28. Violet
VIOLET
I peer through my binoculars from the shrubs.
The house is dark and quiet.
I’m just about to move when I hear a sound.
I freeze, every muscle tensing, as the patio door softly slides open.
Drew steps out onto the deck, running a hand through his hair like something is bothering him.
I adjust the focus.
He's thinking.
I wonder if it's about me.
His eyes scan the darkness, landing on the shrubs.
For a second, I think he sees me.
My body stills.
A sharp thump breaks the quiet.
Drew jolts and looks around. “What the—?”
The sound of hissing and nails clawing wood fills my ears.
Did Mr. Pickles get out?
Is he attacking Drew?
“Oh, hell no.” Drew points at something.
I shift slightly to see—and nearly burst out laughing.
A tiny, gray and white kitten is puffed up on the edge of the deck, fur standing on end like it’s preparing for war.
And on the other side of the glass is Mr. Pickles. His claws drag down the glass door, yowling like his life depends on it.
“…Are you kidding me right now?” Drew mutters.
He takes a cautious step forward.
The kitten hisses louder, dramatic and offended.
“Okay,” Drew says slowly, holding his hands up. “I’m friendly. Really.”
He takes another step—
The kitten lunges forward, swiping at his ankle.
Drew jumps and yells. “Jesus—!” as he stumbles backward.
Unfortunately, he’s too close to the stairs. His foot misses the step, and he tumbles down.
I don't think.
I drop my binoculars and sprint from the shrubs.
I can’t let him get hurt.
“Oh my God. Are you okay?”
He looks up at me, stunned and confused.
But then his brows wrinkle. Suspicion lines his face.
“Violet…What are you doing here?”
Right. I shouldn’t be here.
And certainly not emerging from the bushes.
“I—” I gesture vaguely behind me. “I was out for a walk.”
It’s not entirely a lie. There was walking involved.
“At night?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
His eyes narrow. He does not believe me. Not even a little.
I should have run around the side of the house. Not emerged from the shrubs.
But it’s too late for that now.
Another hiss cuts through the moment.
We both turn.
The tiny kitten is on the top step, staring at us. Still puffed up and ready to fight everything in existence.
Mr. Pickles slams his paw against the glass again, furious that an intruder is on his deck.
I move past Drew, gingerly stepping onto the deck.
“It’s okay,” I murmur, hunkering down. “You’re okay.”
The kitten hisses louder.
“Wow,” Drew mutters from behind me. “It really doesn’t like you.”
“It’s scared,” I say calmly.
“So was I,” he murmurs.
I reach out a hand, slow and steady. “Hi.”
The cat hisses.
I scoop it up.
It struggles for a second... then stills.
“There you go,” I whisper. “You’re alright.”
Drew moves closer, crouching beside me. He looks stunned.
“You just picked it up,” he says.
“Yes.”
“It was hissing at you.”
“It was scared.”
He reaches out carefully.
The kitten flinches—then stills as he lightly strokes it.
He gives it a few more strokes before it relaxes, leaning into his hand. A soft purr fills the air.
Drew blinks. “I can’t believe it. I think... it likes me.”
A sharp scratch pulls our attention to the patio door.
Mr. Pickles is still there, glaring at us like we betrayed him.
He hisses at Drew.
Drew freezes. “Why is he mad at me?”
I watch Mr. Pickles, then turn my attention to Drew.
“He’s jealous.”
“…Of the kitten?”
“Yes... and you.”
“That’s insane.”
Mr. Pickles hisses louder.
Drew winces. “Okay, maybe not insane.”
He shakes his head, then looks at me. “Why isn’t Mr. Pickles hissing at you? You’re holding it.”
“Because I don’t live with him.”
“Holy hell,” Drew mutters. “I guess the judgmental bastard does like me.”
I laugh, scratching the kitten’s ears. The purring grows louder as it becomes boneless in my arms. Safe.
Drew watches me for a long moment.
“You were in the bushes.”
Ah. We’re back to that.
“I told you,” I reply calmly. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“And your solution was to walk past our house?”
“Yes.”
“And hide in the yard?”
“I wasn’t hiding.”
He stares at me. “You were absolutely hiding.”
I tilt my head slightly. “I prefer the term observing.”
He freezes for a couple of beats before exhaling a quiet laugh. “I should be concerned.”
I shrug, a small smile on my lips. “Probably.”
I meet his gaze, calm and certain.
“Why do I suddenly feel like I’m taking after my brother?”
“Maybe... you’re more alike than you think.”
He frowns, trying to work through that.
He reaches out, pulling a piece of the shrub from my red hair. His fingers linger for a second too long.
I don’t move.
Behind us, Mr. Pickles slams his paw against the glass again.
Drew turns and points at Mr. Pickles. “Stop that.”
“Poor thing,” I coo, still stroking its fur. “So skinny. You’re probably hungry.”
Drew watches us. “I can try to go inside to get some food.” His eyes dart nervously to Mr. Pickles.
“No, don’t do that.” I try to suppress the giggle. “He probably won’t let you back out.”
Drew nods, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I hate leaving it out here,” he says quietly. “Hungry... and alone.”
I meet his eyes.
I see it then. The longing.
He wants something to come home to.
Something that's his.
Aside from me, of course.
He just doesn't know it yet.
“I can take it,” I say. “Keep it at my house until you move in.”
Drew stares at me, mouth falling slightly open. “Y-You will?”
“Yeah.” I shrug like it’s no big deal.
Because it isn’t.
Callie won’t mind. She loves animals.
And it will only be temporary until Drew moves in.
For a few beats, I see hope in his eyes.
But then it’s gone, replaced by fear. “What if it belongs to someone?”
“I can take it to the animal shelter and have them scan for a chip. That way you’ll know before you get attached.”
He strokes the kitten’s fur again, a look of adoration on his face.
Mr. Pickles growls, then lets out an angry meow.
“Okay. But only if I can drive you and the kitten home.”
“Drew, I—”
“No arguing.”
I bite back a smile.
Fine. I’ll come back for the motorcycle later.
It would’ve been hard to ride it home with a kitten anyway.
He reaches into his plaid pajama bottoms and pulls out his car keys.
“Why do you have your keys?” I ask, playing dumb.
“I like to be prepared. I always grab them before I go out. In case I get locked out.”
I give him a soft smile.
That's my Drew. Always prepared.
Except for me.