigid. The cat’s ears swiveled toward the sound but otherwise didn’t move.
Who the hell would be knocking at my door? Gladys? Had something happened? Was there an actual mountain lion?
Another knock, more insistent this time.
I carefully moved the cat off my lap—it gave me a look of profound betrayal—and stood up, wiping my face quickly. I probably looked like a disaster. Red eyes, tear-stained cheeks, wearing sweatpants that had seen better days.
I opened the door.
A man stood on my porch, backlit by the last rays of sunset, and for a moment I forgot how to breathe.
He was absurdly handsome—the type of handsome that didn’t seem fair, like someone had ordered the deluxe package from the genetic Neiman Marcus.
Dark wavy hair that looked artfully tousled by the wind.
Strong jawline. Eyes that were almost black in the fading light.
He wore a hoodie that said something I couldn’t quite read and yoga pants that showed off everything.
This must be my neighbor. The one who’d been doing yoga on his deck while I’d panicked about mountain lions.
“Hi,” he said. His voice was warm, friendly. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I’m your neighbor and I’m having a bit of a crisis.”
He was shivering, his jaw tight against the cold, arms wrapped around himself. The leather jacket he wore looked expensive and completely useless.
“Jesus, get inside before you freeze to death.” I stepped back, pulling the door wider. “Come on.”
“I don’t want to intrude—”
“Inside. Now.”
He hurried in, and I closed the door behind him. The warmth from the fireplace hit us both, and he let out a sound that was almost a groan of relief.
“Oh my God, that’s amazing.” He moved toward the fire immediately, holding his hands out. “I think I forgot what warmth felt like.”
“You’re from California, aren’t you?”
“Is it that obvious?” He turned to face me, and I thought I’d faint from the sight of male perfection.
“I’m Samuel,” he said, offering his hand. “Samuel Bennett. And yes, I’m obviously from California based on my complete failure to dress for winter.”
“Farley Davenport.” I shook his hand—his fingers were ice cold—and felt something electric pass between us. “New York. Also not great at winter, but at least I know what a proper coat looks like.”
“In my defense, it was sixty-five degrees when I left LA.” He glanced around the cabin, taking in the fire, the cozy furniture, and then his eyes landed on the couch. “Is that the cat?”
I turned to see the white demon sitting there, grooming itself with supreme dignity, completely unbothered by the stranger in its territory.
“That’s not my cat,” I said automatically.
“Right.” Samuel’s smile widened into something genuinely amused, and I felt my stomach do something complicated. “It’s just visiting?”
“For dinner. Apparently.” I gestured at the empty plate still sitting on my kitchen floor. “Gladys told me not to feed it.”
“She told me the same thing.” He moved closer to the couch, and the cat immediately stood up, stretched, and began purring. “How’s that working out for you?”
“The cat is currently eating like royalty thanks to me. Smoked salmon from the Boar’s Head Inn.”
Samuel laughed—a real, genuine laugh that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and did absolutely nothing to help my situation. “That’s fancy. I was going to offer it tuna from a can if it showed up at my place again.”
The cat, an absolute whore, immediately rubbed against Samuel’s hand and started purring louder.
“Traitor,” I muttered.
“I think it likes me.” Samuel looked up at me, still smiling, and something in my chest twisted painfully.
“It likes anyone who might provide food, warmth, or attention. The cat has no loyalty. No standards. It’s basically the feline equivalent of—” I stopped myself before I could say “my ex-boyfriend.”
Samuel stood up, brushing white fur off his hands. “Well, I appreciate it breaking the ice. Speaking of which—” He looked embarrassed suddenly, color rising in his cheeks. “This is going to sound ridiculous, but the reason I’m here is that I’m having a situation with my fire.”
“A situation?”
“The wood Gladys left is all wet. I’ve been trying to get it to catch for like an hour, but it just sits there smoking and hissing and slowly killing what little fire I had left.
” He ran a hand through his hair, making it even more tousled.
“Do you have any wood? Just a log or two to get me through tonight?”
My brain immediately went somewhere it absolutely should not have gone.
Do I have any wood? Why yes I do.
Heat crawled up the back of my neck. “Wood,” I repeated, my voice coming out slightly strangled.
“Yes. Firewood. For burning. In a fireplace.” His cheeks were definitely pink now, and not just from the cold. “Oh God, that sounds like the worst pickup line in history, doesn’t it?”
“A little, yeah.”
“I promise I’m just genuinely incompetent at mountain survival and about to freeze to death in my cabin. I need some wood. Not trying to—I mean, not that you wouldn’t be—” He stopped, looking mortified. “I’m going to stop talking now.”
The cat meowed as if it were enjoying the show.
“I have wood,” I said, and immediately wanted to die. “Dry wood. For fires. That you can borrow. To burn.” My cheeks were on fire. “In your fireplace.”
“That would be amazing.” Samuel’s relief was palpable. “I’ll replace it tomorrow. I’m planning to go to Shifflett’s General Store and stock up on supplies. Apparently, I need to actually buy things like food and firewood and clothes that weren’t designed for seventy-degree weather.”
“Probably a good idea.” I moved toward my stack of logs near the fireplace, grateful for an excuse to turn away from him. “I’m going to the store tomorrow, too. How long are you here for?”
“A month. Maybe longer if I figure my shit out, or maybe shorter if I have a breakdown and flee back to civilization.” He paused. “You?”
“A month.” I grabbed three good-sized logs—the driest ones I had, because apparently I was a disaster who wanted to help attractive strangers stay warm. “Maybe less if my boss decides to fire me for incompetence.”
“Are you incompetent?”
“At life? Currently, yes. At my job?” I turned back to face him, logs in my arms. “Jury’s still out.”
He smiled at that, and I noticed for the first time that he had a dimple. Just one, on his left side.
“Here.” I held out the logs, and he moved closer to take them. Our fingers brushed as he took the wood from me.
“Thank you,” he breathed. “Really. I know this is weird—a stranger showing up at your door asking for wood—”
“It’s fine. We’re neighbors. For the next month.
Might as well help each other survive.” I stepped back, putting distance between us because proximity was not helping my ability to think clearly.
“When you get back to your cabin, bring your wet wood inside. Not too close to the fire, but near enough to warm up and dry out. It should be ready to burn by tomorrow.”
“Oh, that’s smart. Thank you.” He adjusted his grip on the logs, and I definitely did not watch his pecs move under his tight hoodie. “You’re really good at this.”
“I’m an editor. I solve problems for a living. Usually manuscript problems, not wood problems.” Fuck me. Why did I keep saying the word wood? “Taking a break from my job.”
“An editor.” He looked interested now. “Like books?”
“Like romance novels, specifically.” I crossed my arms, suddenly defensive. “I know it’s not ‘serious literature’ or whatever, but—”
“I wasn’t going to say that.” His expression was genuine. “Romance novels are amazing. My friend Chandra reads them constantly, and they make her happy, which seems like a pretty important thing for books to do.”
I blinked. “Most people don’t—” I stopped. “Sorry. I’m used to defending my job to people who think it’s somehow less legitimate than editing literary fiction.”
“Sounds like you work with assholes.”
“Sometimes.” I thought about Ollie, about Roger, about everyone at that party who’d probably spent the entire night gossiping about my breakdown. “Yeah. I do.”
The cat chose that moment to jump off the couch and weave between both our legs, purring like a small engine, rubbing against Samuel first and then me, clearly playing us both.
“This cat is shameless,” Samuel said, laughing.
“Absolutely no standards. Just throwing itself at anyone who shows the slightest interest.” I was definitely talking about the cat and not projecting at all.
“Well, it’s working. I’m charmed.” He crouched down again, balancing the logs carefully, and scratched behind the cat’s ears. “You’re beautiful and you know it, don’t you?”
The cat’s purr intensified to jet-engine levels.
“You’re just encouraging it,” I said.
“That’s my California energy. We encourage everything out there.
Feelings, crystals, juice cleanses, stray cats.
” He stood up, and his hoodie rode up slightly, revealing a strip of tanned skin above his yoga pants that I absolutely did not stare at.
“I should get back before my cabin becomes an actual icebox.”
“Right. Yes. Good plan.”
We moved toward the door, and I opened it for him. The cold air rushed in, making us both flinch.
“Thank you again,” Samuel said, pausing on the threshold. “For the wood.” He grinned. “Hey, if you need anything while you’re up here—someone to split a Shifflett’s run with, or just someone who gets that we’re both clearly hiding from our lives—I’m right next door.”
My throat tightened. “I’m not hiding.”
“Neither am I.” His eyes met mine, dark and warm and entirely too knowing. “We’re taking a break. That’s different.”
“Completely different.”
“Totally different.” He shifted the logs in his arms. “Goodnight, Farley.”
The way he said my name made something flutter in my chest. “Goodnight, Samuel.”
I watched him walk down my porch steps and disappear into the trees. The moment he was out of sight, I closed the door and leaned against it, my heart pounding.
“No,” I said aloud to the empty cabin. The cat had returned to the couch and was watching me with those unsettling eyes. “Absolutely not. We’re not doing this.”
The cat blinked slowly.
“I just had my heart broken. By a man I was planning to propose to, who was sleeping with my assistant.” I pushed away from the door and started pacing. “I’m in no position to be attracted to anyone. Especially not my neighbor.”
The cat yawned.
“And he’s probably straight. The thing about his friend Chandra reading romance novels? Classic straight guy energy. Plus, he’s from LA. He’s probably got a girlfriend who does Pilates and drinks green juice and has never cried over a man in her life.”
I poured myself another bourbon, my hands trembling.
“I’m here to work on my terrible novel and figure out how to put my life back together. Not to develop a crush on some beautiful stranger who asked me for wood in a way that made me think very inappropriate thoughts.”
The cat’s expression clearly communicated what it thought of my protests.
I sat down on the couch, and the cat immediately climbed onto my lap, still purring. I ran my hand through its fur and stared into the fire, trying very hard not to replay every moment of that interaction. The way Samuel had smiled. The sound of his laugh. His icy hands. That dimple.
“Besides,” I continued, because apparently I was having a full conversation with a cat now, “I’m a disaster. I look like hell. I’ve been crying. My ex destroyed my ability to trust anyone, and I definitely shouldn’t be projecting my desperate need for affection onto the first attractive man I—”
I stopped.
Wait.
I sat up straighter, disturbing the cat, who gave me an annoyed look.
“Holy shit,” I drawled. “I’m single.”
The cat’s ears swiveled toward me.
“I’m actually single. For the first time in three years.
And yes, my heart is broken, and yes, Ollie is a lying piece of shit, but.
..” I felt something shift in my chest, like a door opening that I hadn’t known was locked.
“I’m single. And there’s an insanely attractive man next door who just asked me for wood while blushing and who has a dimple and seems genuinely nice. ”
The cat meowed, as if to say Finally, you’re getting it.
“I mean, it’s just a month. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”