Chapter 30
THIRTY
brIAR
“Shh,” I hear distantly. “She’s sleeping.”
“Not if you keep hissing like that.”
Thunk.
“Not if you keep dropping things like that.”
“Both of you, quiet down and come into the kitchen. I have some cookies that are fresh out of the oven.”
Footsteps recede as I take stock of where I am and what’s happening around me.
Brooks’s apartment.
Delicious scents in the air—that’s not a surprise, they’ve been filling my nose from the moment I walked in off the balcony.
River introduced herself, and I don’t know how I didn’t put the pieces together right away, what with her cooking and cleaning and having her own key, and Pascal’s security not stopping her from accessing the apartment, but it didn’t take long to relax to her presence.
She’s definitely related to Dolores—a total sweetheart and her food is fabulous, and her constant chattering as she buzzed around the space was both comforting and amusing.
Especially when she griped about Brooks never being in town to eat her cooking.
“Stock my freezer,” she said in a voice that sounded hilariously close to Brooks’s own. “I’ll just nuke it whenever I’m hungry. Nuke it!” She’d tossed up her hands. “Does he not know how hard it is to make the breadcrumbs crispy?”
“Probably not,” I told her when she paused, clearly waiting for my reply.
A disgusted sound as she vigorously wiped down the kitchen. “You’re certainly right.”
“So, what did you do?” I found myself asking into the quiet.
She scowled. “I created recipes that could be frozen.” A scowl. “Then nuked.”
My lips twitched, and though I tried to help, I found myself relegated to the couch and chattered at.
Which was…nice, even though she was talking about people I didn’t know, things I didn’t one hundred percent understand.
We did, however, bond over the excellent cleaning abilities of baking soda and lemon juice and the frustration that dust bunnies always seemed to appear immediately after sweeping the floor.
I tried to remember what happened after that, but it comes up fuzzy, and embarrassment heats my cheeks as I peel my eyes open.
Clearly I fell asleep in the middle of our conversation and missed…
A lot.
The living room is transformed.
A huge cat tower sits next to the fireplace and I can almost imagine the foster kittens climbing it so they can teeter across the mantle, bat at the television screen while a Grizzlies (or, cough, Eagles considering Jean-Michel, Rome, and King’s—and their women’s—loyalties) game plays in the background.
Beds are placed strategically around, along with carriers and little houses that provide space for the kittens to hide.
There are a couple of small water fountains, food dishes, and litter boxes cleverly disguised as side tables…
And a toy-plosion.
It’s like a pet store took over while I was sleeping.
Just without the kittens.
Frowning, a coil of disappointment sliding through me, I sit up and look around.
But not a single fluff ball is in sight.
“Oh, you’re up,” I hear and turn to see Chrissy, Rory, and River sitting in the kitchen, each with a steaming mug in front of them.
“You woke her up.” River scowls. “I told you two you should come back.”
“We made a dozen trips right by her over the last hour and she didn’t so much as move,” Rory says. “I think she’s fine.”
“I am.” I stand and stretch.
“Still,” Chrissy murmurs, coming over to me and giving me a quick hug. “We’re sorry we woke you. Rome is watching the baby and King is bringing the kittens over in just a bit, so we were on a bit of a time crunch.”
“They going to be here soon?”
Her face goes soft and I know it’s because the eagerness in my question is obvious.
But I can’t help it.
Kitties!
Despite seriously resenting working on the farm growing up, I got used to having animals around.
Years ago, Brooks had offered to fill our house with critters, the stables with horses, but at first, I just wanted to breathe.
Then when I started school and he was sweeping me off to spend time with him in fabulous locations on my days off, I knew I couldn’t give a pet the time they deserved, so I held off.
Now, though, I have nothing but time.
I’m stuck in this apartment with nothing to do. So why not cuddle some adorable little fluffer nuggets?
Well, I don’t actually have to stay. I could leave. Could go back to my life.
I’m just…I’m not quite ready to go yet.
A soft knock pulls me out of those depressing thoughts and a man I don’t recognize pops his head in through the front door, sending my pulse skittering.
“Hey, John,” Chrissy says, and I relax when it’s clear she knows him. “Everything okay?”
He nods then pushes the door open further, holding it for…
Kittens!
Their tiny meows reach my ears before I realize that another man is behind King, two additional carriers in hand. He’s tall, with salt and pepper hair, but he hefts the carriers with ease.
“Thorn!” Chrissy exclaims, hurrying over and taking one of the containers from him. “You didn’t have to help.”
He shrugs. “What else am I gonna do when I walk by and see the man struggling?”
I can think of a lot of things—namely, what most people would do.
Walk by and carry on with their day.
But he hadn’t, and that along with the careful way he brings the kennel over, sets it on the floor, tells me all I need to know about him.
He’s scowly and his tone borders on sharp. But he’s good.
“Can I get you guys anything?” River asks, coming over and all but shoving a mug of hot cocoa in my hand.
But her eyes aren’t on me.
They’re on Thorn.
Hmm.
“No, thanks. I need to head back to the office,” he murmurs.
But I don’t miss the way his eyes linger on River right back.
Double hmm.
“Really?” Chrissy says, obviously disappointed as she bends and opens the door to one of the carriers. “We were all going to stay for dinner—and no, that’s not a dinner you’re going to cook.” She smiles at River. “Rome and my dad are bringing food.”
Protest flashes across River’s face. “I couldn’t possibly—”
“Yes, you could,” Rory says, linking her arm through River’s.
“No—”
“Oh, honey. I—”
“Sweet mother of Christ!” Thorn shouts.
Right as the front door swings open again.