“Don’t eat your hand,” CJ says, with a yawn. “I like your hand. Your hand does nice things to me. Maybe even in the middle of the night.”
I wrap my arm around her waist with a sigh, knowing the chances of getting my hands back on her later are diminishing with every passing minute. “Where to next?”
“The courtyard, I guess.” She starts up the stairs in front of me, granting me a killer view of
the hem of her dress swishing temptingly against the backs of her thighs. Lord have mercy . . .
“Have I mentioned how much I love this dress?”
She reaches the top of the stairs and turns to smile at me, her wild hair backlit by the orange glow of the lobby light. “No, you haven’t. But thank you.”
I shake my head, too struck by the beauty of that smile to reply. Damn, she’s pretty. And sweet. And so much fun to be with that I’m actually enjoying this stupid cat hunt. At least a little bit.
Though by the time we search the courtyard—crawling on our hands and knees to peek under every bit of decorative stonework large enough to hide Stevie—my pants are ruined, my bones are starting to ache, and I’m so tired all I want to do is curl up in the pink playhouse by the playground equipment and go to sleep.
“You checked the playhouse?” I ask, fighting to suppress yet another yawn.
“Yes. Twice.” CJ yawns eloquently before hitting a button on her phone with a sigh. “It’s almost two o’clock. If we don’t find him in the next few minutes, I want you to go back to the hotel, or your place, without me. Get some rest.”
“And what will you do?”
“I’ll stay here and look.” She shrugs, her hands lifting helplessly at her sides. “I mean, I can’t give up. He has to be somewhere. I know he didn’t leave the building. He wouldn’t do that, right? Even if someone held open the door to the outside world? He wouldn’t run off into the city, because if he did, I’d never find him, and he’d definitely get run over.”
With my heart aching for her, I pull her close, rocking her gently from side to side. “I’m staying. Until the bitter end. Until every soldier is brought in from the field of battle.”
She hums into my shirt, sagging against me. Then she lifts her head—sharp and sudden. “That’s it.” She steps out of my arms, turning to face the playground equipment. “The field of battle . . .”
I frown. “The slide?”
“The kids play knights and dragons out here all the time,” she says, moving toward the swing set. “And they’re always dropping their toys and their snacks. And Steve’s nose still works pretty well, considering the state the rest of him is in . . .” As she reaches the structure, she falls to her knees, scraping the wood chips away until she gets a clear view beneath the blue tunnel running from one section of the equipment to the other.
Her cry of victory is one of the sweetest sounds I’ve heard tonight. “There you are! Stevie, baby, come here. Oh, poor pumpkin, you must be so scared.”
When she stands, there’s a giant, fluffy Himalayan with wrinkled whiskers, a freckled nose, and soft blue eyes snuggled into her arms.
“Stephen King, good to see you again.” I lean down to get a better look at him in the dim glow of the motion-activated lights illuminating the yard. “You’re a handsome old gent, I’ll give you that.”
The cat meows, as if returning the compliment, and CJ giggles. “He is. I’m a sucker for a pretty face. And a sweet spirit.” She hugs him closer. “Come on, love, off to the vet for you. You can visit with Dr. Miller while we get the house cleaned up.”
By the time we get Steve into his cat carrier, gather his food, pack CJ’s bags for a week out of her apartment, and deliver the cat to the 24-hour vet, it’s three thirty in the morning.
A huge yawn escapes me as we stand outside the vet’s office.
She joins me in the yawn parade. “If it’s okay, I think I’ll go crash at the hotel until morning. Then, since I don’t have a place to stay for the week, I can look for an apartment rental or something tomorrow when I’m not fried.”
But there’s no need to return to the St. Regis. I have a better idea. “Come home with me. We could both use some sleep, and my bed is sinfully comfortable.”
“Are you sure?”
I scoff. “I’m not sending you to the St. Regis solo, and my place is closer. We aren’t done with our non-lesson of cuddling, my butterfly. Besides, we only have a few more nights of classes, and I want to make the most of my time with you. Although, of course, I want you to feel free to stay at my place even after the board meeting, until your apartment is fixed. I have more than enough space, and I’m happy to have you.”
She stiffens briefly in my arms, and I fear I’ve said the wrong thing.
“Right? Do you want to make the most of this?” I ask, tucking a finger under her chin and raising her face so she can meet my eyes.
A flicker of sadness colors her expression—maybe she hates being away from her home base as much as I do—but then it’s gone, replaced by a certainty. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
An Uber ride later, we drag our exhausted bodies into my place and take care of our pre-bed business. I’m the first to collapse onto my king-size mattress. She slides on a T-shirt that says When I think about books I touch my shelf, and the sight of it on her—a naughty little bookworm—makes me laugh. “So very you,” I say, and she curtsies and gets into bed with me.