Chapter 46
FORTY-SIX
JACKSON
Jackson could’ve killed the cat.
Not really, of course, but he was sure Whiskers had scared ten years off his life. Zoe had gone out in the middle of a storm, twisted her ankle, nearly gotten herself flattened by a falling branch… and for what? For a cat who’d been safe inside the whole damn time.
Now, there she was. Tail flicking, eyes bright, she strolled out from behind the counter, meowing as though nothing had happened at all.
She let out a curious meow, like she was asking, “What happened to you two?”
“Whiskers,” Zoe said, her voice a mixture of disbelief and relief. “Naughty kitty. Where were you? I called for you everywhere.”
The cat only blinked again, letting out a soft chirp that almost sounded like an apology.
She glanced over her shoulder at Jackson. “Here, put me down. I’m going to have words with my cat.”
Jackson lowered her carefully, making sure she landed steady on her good leg. She wobbled, balancing with her hand on his arm, and then hobbled forward a step.
“You come here, little missy,” Zoe scolded. “I want to make sure you’re okay.”
If Zoe wanted to examine Whiskers, the cat wasn’t having it. She let out another sharp meow and padded off toward the back of the shop, pausing after a few steps to look over her shoulder, as if checking whether they’d follow. Then she trotted farther, repeating the process.
Jackson slipped his arm around Zoe’s waist, steadying her as they moved. “Pretty sure she wants you to follow her.”
“I’m surprised she’s not bolting for her food bowl,” Zoe said under her breath, leaning into him as they shuffled slowly along.
Whiskers, clearly unimpressed by their pace, gave a pointed flick of her tail and hurried ahead again.
Zoe sighed, brushing wet hair from her face. “This is your fault, you know,” she called after her cat. “If you’d come when I called, none of this would’ve happened.”
Whiskers led them past the counters, through Zoe’s little workstation, and into the far back corner where crates and old storage boxes were neatly stacked. Jackson frowned. The cat paused there, tail swishing, then ducked behind the crates.
And that’s when they heard it.
A thin, high-pitched mewling, faint but insistent, carried over the quiet hum of the shop’s refrigerators.
“Oh my God. Do you hear that?” Zoe’s hand clutched Jackson’s arm, trembling.
The sound came again, pitiful, urgent. Tiny voices crying out.
Whiskers reappeared, with a cute surprise in her mouth. It was an impossibly small kitten. It tumbled awkwardly onto the ground, squeaking as it wriggled on the floor.
Whiskers left the kitten there and went back and retrieved a second kitten, repeating the process.
Zoe pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes wide and shining. “Oh my God! She’s had kittens. Two of them.”
A third kitten meowed in the back. “Make that three,” Jackson said, bending down to retrieve the third tiny kitten. Jackson couldn’t believe it when he saw the makeshift nest tucked into the shadows. It was a crumpled sweatshirt of his, the one he thought he’d lost weeks ago, and Zoe’s T-shirt.
“Did you know?” Jackson asked softly, glancing up at Zoe.
“No.” Her voice was hushed. “But she kept sneaking off. It’s all starting to make sense.”
One of the kittens let out a tiny squeak, batting blindly at the air. Another squirmed closer to Whiskers’s side, all black save for a splash of white on its chest. The third was mottled white and gray, with the smallest paws Jackson had ever seen.
“Look at them,” Zoe whispered. Awe colored her voice. “They’re so beautiful.”
“Do you want to leave them down here?” Jackson asked.
“No, help me take them upstairs?”
Jackson worked to scoop up the kittens, along with his sweatshirt and Zoe’s shirt, and placed them all in a wooden crate, Whiskers too. He carried it upstairs and then came back for Zoe, who had managed to hop up three steps before he could reach her.
“You’re determined to break your neck yet,” Jackson grumbled, scooping her up and carrying her the rest of the way.
Whiskers settled again, a low, thrumming purr vibrating through the crate as three tiny bodies burrowed against her.
The storm had eased to a steady murmur, rain beading along the windowpanes and ticking against the awning over the shop door.
Somewhere in the back room, the heater kicked on with a sigh.
After Zoe had changed into more comfortable clothes, Jackson draped a blanket around her shoulders and then tucked another around her legs, careful of her ankle.
He’d wrapped it in one of her soft dish towels and a flexible cold pack, the edges of the towel damp where the rain had caught it during the scramble inside.
She sank into the end of the couch, the living room dim except for the warm pool of light from the lamp by the curtains, where Whiskers dozed with her new family.
“Tea?” he asked softly, as if loud sounds might startle the world into spinning again.
Zoe nodded. “Whatever’s warm.”
He moved through her kitchen while thunder rolled farther and farther away, grateful for something simple to do with his hands.
When he glanced back, she was watching him over the blanket edge, eyes tracking the set of his shoulders, the raindrops still clinging to his hairline, as if reassuring herself he was really there.
When he came back, he wasn’t just holding the steaming mug. Between his fingers was a single bloom from the vase of Moonlight Kisses on her table, its pale petals catching the faint glow from the window.
He handed her the tea first, then the flower, bending to give her a soft kiss. “Seemed fitting,” he said quietly, nodding toward the window.
He watched Zoe follow his gaze to the window. Outside, the clouds had thinned to reveal a full, round moon, luminous against the dark sky—just like in the legend. The soft light poured through the rain-streaked window, brushing across the bloom in her hand.
She swallowed, her voice going soft. “You remembered,” she whispered.
Jackson smiled faintly, though his eyes stayed on the moon. “Hard to forget a story like that.”
For a long moment, the only sound was the soft patter of rain and the quiet hiss of the kettle cooling behind him.
“She knew what she was doing,” he finally said, glancing toward the crate. “Found a quiet place. Waited out the worst of it.”
He watched Zoe’s gaze slide to the crate. “It’s a miracle, isn’t it? The way joy pops up when you least expect it?”
He sank beside her. The couch dipped, their shoulders touching.
“You scared me,” he said softly.
“You scared me,” she returned, a small laugh catching on the words. “Driving onto the grass like that.”
His mouth tugged. “Couldn’t get to you fast enough.”
She set the mug on the low table, and his hand found the blanket’s edge, smoothing it over her knee. The steady motion seemed to ease the tight line of her shoulders. She turned, and he was already looking at her, lamplight catching in her eyes, the last of the storm still reflected there.
“Jackson,” she whispered.
He answered her with a kiss. She curled her fingers into the front of his shirt and opened to him, the blanket slipping, and for Jackson the world narrowed to the press of mouths, the steady cadence of rain, the kitten-soft sounds from the back room.
He pulled away only to rest his forehead against hers. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured.
“Then you better go slow,” Zoe replied.
That was all the permission he needed.