Chapter Four #2
“A cat? Um, it says something here about you being a photographer.”
That business card.
Claire had posted one ages ago, back when she was hoping to get her photography business off the ground. The coffee shop must have kept it there.
“I’m getting married at the end of the year and was hoping to talk to you about photography packages.”
“I see. I’m sorry, Alison. That card should have come down. I’m not doing any photography at the moment.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Yeah. Congratulations, though.”
She said goodbye to the woman and hung up.
Deflated, Claire slammed her laptop shut and fled the office.
She’d never wanted to deep clean those kennels so badly.
* * * *
As it happened, Nick did get to see Claire at the craft services table at lunchtime, albeit from a distance.
Rochelle and Naomi from makeup had cornered her and the conversation seemed to be about giving Claire some ideas on how to style her hair and makeup.
Something about a French twist and a lipstick that would make her lips pop.
Nick took a bite of his ham sandwich. He wasn’t sure why lips should be popping, but Claire was all ears.
It wasn’t as if she even needed a makeover, though. She was already drop-dead gorgeous. However, she didn’t seem offended at Rochelle and Naomi’s suggestions. Maybe she liked the idea of popping lips. What did he know?
If the last few months had been any indication, he knew nothing about women. He thought he’d picked up a few tidbits over the years, but clearly he’d been wrong.
He took another bite and chewed. Just then, Claire glanced at him, a shy smile on her face.
A chunk of ham stuck in his throat and he had to swig some water to wash it down.
Damn, that smile. It was really pretty. And he hadn’t even seen the real thing yet. He was beginning to think he’d give his favorite drumsticks to see her wearing a good, wide-open, toothy grin.
What would he have to do to put one of those on her face?
He probably shouldn’t be wondering those sorts of things.
Even though his appetite was dwindling, he finished his sandwich. As Claire approached, he swallowed it all down.
“Hi, Nick. You’re all on your lonesome.”
“Just having a bite.”
She nodded and took up the spot next to him.
Their backs to the craft services table, they both silently surveyed the others.
Everyone else seemed comfortable eating and mingling.
Michael was talking to David from the volunteer squad.
Eli was chatting up a couple of the others.
Lacey was probably petting a cat somewhere.
Meanwhile, Nick and Claire stood like statues, each on their own plinth. Together, but not really.
You’ve become a real charmer, Nicky Boy. Maybe try saying something?
He kept getting tongue-tied around Claire. This morning, as they’d chatted through her office window, he’d been able to channel a little bit of flirty Old Nick, but that guy had deserted him. That happened a lot. He couldn’t stop second guessing himself and it was starting to piss him off.
“Lunch was good,” said Claire. “I had no idea it would be so much fun to eat from a craft services table.”
“The crafties take good care of us. Did you get enough?”
“Oh, yeah, too much. I had the egg salad sandwich. It was the size of my head.”
Why were they talking about lunch? Couldn’t he think of anything better? Real suave.
“I was curious about something.”
“Yeah?” Thank God. He was about two seconds away from waxing poetic about the seeded mustard on his sandwich.
“Um, how did your cat situation come about?”
“Ah, that.”
“Sorry. Is it a sore spot?”
“Nah, just embarrassing.”
“There’s no need to be embarrassed. I understand how people might not be comfortable around cats. I mean, they always look like they’re hunting…when they’re not sleeping, that is. One of my friends has a cat phobia.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah! And between you and me, I can’t handle spiders, not even the tiny ones.”
Nick grinned. “Well, while I’m here, I can rehome any spiders that get in your way.”
“Sounds like a plan. So, tell me about your cat problem.”
He scratched his head. “I guess it all started at my Grandma Ingrid’s house of cats.”
Claire’s eyes bugged out. A squeak emerged from her throat, but she choked it back. “I’m sorry. Did you say, ‘house of cats’?”
“I mean, it wasn’t literally a house of cats. That sounds like a Vincent Price horror movie.” He spoke with the dramatic flair of a movie voiceover artist. “House of Cats. Beware the claw!”
Claire’s lips wobbled, another tease of mirth. She sucked them into a tight line.
“Anyway,” he continued, “Grandma Ingrid loved cats. She was never without one, and usually had two or three at any given time. First, there was Angel, a pretty tabby with little butterscotch spots on her ears. I met Angel when I was five. She stalked me around the house. A precedent was set. Every time I visited Grandma, Angel made me run for my life.”
“Didn’t your grandma do anything?”
“I loved my grandma, but she was old-school. You know, boys shouldn’t cry and a bit of fear gives you character. And when my parents would ask us how our sleepovers went, I’d swear my brothers to secrecy. What happened at the house of cats stayed at the house of cats.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Exactly. Anyway, I don’t know why Angel hated me. I never did anything to that cat, and all she did was scratch me every time I tried to pet her. She scarred me for life.” Nick huffed. “Angel. More like a fluffy demon from the pit of hell.”
Claire covered her mouth with her hand.
Is that a giggle?
Nick continued his story, laying it on thick, in the hopes of making Claire laugh.
“Only it wasn’t just Angel. Dudley was next.
He definitely hated me. I think he actually spat at me once.
Do cats spit? I don’t know. Anyway, then came Twinkle.
Oh, man, Twinkle hated the very air around me.
She’d hiss if I so much as looked at her.
Grandma had a long line of kitty tormentors.
Mitzie, Cutie Pie, Pickle, Dumpling. On our sleepovers with Grandma, I used to think those cats were plotting to kill me.
There was this one time when Dumpling stuck her little paw under the bedroom door after I’d gone to bed, and I screamed until Grandma put her in the basement. ”
Something trembled in Claire’s chest. She looked away, but the trembles continued.
“But worst of all?” he said. “The time when Pickle peed in my favorite sneakers. In my heart of hearts, I still think he did it out of spite.”
A huge cackle exploded from Claire. She clapped her hands over her mouth again, but it didn’t help. Her dark eyes lit up. Her laugh became infectious, only inspiring more laughter. It wouldn’t be long before she rolled on the floor.
Nick laughed along with her. He knew his tale of woe was a silly one, and he wasn’t really scarred.
In all honesty, his childhood brain had probably exaggerated his mistreatment by Grandma Ingrid’s cats.
He couldn’t be offended by Claire’s laughter.
The flash of glee in her eyes was way too appealing.
Her giggles subsided and she took a couple of deep breaths. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, really.”
“It’s been a while since I had a good laugh. I didn’t mean for it to be at your expense, but the way you told the story struck my funny bone. I can totally see why you wouldn’t want to hang out with my cats, or anyone else’s.”
“No problem.” He was used to people laughing at him lately.
Besides, hearing she hadn’t laughed in a while made him sad.
“I meant it when I said I love animals. I do. I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong with the feline population.
It’s like they have a hotline or something.
‘Hey, Nick’s coming. Make him pee his pants this time.
’ By the way, that may or may not have happened in the Dumpling incident. ”
“Oh. Maybe I can help you with that while you’re here. Would that be okay?” She smiled, her face suffused with warmth and compassion.
Hell, yeah. If it meant he got to spend extra time with her, it would be more than okay. “Sure, thanks. I’m down to make some kitty buddies, if they’ll have me.”
“Cool.” She checked her watch. “I’d better get back to work. We’ll talk soon, okay, Nick?”
“You bet.”
As she walked away, her round ass drew his gaze. Damn. It was perfect. Everything about her was perfect. His hands were already itching to touch her, and he was fantasizing about how soft her skin would feel.
He shook his head, clearing it of its X-rated thoughts.
If someone had told him a month ago that he would have willingly made himself the butt of a joke to make a woman laugh, he would have scoffed.
But with Claire, he realized he would gladly act as a punchline to get her to laugh again.