Chapter Six A Helping Paw
“Lady called. Cat up a tree. Sound familiar?” Sunderland stands next to me and glares.
“I have to go do the safety inspection for the pizza place and Fresh Market,” I say, hastily grabbing my clipboard and tablet. “And the church needs a maximum occupancy update because of the addition.”
Sunderland pulls the tablet from my hands with icy silence.
The message is clear. I have to go. And I already know who the cat belongs to. “I don’t want to go,” I admit, and that’s enough to shock Sunderland into losing his frosty anger.
“Why?”
“Because I like her and I don’t want to.” There. That’s simple. That’s easy to understand. He should let me alone now.
Instead, he sits. Which means I have to sit back down, too.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t think we’re right for each other.”
“Why not?”
“None of your business. Sir.”
“Don’t you do that, Gordon. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it mattered. You’re in your head in a different way. That’s something I watch out for.”
“My head is fine.” Too big. Too green. Too full of thick, ugly tusks that would gouge Andrea’s soft cheeks if I ever kissed her.
Last night, I almost kissed her. I even think she wanted me to. Which is stupid, because she doesn’t know what I really am.
“She break things off?”
“No.”
“Did you?”
“No. I just don’t plan to call her again.”
“Oh, God. Why? And don’t say because she’s a good cook and talented, and smart, and all of that. Those are reasons to wife a woman up!”
I couldn’t ever “wife up” a human. It’s dangerous on so many levels.
If my mother ever found out... Well, that’s the least of my problems. Andrea would get smushed if I rolled over in bed.
My tusks would jab her and ruin her beautiful skin.
“I’m not the marrying kind.” I stalk away.
“But I’ll get the cat.” Because if I don’t, you’ll keep talking.
“This is so stupid. And you’d better pray they send someone else,” I hiss at Chopin, who sits prettily, paws placed like little striped pillars on the very same branch he chose last time. He stares down at me and licks a paw.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think he likes this. Like it’s a game.
The game is Wreck Mama’s Life. Make her miss her vacation. Meet a great guy. Have two nice dates. When he bolts like she has the plague, do something so he has to come over and look at her in all of her humiliation. Again.
At least this time I’m not sobbing and panicked. I’m just pissed off at my brat of a cat and embarrassed.
“Hi.”
I jump. “Hi.” Gordon is right behind me, ladder in hand, grim lips set in a frown on his face.
“Cat?”
“Tree.” I point.
“Tuna?”
“Here.”
Oh, yes. This isn’t awkward at all. Chopin, you’re on dry kibble and no catnip for a week after this little stunt.
Gordon sets up the ladder and heads up with a sigh.
And, hand on my heart—that traitorous little furball jumps down from the branch, to the next highest, then the next, and ping-pongs all the way down with the grace of a ballerina. His last stop? Gordon’s arms, before he’s even at the top of the ladder.
“Oh. You little fluffy devil!” I hiss as I march over to retrieve my cat.
Gordon is staring at the cat in bewilderment as Chopin cuddles up to him. “That was easy.”
“For you!” I cry, laughing in exasperation. “He wouldn’t come to me for anything, not tuna, not kitty treats, not tears, threats, or bribes.”
Gordon’s face slowly creases into one of those half-smiles that makes him look way too sexy for his own good. “Huh.”
“He likes you.” I swallow hard. I liked him, too. Still do. A lot, especially when I see Chopin sitting in the crook of his arm, looking like a kitten in comparison to Gordon’s size, and Gordon’s smile widening, his finger gently stroking a soft line over Chopin’s forehead and down his spine.
“I’m surprised.”
“Why?”
“Never had pets. Just dinner,” Gordon mumbles, stroking Chopin while still trying to pass him back to me.
Chopin purrs like a baby buzzsaw, so I hold off on taking him.
“Chopin knows I like you, so he knows you’re safe.
And what do you mean, you never had a pet?
That’s no reason someone else’s pet won’t like you.
No one has a pet until they do, after all.
” I skip the part about dinner, but mentally add “lived on a farm or had a hunting family” to my meager list of things I know about Gordon Rockland.
Gordon finally pries Chopin off and hands him to me. “There you go.”
“Thank you.”
He collapses the ladder, but moves slowly. Reluctantly.
I suddenly wonder if he was spooked by how much he liked me, just like I was happily surprised by how much I liked him. He ran. I couldn’t. I lived at the location of our second date.
Maybe the big hero is a little bit of a ‘fraidy cat in non-life-threatening situations.
“Um.” I start, even though I don’t know where I’m going.
“What?” Gordon whips around and slams the ladder into the tree.
I smother a laugh with one hand as he, Mr. Solid, looks discombobulated and curses softly.
“Just wondering if you’re okay. You left awfully fast last night. Did the food make you sick?”
“No. No, it was so good,” Gordon praises, nodding hard, genuine warmth in his voice.
I like that. I love that warm richness in his tone.
Makes me wonder again what I did that caused him to bolt last night, after he seemed so happy. After I thought we were both so happy.
“I’m glad you liked it,” I murmur. “Thanks for listening to me play, too. I know I got carried away. That could drive a person nuts.”
“I loved it. I loved the food. I loved the music. I love... I have to go.” Gordon’s face turns to flint right in front of me, almost like an actual statue.
“It’s cool,” I say quickly. “I get it. I’m younger than you, and probably not coming off as super mature, what with being unable to manage my own summer vacation, losing my cat, and needing someone to babysit me and help me make friends.
” I give a wry smile, shaking my head. Nope.
This has not been the week to meet a guy.
Not a guy I’d ever hope to make something last with.
I’m at my worst, and all my life, it’s been drilled into me that I need to be the best in everything.
I clear my throat and shrug, “I’m also not sure I’m sticking around this town.
Why would anyone want to head to a third date with someone like that?
Can’t even get my cat in line—although to be honest, I have no idea how the heck he’s escaping! ”
“We should figure that out.” Gordon looks up into the tree, squinting into the sunlight, frowning as he rests the folded ladder against the trunk.
The “we” was nice, but I’m sure that isn’t any indicator of... anything. “I did take out the trash this morning, but I was absolutely sure I shut it after me. I checked three times.”
“Mm.” A grunt.
We stand together. Staring. Not speaking. Chopin is purring like he’s innocent.
It shocks me enough that I almost drop him when Gordon suddenly whirls me to face him, pulling me in front instead of standing side by side. “I can’t let you think bad things about yourself. I don’t like talking. Where I come from, talking was not welcome.”
There’s a pause, and I can’t help but reach up with my free hand, holding Chopin in the other arm, letting my fingers lightly rest on Gordon’s shoulder.
He looks so... agonized. As if talking physically pains him.
“You don’t have to speak,” I reassure, shaking my head, fingers stroking now. Soothing.
“You’re the first person I’ve liked talking to. Who makes me want to speak. And you are... you are too many good things for someone like me. I would not be a good date.” The words come out thick and gravelly, and Gordon winces away from my touch.
“But last night was the best date I ever had. I mean it. It was relaxed. And happy. I felt like... I felt wonderful because I thought you liked it, too. Right until you bolted out the door like someone had threatened you with commitment.”
“You do not want commitment. You want vacation flings.”
“That’s not true,” I roll my eyes at my own folly.
“I wanted to live the dream of a wild girls’ cruise with my besties and too much alcohol.
That’s not what I want in reality. In reality...
I want a guy who loves to listen to me play the piano, who thinks Filipino comfort food is God’s gift to his taste buds, and who doesn’t mind cat hair. ”
Gordon’s eyes get wider and wider with every word, and so does the shocked oval of his open mouth. “But... He should also be handsome. And have a lot of degrees. Or play an instrument. Or a sport.”
“Or save people’s lives. And be a good role model.
Also, there’s this guy I like who has amazingly large hands.
He’d be a killer pianist, if he’d give things a chance.
” I know I’m pushing—and I don’t even know why I’m pushing.
I guess I get the feeling this was over too fast, and neither of us wanted it to be.
There’s a difference between chasing someone who wanted to run and retrieving someone who was afraid to stay.
“I feel like this great guy might be afraid to give things a chance. Lots of different things.”
“He’s not afraid of that. He knows it will end badly. He will make a mess. The girl will be disappointed, sooner or later.”
“Why? Are you going to cheat on her?”
Gordon looks as though I personally defecated on his precious firetruck. “No! I would not leave. I would be honorable and faithful.”
“Then maybe let her— I mean, let me decide what disappoints me. Because I have to say, so far I’ve liked you better every time we’ve been together.”
“Even today?”
“Yep.”
Gordon frowns at me. His dark eyes pierce mine and pin me in place.
I feel like I should back away, or run, or apologize for analyzing this guy, for making it way too obvious that I want to see him again.
He probably just wants some space. Most guys like to spread things out.
A date. A text the next day. A date the next week. Lather, rinse, repeat.