Chapter 5
Cami
The back of Knox’s Range Rover smells like his expensive cologne has collided head-on with a wet and smelly Mama Cat. Poor thing reeks of Millie’s attic, stench more stubborn than an ex who won’t stop texting at midnight.
Wedged between a box of squeaky newborns and their too-quiet mom, I brace one hand against each to keep them from tipping as Knox backs out of the driveway.
Intermittent mewls, high-pitched and broken, chisel at my heart. The kittens are hungry. Terrified. Maybe even a little annoyed that I took so long to find them.
I’m annoyed I took so long, too.
If only I hadn’t freaked out the second I heard those ghostly noises, maybe we wouldn’t be here, rushing Mama Cat and her precious offspring to an emergency vet.
Then again, I might’ve missed out on watching my surly neighbor transform into a real-life superhero. One who checks out loud noises and rescues cats in labor.
Not like it means anything. He’s simply the sexy grump next door—who also smells ridiculously yummy and handles emergencies like it’s his job.
Is it his job? Despite our run-ins, I don’t know anything about him.
Drawing in a breath, I glance down at the kittens, my fingers drifting across fluffy, newborn fur. Their eyes are still closed, and it’s adorable how they curl together, instinctively becoming each other’s emotional support kitten.
But Mama Cat is silent and still.
Not even a stir from her makeshift maternity ward.
I ease the lid off the bin to make sure she’s breathing, then freeze as an audible gasp escapes me.
“You alright back there?”
Knox’s gravelly tone pulls my gaze to the rearview mirror, where his dark eyes meet mine.
“Yeah. I mean…sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“Mama Cat’s paws are all white, except for her back left one. It’s completely black. Like she dipped it in ink.”
His eyes flash with curiosity. “Okay…?”
“I mean, I’ve seen her before. She was on the porch this morning when I got back from Seaport Coffee Café.” I exhale, frustrated. “I ran inside to grab her some water, but she’d vanished.”
Knox nods slowly, eyes on the road as we turn onto a narrow street lined with restaurants and boutiques.
He’s relaxed in the driver’s seat, one hand draped over the wheel as though chauffeuring stray cats and a perfect stranger around town is completely normal for him.
Meanwhile, I’m two heartbeats away from crawling out of my skin.
“She must’ve wandered inside while I wasn’t looking,” I say, tracing a finger over her matted fur. “Then made her way up to Ms. Palmer’s attic and had her babies. All alone.”
Quiet stretches between us, filled only by the hum of the engine and small cries coming from the box beside me.
“You’re not to blame, Cami.” His voice wraps around my name, low and certain, and something inside me hitches.
I glance up and catch him watching me, then quickly flick my attention back to Mama Cat. “I should’ve gone up as soon as I heard those loud squeaks.”
“They did sound pretty eerie, though.”
His timely validation feels like a bear hug to my withering conscience.
“Besides,” he adds, his gruff tone tempered, “you’re with her now, alongside her kittens, sitting back there like a seasoned cat whisperer.”
A snort-laugh slips past my lips. “You’re the one who was able to coax Mama Cat…”
“While you soothed her kittens.” A beat goes by. “We make a good team.”
He says it so casually as if we’ve been rescuing cats together for ages.
My stupid pulse stumbles.
Pretty sure the temperature has risen at least twenty-seven degrees back here.
Is it normal to have this kind of reaction to a man I barely know? One who’s got to be married. To a woman who probably wouldn’t flinch at silly attic noises.
Knox slows at a red light, the clicks of his turn signal echoing through the silence.
Steady. Calm. Like him.
He makes a left turn, and Crystal Cove Animal Clinic comes into view up ahead, glass doors lit, parking lot half-empty.
Fingers still lightly stroking Mama Cat, I lean in closer and whisper, “Hold tight, girl. We’re almost there.”
I hope it’s not too late.
Knox pulls into a spot near the entrance and throws the Range Rover into park.
Overhead lights cast a bluish glow across the dashboard, and for a second, neither of us moves.
I glance down at Mama Cat, still curled motionless in her bin.
Her chest rises in slow, shallow lifts, like each breath is stealing what little energy she has left.
Knox turns in his seat. “Ready?”
I nod even though I don’t feel ready.
Before I know it, the back door swings open, and brisk night air rushes in, cool, tinged with the scent of briny salt.
I shift to lift the bin, but Knox is already reaching for it with a careful hand.
“You take the kittens,” he says, composed. “I’ll carry her.”
He’s bossy but not in an overly aggressive way. He’s assured. Protective, in a way that sneaks past my guard.
His wife is one helluva lucky woman.
Although…there’s no ring. No family photos on the dash. No lingering scent of perfume in the car.
Edging forward, my flip-flops slap the black pavement.
I pause as a wave of dizziness sweeps through me, my vision dimming at the edges before snapping back. Probably nerves about tonight.
Knox closes the gap between us. “Need help?”
I shake my head, but apparently, he knows that’s a lie since the next thing I feel is his palm at the small of my back. Warm. Firm.
I don’t mean to lean into it. Yet I do anyway, totally hating how much I like it.
Knox carries the bin with Mama Cat tucked safely inside while I hold the kittens in their box cradled to my chest, our urgent steps guiding us through the entrance.
Sliding glass doors open then shut behind us, sealing Knox and me inside a too-bright lobby buzzing with fluorescent lights and low conversational murmurs from behind the counter.
Photos of happy pets line tangerine-colored walls, the smell of disinfectant wafting under my nose.
I let out a sigh of relief, thankful the clinic is empty, save for a gray-bearded man seated with a Yorkie panting wildly in his lap.
A cheery vet tech, with red-framed glasses perched low on his nose, greets Knox and me before we’ve even had a chance to reach the desk. “Hey there! What do we have?”
“She’s in labor and not doing quite so well,” Knox tells him, placing Mama Cat’s bin onto the counter. “A stray we found in the attic.”
“She had two kittens on her own already,” I add, shifting the box in my arms. “We think more are coming.”
The vet tech’s expression softens. “Come with me. Let’s get Mom and her babies into a room.”
He leads us down a hall, glancing over his shoulder with a smile. “Not too many would go this far for a stray. It’s awesome to see a couple this committed.”
“Oh! No.” I blink. “I mean—no. We’re not…” I trail off, my attempt at an explanation wobbling.
“We’re only neighbors,” Knox offers with a smirk, but I catch a muscle tensing along his jaw.
“Uh-huh.” The vet tech holds the door to an exam room open. “Only neighbors is how most of our town’s married couples got started.”
With a half laugh, half cough, I hurry into the room before my face bursts into flames, my neighbor’s footsteps trailing behind me.
Inside, it’s stark and sterile. Almost too quiet, if not for the gentle hum of an air conditioner vent overhead.
Knox gently sets Mama Cat, snug inside her bin, onto the exam table.
“Let’s take a look at our girl here.” The vet tech, whose name tag reads Dex, lifts the bin’s lid with care, eyes widening as they land on Mama Cat. “Well, I’ll be… Wanda? We wondered where you’d drifted off to.”
“Wait…Wanda?” I ask.
“Yup. She’s kind of our in-house legend,” Dex explains, lifting Mama Cat—er, Wanda—out of the bin.
“Wanda the Wanderer.” He lays her onto a towel spread across the exam table, hands moving with practiced care.
“She doesn’t really belong to anyone. Been part of this clinic for years.
Comes and goes as she pleases. We’ve tried trapping her for a spay, but she’s slippery as hell.
Usually hangs out near the break room. Every few months, she disappears, and we all start betting where she’ll turn up next.
But this time, she took off while pregnant. Had the whole staff worried sick.”
Knox rests a hand on the edge of the table, watching Dex with a quiet intensity.
“She was on the porch this morning,” I say. “When I tried to give her water, she was gone before I got back. We figured she must’ve gotten inside and made her way to the attic.”
“Well,” Dex says, checking Wanda’s breathing, “looks like she picked the right attic.” He chuckles. “She’s definitely running on more than nine lives.”
Beside me, Knox shifts closer, our arms brushing.
Warmth jolts down my spine.
Stupid body clearly didn’t get the only neighbors memo.
Wanda lets out a low, gravelly meow, more breath than sound.
We all let out a collective aww when a knock on the door flits everyone’s attention to a man in navy-blue scrubs who steps inside.
He’s as old as my dad, maybe, hair whitening at both sides, clipboard tucked under one arm.
“Ah, our famous runaway queen,” he says with a smile, trekking over to the table. “I’m Dr. Ochoa. Let’s see how Miss Wanda’s doing.”
Dex steps aside as the vet carefully lifts Wanda’s front paw, presses a stethoscope to her chest, and leans in to listen.
“Hmm. She’s having trouble breathing,” Dr. Ochoa confirms. “And still in labor.”
“They found her in an attic,” Dex tells him.
“Well, you two made the right decision bringing her in,” Dr. Ochoa says. “We’ll need to admit her for observation, get her on fluids and some pain meds if necessary. She’ll definitely need help delivering the rest.”
He lifts her hind leg gently and gives a small nod to himself. “She’s also showing signs of metritis, an infection of the uterus. Nothing we can’t treat, but it could explain her foul smell.”
Guess it wasn’t attic stench.
“We’ll start antibiotics once she’s stable,” he adds.
My stomach tightens. “She…she’ll be okay, right?”
“Wanda’s a tough cookie,” Dr. Ochoa assures. “And she’ll do much better now that she’s back here. Her kittens should stay, too. We’ll monitor their weight and make sure they’re nursing properly.”
I set the box of still-mewing kittens onto the exam table and run my fingers over their fur.
“And…if Wanda struggles or stops feeding them, we’ll step in with a bottle. We may need help fostering or supplementing.” Dr. Ochoa looks between us. “Who should I list as the primary contact?”
My mouth opens, then shuts. I’d love nothing more than to nurse these kittens, step in for Wanda until she’s stronger.
But I’m just a house sitter who, respectfully, can’t haul these fur babies into Ms. Palmer’s no-sand-rule home, not without proper consent.
Especially since she doesn’t even know I’m covering for Paxton.
“I’ll give you my number,” Knox says with a one-shoulder shrug, once again stepping in as our real-life hero of the day.
“Perfect.” Dr. Ochoa nods and hands him the clipboard where Knox scribbles down his number, the pen scratching in the quiet.
We linger long enough for a few final reassurances. Nothing urgent, but enough to remind us we’re leaving them all in good hands.
Before we head out, Knox and I say sweet goodbyes to Wanda and her kittens.
Neither of us says much. Maybe we’re both feeling more attachment than we care to admit.
Outside, the air has cooled, the late-night sky blooming as a full moon hangs low.
Side by side, we walk in silence, our footsteps light and unhurried against the pavement.
“You okay?” Knox asks quietly.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m…processing.”
He nods once, almost like he’s processing, too.
When we reach his Range Rover, he unlocks it with a quiet beep and, without a word, opens the passenger door.
I slide in, the leather seat cool compared to earlier, something fluttering low in my belly.
A moment later, Knox gets settled behind the wheel. But he doesn’t start the engine.
For a few heartbeats, we’re merely two strangers sitting in a pool of silence that, to me, feels oddly safe.
I glance out at the empty parking lot and try not to read too much into the ache brewing in my chest.
I should want to go home, right?
Crawl into bed. Try to make sense of why a man I barely know, someone I shouldn’t be drawn to, feels more like comfort than caution, especially considering my detox.
But here I am.
Wanting a long drive. Or to sit here in the dark, talking about anything but the cats I already miss and how this night somehow became way more than I expected.
And then, as if Knox heard something I was too damn chicken to say, he shifts in his seat, onyx eyes finding mine. “You hungry?”