Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Beckett
This woman is not a cat person.
It’s obvious from the cute furrow between her brows and the uneasiness swimming in her eyes. All I can do is hope she and Barbara will warm up to one another.
“Oh. Wow. She’s so. . .sweet,” Joey says, her pitch a little too high.
It takes all my strength not to laugh. “I promise you, she’s very nice.”
Barbara uses that moment to hiss at Joey again, sending the woman stumbling back a step.
With a grunt, I look down at my cat and then back at Joey. “Um. Maybe I’ll just—”
“No! No. It’s probably me. Cats are like horses, right? They can sense fear?”
“Are you afraid of cats?”
“No. Yes. Probably. I don’t know.” Joey throws her hands up, then lets them fall against her thighs with a slap. “My parents adopted a cat when I was a kid, and he was great and all. But—” She lets out a defeated sigh.
“But what?”
“He kept bringing dead birds. My parents swore they were gifts. That it meant he liked me, but it made me so sad,” she sputters.
My heart plummets. “Oh, don’t worry—”
“No.” She puts her hand up. “I’m dramatic and possibly over-emotional.
But that doesn’t mean I’m weak.” She nods once.
“I can handle this.” She mutters the last part, like she’s giving herself a mental pep talk.
She studies Barbara again, her lip caught between her teeth, then looks up at me. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
I press my lips together, suppressing the smile that’s mere seconds from emerging.
How is it that she’s both so ridiculous and so charming?
“I wouldn’t specifically use ‘crazy.’ I think ‘eccentric’ is more fitting.
” I keep my tone light and teasing, hoping like hell she doesn’t think I’m mocking her.
She crosses her arms and pops one hip out. “Now you’re just being nice.” Despite the stance and the narrowed eyes, a hint of a smirk plays at her plush lips.
Amusement rolls through me. “If it’s any comfort, Barbara has never brought me anything dead. Or alive, for that matter.” I set my cat on the ground, and she cautiously pads over to Joey, sniffs her colorful sock-covered feet, and walks away.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I ask, unable to hide my amusement.
Joey exhales a relieved breath, her shoulders relaxing. “I thought she was going to bite my toe off.”
Head cocked to one side, I grin. “I’m not sure cats do that.”
“I once read of a cat who ate its owner,” she blurts, her dark eyes wide.
“Yes, because that owner was found dead, and the cat had no other food source.” A smirk tugs at my lips. “I think any animal would do that.”
“Fine. You’re right,” she huffs, scuffling into the kitchen.
Feeling daring now that we’ve fallen into this banter, I follow her. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”
“No,” she says over her shoulder. “And if you’re asking because you’re concerned about my weird behavior, then I’ll break it to you now. This isn’t about hunger. Unfortunately, this is how I always am.”
Unfortunately?
My chest pinches. I happen to like her personality, though I’m not sure how she’d feel if I admitted that.
She hunches over a bag on the counter, riffling through it. “Figured I’d grab a snack and get ready for bed. I have to be up early tomorrow.”
I shuffle closer and peer into the bag. It’s filled with miscellaneous snack foods, including fruit snacks, pretzels, and crackers.
“You can’t just eat snacks.” I nod at the bag. “Let me make you something real quick.”
She stops her rummaging and peers up at me, lips parted. “You want to make me dinner?”
“You need to eat more than snack foods, Josephine.” I pull out a stool from the kitchen island and pat it. “Take a seat and tell me about yourself. Might as well get to know each other, since we’ll be roommates for the next ninety days.” I give her a playful wink.
With a quiet chuckle, she takes a seat. “That’s a very bartender-y thing to say. Let me guess, you tended bar through college?”
I bark out a laugh. “Oh god no. I’m too anxious for that. All those people? All that small talk? Plus alcohol? That’s my personal hell.”
Surprise flickers across her face. “Seriously? You’re a nurse. Don’t you have to be good with people and small talk?”
Forearms on the counter, I edge forward and catch her eye. “That’s different. I have a purpose. To help the patient. Not entertain them. I may come off as awkward or quiet or even unfriendly, but it’s because I have—”
“Social anxiety,” Joey finishes for me. “My sister does too, though it’s pretty mild. And to be honest, you don’t give off unfriendly vibes.”
Relief settles over me. I hated to think she’d see me as an aloof, unapproachable guy. In reality, I’m hung up on what she thinks of me. More often than not, my nerves render me speechless and my brain betrays me. Like the day our leashes got tangled on the sidewalk.
But maybe she sees past that. Maybe, for once, I’ve met a person who can look deeper.
After opening half the cabinets in the kitchen, I find a pan, then I pull the ingredients for grilled cheese from the fridge.
“Food allergies?” I ask. “Intolerances? Do you have an EpiPen?”
She presses her lips together, suppressing a smile. “Nope.”
My stomach sinks. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she’ll write me off like everyone else has. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing at all,” she replies cooly, fiddling with the sleeves of her soft gray cardigan.
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I don’t believe you.”
“That’s good, you shouldn’t.” She winks at me.
Instantly, my fears are erased. She’s not judging. She’s having a good time. As the tips of my ears heat, I spin away so she doesn’t see me blushing.
“Start from the beginning. Who is Joey?” I ask from the stove, glancing at her over my shoulder.
“I was born in 1994 to wonderful parents, Catherine and Jonathan Thorne—”
I turn around, propping a hip on the counter. “Okay, Miss Sarcasm. Not that far back. Fast forward to more recent lore.”
She lifts one shoulder. “You said start from the beginning.” Her voice drops a touch lower with a hint of seduction. “I was just doing what you told me to do.”
As soon as those words leave her lips, they have a clear effect on me. The spatula falls from my hand and clatters to the floor, my whole body heating with embarrassment. Shit.
Joey giggles with a mischievous glint in her eye.
Saying a silent prayer, I pick up the spatula and toss it into the sink.
Universe, please give me the strength to get through the next three months with this fiery woman unscathed and without a broken heart.
“In all seriousness,” she says, “I grew up in Hemlock. Moved away for college, got a couple of degrees. Since then, I’ve been traveling. I love the feeling of not being tied to one place.”
I raise my brows. “A couple degrees?”
“Yep. I have my bachelor’s and master’s, both in the arts—graduated top of the class. I even had those fancy little cord things. My advisor practically begged me to shoot for my PhD, but I needed a break.” She shrugs dismissively.
The woman acts like her accolades are no big deal. When in fact, all she’s done is incredibly impressive.
“Anywho,” she goes on, “I’ve always loved art. Creating, observing, studying. All aspects of it. I used to sketch constantly.”
She goes quiet then, so I peer over my shoulder.
She’s slumped against the counter, her lips turned down. “I’m not sure why I stopped,” she murmurs.
My chest aches for her, but I don’t have the first clue how to respond.
Is this why I’m drawn to her? Because at her core, she’s an artist? Because she’s my complete opposite? I could see it.
It’s refreshing, really.
I turn back to the pan and focus on the sandwich. “What do you do now?”
“I’m a brand designer. Since it’s mostly remote, it’s the perfect fit, really. I can still travel. But occasionally we’re required to come in for major projects. Hence why I’ll be here for the next few months.”
Swiftly, I grab a plate from the cabinet and slide the sandwich onto it. When I turn around to give it to her, she frowns.
“What?” I ask. “You don’t like grilled cheese?”
“It’s not that. It’s just…” She huffs a breath. “I eat mine with ketchup and I don’t think we have any.”
I shudder. “That is repulsive.”
Jaw dropping, she puts her hands up. “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Do you see me shitting on your life choices?”
I put my own hands up, matching her posture. “I’m not shitting on them. I’m only—”
“Judging them?” She lifts a single dark eyebrow.
I shake my head hard enough to make my neck pop. “Not judging. Just processing.”
With a chuckle, I make my way over to the fridge. When I pull out a bottle of ketchup and set it next to her plate, she looks up at me with wide eyes.
“I went to the grocery store while you were gone.”
“I’m sorry about that.” Joey buries her face in her hands, her shoulders rounding. “I shouldn’t have left you alone so abruptly. I just wasn’t expecting anyone else to be here, and it threw me.”
“There’s absolutely nothing to be sorry for.”
“I was rude.” Her hands muffle her voice.
Gently, I grasp her delicate wrists and pull them away from her face. “Don’t apologize,” I say, keeping my voice low and reassuring. “I would’ve bolted too if a strange man appeared in my house.”
She laughs, the sound like wind chimes on a breezy summer afternoon, and threads her fingers through her hair, making the long strands tumble perfectly over her shoulders. Then she looks down at where I’m still clasping one of her wrists, and her cheeks go pink.
With a sharp breath, I pull my hand away and drop it to my side. I can’t help but flex it, still soaking in the warmth of her smooth skin.
She takes a bite of her sandwich, and while she eats, I pull out another stool. As I sit, she gives me a perplexed look.
“What’s the matter? Is it bad?” I ask.
“No.” She swallows, then clears her throat. “I’m wondering why you aren’t eating.”
“Oh. I ate earlier.”