Chapter 33
Balancing two mugs, I climb the stairs, knocking with my elbow before I use it to nudge open the door to Olli’s room.
It’s still funny to see just how much the space has transformed to accommodate the kittens.
There’s the usual mess that often spreads from here to the rest of the Nook: medical textbooks with a few romance novels mixed in cover the desk, and discarded clothing lies in a pile in front of the closet.
Now, however, a playpen, fenced off with cartons, takes up a significant space, sporting a small litter box in one corner and a water bowl in the other.
The last two furballs are currently lying in a nest of what seems to be a B-Tech hoodie. I hope it’s not one of Micah’s, but don’t comment on it.
“Thanks.” Olli’s shoving papers into piles and closing some of the books to put them back onto the shelf in order to make his desk appear somewhat more orderly.
I hum and put one of the cups down next to him, though the next moment he’s jumping up to kick his laundry into his closet, closing the door for a semblance of tidiness.
“Maybe you should’ve done that yesterday?”
“Ugh, I know, but I got really into rereading Taming—oh, by the way, have you seen Keeping Noah anywhere? I can’t find it.”
“Oh,” I say, taking great care to sip from my coffee before answering.
“Yeah, I, uh, borrowed it. It was lying on the kitchen table for a while, and I didn’t think you’d mind.
” I can’t help but draw my shoulders up.
“Sorry. I can go and get it right now.” I remember seeing it lying on Micah’s side table when he told me about his family a few days ago.
After our heavy conversation, we haven’t found back to our familiarity from my parents’ farm, but at least we're both making an effort to fit short moments in here and there.
It's mostly quiet words and lingering touches when we’re readying dinner or washing the dishes afterward, but it helps bridge the distance that has built up.
“Ah, phew! No, no worries. How do you like it?”
I let out a breath, relieved he’s not mad. “It’s good. The characters are honestly really interesting and the uhm…hrm…”
“The sex scenes?” Olli completes my sentence, grinning.
“Yeah, that…they’re very…inspirational!”
Olli nearly spits out the sip of coffee he had just taken, hopping in one spot until he manages to swallow it. “That’s why you took it? For inspiration on what to do with”—thankfully, he lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, wagging his brows—“Micah.”
I groan and hide behind my cup, but it’s not much help. “Stop!” I huff but can barely contain my snort.
Olli’s fidgeting so much that coffee spills over his socks.
“Come on, details! We didn’t even get to gossip the other day. Which chapter? How was it?”
“No!” I shake my head. “And was that the door?” I pretend to cup my hand to my ear when the doorbell actually rings, making both of us stare at each other and then burst into laughter.
“Shit, that must be Fiore,” Olli groans, renewing his efforts to free up his desk as well as more of his floor.
“Oh, the guy you’re working for?”
“Yeah, I had to explain my hours to him, and well…we talked about the kittens, and he’s considering a pet for his kids, so he said he’d like to take a look,” Olli explains while he hastily pushes books and papers into the drawers of his desk.
“That’s good, so you know who they’re going to.” I smile and turn to the stairs. “I’ll let him in,” I call over my shoulder.
As soon as I open the door, the midday heat wafts toward me like the exhale of a volcano. But it isn’t only the glaring warmth that takes my breath away—because with just one look, I get why Nicko and Olli were so invested in talking about Professor Fiore.
The man standing on our porch is gorgeous.
Tall, with black hair shining in the sun, the loose shirt and summery chinos fitting his athletic body effortlessly, like he stepped out of a fashion magazine.
His skin is tanned, creating a perfect contrast with the light colors of his clothes, not to mention his arms, which show off toned muscles even as they hang relaxed at his sides.
Over the rim of mirrored sunglasses, a pair of golden eyes takes me in. He’s smiling, but there’s an unmistakable strictness to him. Even without having ever set foot into his classroom, I can tell it must be silent as a graveyard whenever he speaks up.
“H-hello,” I stutter, suddenly aware that I am still holding the door. I open it fully and step aside. “Please come in. Olli said you wanted to meet the kittens?”
“Yes, thank you.” His voice is melodic, leaving the perfect pause for me to introduce myself.
I hold out a hand as if this were a job interview. “Linden.”
“Thank you, Linden.” There’s an amused curl to those full lips, but at least he doesn't seem to mind my awkwardness. He shakes my hand before stepping inside.
“Uhm, do you want some…water?" I don’t know why I’m walking backward into our kitchen, but it’s nearly impossible to take my eyes off Fiore.
I spot a few gray hairs on his temples, and I feel like if I keep looking, I’ll discover more of these small details that will explain why he’s so magnetic.
I don’t even turn around when I hear footsteps coming down the stairs.
“Hey, Lind, who was—oh. Hello?” Micah's voice draws closer until it’s right behind me.
I blink like he turned off a light, and I have to reorient myself.
“Oh, Micah, this…that’s…”
“Rafael Fiore. I'm here to look at your kittens.” Thankfully, Fiore cuts my stuttering short. He takes off his sunglasses, giving his smile even more power.
I pray that neither he nor Micah will notice my face, which feels like I’ve left it outside, baking in the sun.
At the same time, I cannot look away from those long fingers as they tuck his folded-up sunglasses into the neckline of his button-down.
Everything looks like a rehearsed movement, elegant through sheer ease and confidence.
“Ah, yeah. Those are upstairs,” Micah says.
I can’t see his face, but his voice is odd somehow. Hard. I put in the effort to pull my eyes off Fiore, but just as I want to turn around, Micah’s hand settles on the small of my back, and he continues talking.
“First door on the right. Can’t miss it.”
“Nope, coming downstairs,” Olli announces himself. His hands are busy holding the squirming black kitten to his chest.
For a moment, I’m wondering why he didn’t bring both of them downstairs, but I’m more concerned about Micah’s allergy. “Should we go outside?” I pick my cup from the counter and gently nudge Micah back toward our back door.
“That’s definitely one hot professor,” I comment leisurely once we’re outside and there’s a door between Olli and us and, most importantly, Fiore.
Micah, however, is still looking over his shoulder. His eyebrows are drawn low over his eyes. It takes another few seconds until he turns to me. “What?”
“Yeah, that’s what everyone calls him—The Hot Professor,” I explain, biting my tongue so I don’t laugh at the expression on Micah’s face. “I guess now I get it.” I shrug, hopefully light enough to sell the joke.
“Oh?”
“Yeah? What’s the matter? Don’t you like him?” I ask, all innocence.
“What? No, no.” Micah looks down at me, then over at the back door, then back at me. His arms wrap around me. “I mean. I don’t even know him after all.”
I bite my lips, then drape my arms around his neck. “Is that jealousy, ogre?”
“What? No, I—oh, you little.” Micah snorts, then shakes his head, pulling me close.
I chuckle until our lips meet. After days of carefully keeping every touch brief, dancing around the boundaries of what’s too much, I’m surprised by how effortless the gesture feels.
And how much I missed this.
Just…touching.
Hugging.
Back at the farm, we did it without thinking about it. It’s hard not to connect that to everything that’s happened since then.
“I mean…he is a very pretty man,” I start again, sitting down in one of the lawn chairs.
Micah sits down next to me, but pulls me and my entire chair closer to him until we’re side by side. “Maybe.”
“Oh come on!” I laugh, shaking my head.
“…there are prettier—I mean.” Micah clears his throat, then reaches for my cup to steal a sip of coffee. He keeps looking at me, though.
“Oh yes, lots of prettier men,” I hum, tilting my head as if I’m making a mental list, when really, I’m just taking my time to look at Micah.
The tank top he’s wearing is loose, showing off his chest and sun-tanned shoulders.
It’s faint, but I can just barely see the stripes where his tan deepened during our time on the farm.
He raises one arm to turn his cap around, somehow managing to show off his bicep and the veins running over his forearm with the simple gesture.
Now that the shield doesn’t hide his face, I let my eyes trace over his features as well, from his arched nose to his full lips.
He's gorgeous, but really, it’s the way his eyes, one light, one dark, focus on me that makes my heart flutter.
I smile and clear my throat. “I think I prefer looking at a certain tall, dark-haired, heterochromatic ogre.”
“Mhm, sounds like a real knockout,” Micah jokes along, setting the cup aside. He leans forward, his hands coming to rest on my knees. “But what I wanted to say is—”
“Hello? Someone home?”
We both look around to where the voice came from. I shield my eyes against the sun, squinting to look up at the man who’s walking into our backyard. He’s mostly a tall, broad silhouette.
“You have kittens here.” It should be a question, but the inflection is too flat, making it sound more like a statement. His voice is gravelly and has a heavy accent that I can’t place more precisely than Eastern Europe.
“Uhm, yeah, our roommate has kittens,” I answer, throwing Micah a look, but he’s also squinting at the stranger.
“I rang the bell.”
“Ah, sorry, we didn’t hear, but uhm…who…?”
Thankfully, the guy steps into the shade, so that I can look at him without staring straight into the sun.
He’s wearing athletic gear and a baseball cap.
His jaw sports heavy dark stubble that’s on the verge of becoming a beard.
From under the shield of his cap, he assesses both Micah and me, then pulls out a folded piece of paper from his pocket.
“I was at the animal shelter. Mrs. Vet said to come here.”
“Oh!” I snap my fingers, suddenly realizing where I know the stranger from: he looks entirely different when he isn't wearing a bulky jacket and a whistle around his neck while shouting at his players. From the few times I’ve seen him at Nicko’s games, I formed a very different impression of him.
He looks almost shy, holding the note from Barb in his large hands, shoulders drawn up like he's aware that he shouldn't be outside of a hockey rink.
“You're Nicko's coach! Mr.…uhm…”
"Kovachev," he fills in gruffly, then shrugs. “Now, kittens?”
I’m taken aback by the blunt attitude, but then again, it’s warm outside, and he must have been waiting at the front door for a while.
“Yes, of course.” I use Micah’s shoulders to push myself up and lead him to our back door.
“How long have you been thinking of getting a pet?”
“My son—”
“What are you doing here?”
Our heads whip around to where Fiore is trying to keep a squirming kitten on his lap.
“Someone else interested in adopting a kitten,” I address Olli, trying not to let the sharp looks bother me. Thankfully, Fiore focuses back on the little black furry menace that's stubbornly trying to climb up his chest.
Olli's face morphs through a sequence of grimaces so fast that I'm amazed he doesn't pull a muscle.
“Ah, I'm sorry, but this is the last kitten.” He nods over to Fiore. “And, well…”
“It's still here,” Kovachev rumbles, striding into the living room and leaning over the couch to inspect the kitten over Fiore’s shoulder.
The other man's back straightens, and he pushes himself to the other end of the sofa with a low hiss. “No one in their right mind would let you take care of a defenseless animal.”
Kovachev frowns, which transforms him into the man who could get a whole team of D1 college athletes to flinch with one glare.
“I take good care of any animal.”
I look from man to man, then at Olli, who is also staring with obvious confusion. “Uhm…do you two know each other?”
“Barely,” Fiore snaps. He resolutely turns back to Olli, lowering his voice. At least his hands are gentle with the kitten as he plucks it from his shoulders. “I’d be more than happy to take this little one home.”
“Is this first-come, first-eats? Cat is escaping.” Kovachev points to where the kitten has slipped through Fiore’s fingers and climbs from his shoulder to the back of the couch, where it wobbles for a moment—then leaps.
Everyone flinches forward, but Kovachev catches the little rascal by the scruff, turning it over in a surprisingly gentle motion.
“Okay, can we please all settle down? Olli, why don't you get Tibia, and they can see who gets along better with which kitten?” I step forward, holding out my hand before the argument can turn more heated.
Kovachev hesitates only a moment, but then puts the black furball into my palm. I gently close my fingers around the squeaking kitten. When I look up, I flinch at the hard look Olli gives me.
“I don't know what you mean.”
“Oh, come on. Tibia, she's right ups—”
“This is the last adoptable kitten.” Olli raises his voice to speak over me.
I stare at him as he gets up to take the little one from my hands. “What the…Olli!”
“And yes, in this case, it is first-come, first-served. Rafael, do you need a carrier?”
“Yes, please. Let me also get a look at the cat food.” Fiore throws a last glare at Kovachev, then puts on his mirrored sunglasses before following Olli to the stairs.
Kovachev snorts. His eyes flash as Fiore comes closer, but he merely shakes his head when he stalks past him.
“I’m…I’m sorry,” I say, but there’s too much confusion and annoyance over Olli’s behavior to make the words sound genuine.
Still, I turn to Kovachev. “I’m sure there are other animals at the pound that would be grateful for a new home.
I hope you’ll find…” I trail off since Kovachev is already turning toward the front door, leaving without another word.