Chapter 39 – cat
CAT
Christmas Eve will find me, where the lovelight gleams…
I pull my coat tighter around me, speed-walking to get past the carolers. “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” has always made me tear up, and I really don’t need that right now.
It’s hard enough knowing I’ll be spending Christmas alone. Mom decided to spend it in Vegas and I’m still avoiding her anyway. I considering flying out to Nova Scotia to spend it with my grandparents, but I just don’t have the money.
It’s been almost a month since everything blew up between us. After that disastrous poker game, Pippa’s apartment was faced with a deluge of flowers, French macarons, handwritten letters, and even a gigantic stuffed pink panda.
The gifts were nothing compared to the calls, texts, and emails. Nate kept trying to make things right between us, until I finally answered the phone and snapped at him. I swore that the panda would end up headless if he didn’t give me some space.
To my surprise, he actually gave me some.
Which means I have no right to be so fucking sad about missing him.
We haven’t been in contact since then. There was one time I saw him when I was walking into work at Terrace. It was cold, and I was in my old ratty jacket. Nate’s gray eyes landed on me, and I braced myself for a lecture about going out in the cold without a proper coat.
I didn’t get one.
Instead, he just clenched his fists and walked right past me.
It felt like he drove a spike into my chest. I wanted distance—hell, I demanded it.
So what right do I have for being upset that he respected my request?
I spent the whole night crying into a bowl of peppermint ice cream, feeling like the world’s biggest hypocrite.
But my custom wool trenchcoat arrived in the mail the next day.
I’ve been wearing it ever since. After all, it’s freezing, and it’s not the coat’s fault that Nate broke my heart.
It definitely makes the walk from my new apartment better. I couldn’t stay at Pippa’s forever—not only is it a super-long commute from Terrace, but it’s not big enough for me, her, and Waffle.
I moved into a short-term lease apartment last week—the only place I could find in Toronto’s insane rental market. I haven’t even fully unpacked yet, hoping I can find someplace better.
Where I don’t have to walk a full forty-five minutes to get to the shelter.
Oh well. At least there will be cookies when I get there. Today’s our annual Christmas party. Normally, it’s just a turkey dinner that ends with me and the other volunteers handing out presents of socks and thermal hand warmers.
This year, with our cash infusion from the Walsh Foundation, things are different.
Today, we’re serving a fancy dinner with all the trimmings, donated by a restaurant with a Michelin star.
Photographers will be there to cover all the changes we made, thanks to Nathaniel Walsh.
I’ll have to force a smile while I hear his name over, and over, and over.
The smell of roasting sugared nuts meets me even before I get to the shelter.
Minnie had the idea to set up a stand outside, giving out chestnuts to our guests, plus to anyone who was curious about our community.
It’s obviously a hit, because there’s a small crowd of people outside, either waiting in line for their chestnuts or socializing.
A photographer snaps a photo, making me temporarily freak out.
There are going to be reporters here, I remind myself. The shelter invited them. They’re not here for me.
The reporters backed off a few weeks ago.
There were no more flashing cameras outside my apartment or at Terrace.
Interest in Nate and me hasn’t died down—I’m reminded every day, when curious customers at work ask prying questions about the current state of our relationship.
So Nate must have done something to make the tabloids cut us some slack. At least I can be grateful for that.
Minnie had me stay away from the shelter for a while after everything blew up and it almost broke me thinking she’d never let me come back, but after a few weeks, the headlines moved on somewhere else, and Minnie was calling to see if I could cover shifts again.
I sneak around the edge of the crowd, opting to come in the back entrance instead. I hang up my coat and put my purse in my locker. There’s a basket of Santa hats for volunteers to grab, and I manage to stuff most of my curls underneath one.
Minne descends on me the second I step out of the staff room. She’s hugging me before I know what’s happening.
“Merry Christmas, Cat,” she squeals.
I laugh. “You’re excited. Did you get into the eggnog already?”
“Oh, you know I don’t spike it until after eight.”
When I look around, I can see the party’s in full swing. Christmas music plays from a boom box. A huge pile of presents sits against the wall. I wrapped a bunch of them myself. They’re not the neatest ones, but they were wrapped with love.
Thanks to Nate’s donation, the presents this year are fantastic. New backpacks, fresh socks and underwear, and best of all, basic cell phones with external chargers and a year’s worth of data. Nothing nice enough to steal, but good for emergencies and keeping in touch with family.
“Dinner service just started, if you want to wash your hands and grab some gloves,” Minnie says. “Oh, and by the way…Santa’s here.”
Before I can ask what she means, I see him.
Nate Walsh, with a Santa hat on his dark hair, dishing out mashed potatoes. Instead of his usual suit, he’s wearing a forest green sweater that hugs his wide shoulders. Perfectly Christmas-y and perfectly yummy. I smell his stylist’s hand at work.
Photographers are snapping photos of him, but he doesn’t look at them. Instead, he looks every patron in the eye before he serves them. His body language is relaxed, his spine not ramrod-straight like it so often is. He looks like he belongs here.
“He looks so…comfortable,” I say.
Minnie laughs. “He didn’t at first. The first few times he served lunch, he didn’t say a word. It took us a while to warm him up.”
I whirl toward her. “He what? How long has he been volunteering here?”
“For a month. He asked me to let him know any time he knew you wouldn’t be here, so he wouldn’t run into you.”
“And you just let him?” I say, gawking.
“Of course I did! He donated all this money, I wasn’t going to stop him from donating his time. And if he didn’t want to be with his ex while he worked…hey, I get it. Look, I didn’t think it would upset you.”
“It doesn’t.” And it’s true. No part of me is angry. I’m happy. Seeing Nate standing there in a ridiculous Santa hat, in my shelter, giving Alice one of his rare smiles, fills me with so much joy that I’m practically floating.
Stop it. This is still the guy who secretly watched you for months.
The logical part of my mind yanks me back down to the ground. Nate’s smart enough to know that the shelter is the way to my heart. This could all just be for show, a ruse to convince me to get back together with him.
Or it could have nothing to do with me. I know how easy it is to fall in love with the people here. Maybe he stopped by to check on his donation and felt compelled to help. He might have totally moved on from me by now.
There’s only one way to find out.
My heart races as I go back to wash my hands. I have no idea what I want to say to him. Should I tell him that he shouldn’t be here? That I’m still grateful for the donation? That I miss him?
I stop and take a long, slow breath. I’ll have to trust myself to say the right thing in the moment. Before I can talk myself out of it, I slip in next to him in line, grabbing a pair of tongs to dole out dinner rolls.
“Hi.”
He turns to me, his eyes wide. He looks genuinely surprised to see me—didn’t he know I wouldn’t miss the shelter’s Christmas party?
Minnie giggles loudly, and I put it together. She lied and told him I wouldn’t be here. Apparently, she skipped right past Santa and straight to Cupid.
“Hi, Cat,” Nate says finally.
Cat. Not Kitten.
It stings, hearing him use my name and not his special nickname for me. It’s like confirmation that there’s no more intimacy between us. But at the same time, my heart swells, hearing his familiar low voice.
“It’s good to see you,” I tell him, and I mean it.
He bites his lip and doesn’t say anything. I can tell he doesn’t want to violate the space-giving agreement. Well, I’m done wanting space. Now, I want answers.
“I hear you’ve been coming here for a while, Nate. And you managed to avoid me every time. Are you watching me again?”
He freezes, his spoon full of mashed potatoes hovering over Rupert’s plate. “I didn’t, Cat, I swear. I know I violated your privacy before, and I promise I won’t do it again. I just wanted to know when you wouldn’t be here, so I wouldn’t bother you.”
Rupert looks between the two of us with a knowing smile. I nudge Nate with my elbow, reminding him that he still has a job to do. His neck turns red as he hurriedly scoops the potatoes onto Rupert’s plate. I’ve never seen Nate blush before—I like it.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “I figured you weren’t stalking me this time. I’m glad you asked Minnie instead of just following me with your cameras.”
As if on cue, a camera flashes. They’re still photographing the event. But this time, it’s not the paparazzi hounding us outside our apartments. It’s just hired photographers, here to show all the good the Walsh Foundation has done.
Everything Nate has done.
“I’m still sorry,” he murmurs. “The truth is, I’ve wanted to check up on you. Beau told me you moved, and I went right to my computer to find your new address. I didn’t, for the record. I hope the new place is nice.”
My muscles tense. I wouldn’t mind Nate knowing where I live, but it’s strange to hear him admit he still wants to violate my privacy. “What do you want me to say? You want praise for not stalking me?”