Chapter 33 #2
Vic laughed. She couldn’t help it. Whatever she’d been expecting in their attempt to woo the cat with food, it wasn’t this.
“I think you have yourself a cat,” Cal said.
“You think?” Vic wasn’t so sure. A cat like this, one that so calmly and self-assuredly asserted possession over a human house, couldn’t be feral, could it?
It must have an owner somewhere, right? She couldn’t tell if the cat was thin because it was half-starved, or because it was young.
It had a long-legged, teenagery look. So yeah, maybe not very old?
It stood up and moved a few feet further away.
“So sorry our presence is disturbing you,” Vic said, continuing to study the small feline.
Under closer observation, “it” was a female, and she wasn’t pure black, after all.
There was a patch of orangey-gray on her right flank that looked like she’d grazed a freshly painted wall—or as if someone had dabbed her with a paintbrush.
“She’s perfect for you,” Cal said. “She’s been touched by an artist’s brush.”
Vic grinned. He’d made the same comparison she had.
“Well, I guess I’ll put water out for her by the food dish. Maybe if we ignore her, she’ll eat.”
Cal nodded.
“I wish I had some kitty litter or something. I mean, I have no idea if she’ll use it, but if I don’t have any, she for sure won’t.” Vic laughed lightly. “Oh, well. One or two little messes to clean up before I get to a store tomorrow isn’t the worst thing.”
“I can go right now, if you want.” Cal glanced at his watch. “All the big stores are still open, trying to suck every last dime and nickel from people before Christmas.”
The offer floored Vic. Cal was always so happy to go above and beyond, and she was sure it wasn’t just for her. He just had a kind, giving kind of personality.
“Plus, that way you won’t be in a rush tomorrow before you go into work, and Audra will have fewer reasons to fuss about your new addition.”
Audra! Shoot. Yes, explaining to her that they had a cat now might be tricky.
“Do you think I should put pictures of her in the community pages online or something, in case someone’s missing her?”
“Couldn’t hurt.”
Vic nodded. “And you really don’t mind going to the store for me?”
“Absolutely nothing would make me happier than spending an hour in pre-Christmas madness.”
Something warm and light blazed in Vic’s stomach. He was so kind to her, and she sure appreciated it.
While Cal was gone, hoping the cat would get comfortable enough to eat and drink if she wasn’t in the room with her, Vic went to check on Audra and see if she needed any help getting into bed or wanted a snack or something.
As was more and more common lately, at least a couple times a week, Audra was asleep in her recliner.
“Mom, hey,” Vic said softly, not wanting to scare her. “Mom?” She gently touched Audra’s forearm.
Audra mumbled something incoherent, not fully roused.
“You’ve fallen asleep in your chair. Do you want to go to bed?”
“No—no.” Audra’s voice was scratchy but conscious now. “I sleep better in my chair. Much better.”
“Oh, okay.”
Vic grabbed one of the heavier fleece blankets and tucked it around Audra in case the temperature dipped overnight. Then she made sure that the door separating the rooms Audra used was firmly shut, in case the cat decided to go exploring.
When she got back to the kitchen, not a trace remained of the tuna. A few splashes of water on the floor suggested the cat had taken a drink, too, but the cat itself was nowhere to be seen.
Then Cal arrived back. Having, apparently, bought out the pet section, he needed to make two trips to bring everything in.
A stainless-steel litter box—great choice because it wouldn’t hold odors the way plastic ones could over time, or so the kid working the department had told him.
A box of litter that apparently clumped and sealed away all odors.
A box of dry kibble and a case of wet food.
A shiny purple collar and matching leash—just in case it was needed, for some reason.
What looked like a fishing rod with a variety of different feathery toys you could attach and dangle for the cat to play with.
Two raised cat dishes that looked like toadstools.
Vic did a double take when she saw them.
“I know.” Cal grinned. “Over the top, but I couldn’t resist them.”
Vic was surprised—and not—by the receipt total.
“Please just send me half,” Cal said.
“What? Why—no, it’s fine,” Vic assured him.
“Nah, I went overboard knowing I wanted to chip in . . . as a Christmas present for the little freeloader.”
“A Christmas present for the cat who might not be my cat?”
“Exactly.”
“Should I name her, or wait to see if someone claims her?”
Cal shrugged. “It does seem awkward to keep calling it ‘It’ or ‘The cat.’”
“Good point. If I ever see her again, long enough to figure out a name that suits her, I’ll text you what I decide.”
“I can’t wait.”
The funny thing was, Vic thought he meant it.
Cal reached for the doorknob, and Vic had the lamest desire that he would stay—not just because she found him wildly attractive but because she wanted to . . . continue doing low drama, homemaking stuff with him, like more fix-it jobs and cat rescues . . .
Was it just her, or did he seem to be waiting for something?
Eventually, as the silence stretched, he smiled and said, “Merry Christmas, Vic. I’ll be in touch before the New Year, and hopefully we can hammer out the rest of the list.”
And then I’ll have no excuse to see him regularly.
The thought struck with surprising weight.
She’d never had a man in her life that she just talked to and hung out with.
Every relationship had been, well, a relationship.
Somehow, she’d achieved the impossible with Cal, despite all the awkwardness and missteps on her end in the beginning. He really did seem like a friend.
She looked into his warm brown eyes and knew she was kidding herself. She didn’t just want friendship with Cal Anderson.
But what did she have to offer him? She was a mess. A mess intent on cleaning herself up, sure—but intent was meaningless without real, measurable, observable change.
Devil and Angel were both silent, but Madeline’s gentle but firm voice filled her head.
We can’t put off living until some magic, perfectly healed time. It doesn’t exist. Some of us are always going to have scars. It’s just a matter of finding someone who will be tender with ours—and doing the harder job of being tender with ourselves.
The words were out of Vic’s mouth before she was even sure she could muster the courage for them. “What are you doing on Boxing Day?”
“No plans, so sure, if that’s a good for you, I can come over and get some work done—”
“Actually,” Vic paused, hit by even more nerves. The depth of her insecurities was bottomless, it seemed. But still, their flirty night had been ages ago, and he hadn’t given a hint of wanting more since then. Maybe he didn’t think of her romantically anymore . . .
“Actually,” she repeated, “I was wondering if you wanted to go to this open house thing with me on the 26th. It’s at Madeline’s.”
Cal nodded slowly, then looked uneasy or reluctant or something. “I hate to be a dunce here, but I have to ask, just to be clear like.”
Vic nodded.
“As friends, right?”
She nodded again. “Definitely as friends, but um, also . . . like as a date? I’m asking you on a date.”
A deep groove creased on Cal’s brow.
Please say yes, Vic thought. Please.