Chapter Twenty-Five
Brandee
W ho knew Brew was a cat whisperer?
We finally made our way back to the house, where Brew tied the boat off for the night. I slipped my arms into his shirt while he tugged his jeans on, and we carried the rest of our clothing and shoes and sprinted through the yard to the back door.
Now we’re standing here, breathless, and the tiny furballs—who have spent the last week ignoring, judging, and occasionally hissing at me—are losing their furry little minds over the mountain of a man standing barefoot in the kitchen.
“Oh. My. God,” I say flatly, standing in the doorway as Brew crouches. “What is even happening right now?”
He glances up, grinning. “They’re … saying hello?”
Snowflake is purring loud enough to vibrate the hardwood floor, her delicate white paws kneading the hem of Brew’s jeans like she’s making bread. Felix—the haughty overlord who hasn’t so much as blinked at me in days—is currently headbutting Brew’s shoulder and meowing for his attention.
“I’ve been here for over two weeks,” I remind them loudly. “I feed you. Give you treats. I scoop your litter. And this is the thanks I get?”
Brew, still kneeling, laughs as Snowflake attempts to climb into his lap, and Felix begins chewing on the shoelace of the sneaker he still has in his hand.
“They’re very friendly,” he says, like this is a completely normal and not a deeply betraying development.
“They’re not,” I say, pointing accusingly. “They just seem to like you. Which is rude, frankly.”
He shrugs. “I’ve always liked cats.”
“Apparently, the feeling is mutual.”
I cross my arms, watching this feline lovefest unfold with disbelief.
Snowflake is now sprawled across him while he scratches her belly, a rolling ball of snowy fluff. Her tail flicking in satisfaction.
“I think you’ve been claimed,” I mutter.
Brew looks up at me with mock seriousness. “Guess you’ll have to share me.”
“Tiny little traitor,” I mumble.
He gently strokes Snowflake behind the ears, and she lets out a moan of pleasure.
“Don’t listen to her,” he coos. “You’re perfect angels, aren’t you?”
“Oh my God, they’re turning you,” I groan.
He grins.
I disappear into the bathroom for a second, and when I return, Brew has moved to the couch, and the television is on. Snowflake is still in his lap, and Felix is curled beside him, purring softly.
“Join us,” he beckons me.
“You’re literally covered in cats,” I state the obvious.
He looks down. “There’s room for you,” he says with a smirk.
“Are you sure?”
He raises an eyebrow. “You’re not jealous of two little kitties, are you?”
“Maybe a little.”
I sit beside him carefully. So as not to disturb Felix.
Brew glances down at Felix, who has now gently placed his paw on Brew’s hand. “He seems very affectionate.”
“Don’t be fooled. He’s darkness wrapped in cuteness.”
Felix meows pointedly at me.
“Oh, you hush. You’ve had it out for me since day one.”
Snowflake stretches languidly across Brew’s lap and yawns.
“Maybe I’m just irresistible.”
I narrow my eyes. “Maybe.”
He laughs. “You’re welcome to curl up in my lap.”
“I might.” I glance down at the furry pile pinning him to the couch. “If I can get past the guard cat.”
He picks Snowflake up and sets her on the arm of the couch, and she lets out an unhappy meow.
“Come here,” he says, patting the spot she just vacated.
Something in his tone makes me glance at him.
We’re not joking now.
Not fully.
He smiles, slow and soft.
And I feel it—that warm little flutter in my chest that keeps showing up when he’s near.
Snowflake purrs louder.
Felix stretches.
I fold my bare legs beneath me and lay my head in his lap. He releases my hair from the tie and runs his fingers through it, causing my entire body to relax.
Although I have only known this man for a short time, the level of comfort I feel in this moment is as if we were old friends.
Old friends with intense chemistry.
We fall into a comfortable silence as a movie starts.
I sit up, grab a throw, and pull it over me as I snuggle against his bare chest. My body tingling with quiet energy.
My knees are pulled up, bare toes grazing the edge of the blanket, and Brew looks totally at home—his arm stretched across the back of the couch, fingers absently stroking the curve of Snowflake’s sleeping back like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“So,” I say, trying to sound casual, “when am I finally going to see your place?”
He glances at me, and there’s a flicker in his eyes—quick, subtle. If I’d blinked, I might’ve missed it.
“My place?” he repeats, drawing out the words like he’s buying time.
“Mmhmm.” I nudge his side. “You’ve been to Aunt Ida’s twice now. It’s only fair.”
He chuckles low in his chest. “It’s not that impressive.”
“I don’t need impressive,” I say with a shrug. “I just need four walls and a place to sit. Unless you live in a cave. Do you live in a cave, Brew?”
He laughs again, rubbing the back of his neck. “No cave. Just … it’s kind of a mess right now.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Messy how?”
“Messy like … a tornado hit it. I haven’t really had time to clean lately. Between work and the bar and the garage—it’s not exactly ready for company.”
“Are you hiding dead bodies in your basement?” I tease, echoing Erin’s earlier joke.
“Just two,” he deadpans.
I narrow my eyes.
He grins. “I promise, they deserved it.”
I don’t laugh, but I don’t push.
Even though part of me wants to. Because I am curious. And maybe a little suspicious.
Still, I let it go. Something about the way he said it—hushed and careful—made me feel like prying would be the wrong move. He’s not hiding a lot, but he is keeping something close to the vest. That’s fine because this is just a casual thing. He doesn’t owe me anything more.
“Well, I’ll just assume it’s a disaster zone until proven otherwise,” I say lightly. “You’ve been warned—I judge people by their decor choices.”
“You’ll be sorely disappointed,” he says. “No throw pillows. No curtains. Just a couch, a bed, and a coffee machine.”
“Sounds like your standard-model bachelor pad.”
“More like bachelor chaos.”
He starts gently rubbing my scalp, and I nearly melt right into his lap.
“You’re dangerously good at that,” I praise.
“I have many hidden talents,” he murmurs as his hand moves to my shoulder, deliciously kneading my muscles.
“Careful,” I say, eyes fluttering closed. “I might keep you around just for this.”
“I like this,” he says softly. “Just … being here. With you.”
I nod, my voice caught somewhere in my chest as I glance up at him. “Me too.”
He leans down and presses his lips to mine.
It’s not rushed. Not needy.
It’s a kiss that lingers.
His hand finds my waist, pulling me closer, and I shift until I’m half curled into him, fingers threading through the back of his hair.
His lips are warm and sweet, tasting like mint and maybe a hint of the wine we had earlier. And when he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, I can feel his breath against my skin.
“What are you doing to me?” he whispers.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Yes, you are.”
I smile against his mouth. “You mean this?” I say, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, his hands come up to cup the sides of my face, and he tilts my head as he takes over the kiss. His tongue wrestling with mine.
Because neither of us wants to say it. That somewhere between greasy fingers over a bag lunch, sunset boat rides, and cats falling in love with him, this fling has grown into something else.
When we finally come up for air, his arms wrap around me, and I sink against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
We sit like that for a while, tangled up in the quiet, the cats still asleep around us, the light glowing from the television neither of us is paying attention to.
And right now, in this moment, I don’t need to have it all figured out.
Right now, it’s enough that he’s here.
And maybe later—when he’s ready—he’ll let me see the rest of his world.