My eyes burn.
“I’m so sorry.”
“This isn’t your fault,” he says in my ear.
We stay in that position until I hear the doors of my parents’ car close and the rumble of their engine as they drive away. Rey pulls away and smiles at me. “Now, where were we? Painting, right?”
“Right.”
We unload the paint and I get started in the living room while the rest of the crew moves on to the upstairs. But I can’t help but think about what they said. Their reaction was so visceral and immediate. What if I’m crazy? What if what I’m feeling for Rey is somehow wrong?
I can’t imagine that that’s true, but my stomach is twisted with nerves, and I don’t think they’re going away anytime soon.
13
Reynard
The days pass more quickly than I want them to, disappearing into a haze of renovations, sleep, and sex. After the crew goes home for the evening, Klara and I stay late working on the smaller details. Painting. Hanging pictures. Arranging lamps and making beds.
I also make an effort to catch her by surprise.
Late one night when we were both ready to leave, I caught her on the stairs and we couldn’t wait. All I could think about was that second day when I followed her around and kept watching her walk up and down the stairs in those fucking leggings that haunt my dreams.
I told her that too, in her ear, while I fucked her on those same stairs.
Some nights we’ve been too exhausted to do anything but fall into bed together. But that’s been amazing, too. Like it’s normal. Like we’re an ordinary couple, doing ordinary things .
Every morning I wake up with her in my arms and I grow surer that I want it to always be that way. And now there are three days until the deadline. The houses are almost done and we’re running out of time.
Klara is out on a run to get some finer decoration things. We need light bulbs and throw pillows and rugs and all the things that make a home look amazing but that you don’t really think about. And while she’s doing that, I have a plan.
We’ve saved her childhood home for last, so it’s still in rough shape. Which is going to work to my advantage. Or at least I think it will. I’m prepped with catnip, toys, food, and a carrier.
I didn’t lie to Klara—I don’t really care what her parents think about me. Who I am now is very different from who I was as a teenager, and I can’t change the past. But I also know that they probably won’t take kindly to a stray cat living in their house. And the cat seems nice enough.
“Hey cat,” I call softly as I step inside the door. “You in here?”
I bought cat treats, too. The kind that shake, and I dig them out of the bag. “Maybe you’ll like these.”
Shaking the container, I listen, and…nothing. But that’s okay. If he’s a stray, maybe he doesn’t know what this sound means. But I keep shaking the bottle and calling.
It takes a few minutes before I hear the soft scuffle of movement and see ears peek out from behind the doorway to the kitchen. “There you are.”
He stares at me, not moving.
“Come over here. I’m not going to hurt you. And I’ve got food! God knows what you’ve been eating.”
I sit down on the floor of the entry and open the packet of cat food and spread it on the little plate I brought. It takes him absolutely no time at all to come over and start chowing down. Fearless.
“Yeah, I figured you didn’t hate people.”
Reaching out, I pet his back and he doesn’t flinch at all. I have no idea where this cat has been, but he’s clearly used to people. “What do you say?” I ask. “What if we find you a home?”
Whenever I imagined having a pet, I always imagined having a dog. Not that I like one better than the other, a dog just seemed more fun. But I like this cat, and he reminds me of Klara. If this thing between us is ending in three days, I want something to hold on to.
Some people would say that that’s not a great reason to get a pet. On the contrary, I think it’s a great reason.
The cat finishes eating, and I grab the food. He seems perfectly content now and doesn’t complain at all when I pick him up and fold him under my arm. “Let’s get you checked out and see if you have an owner before I take you home, huh?”
Like he knows exactly what I said—I need to give him a name so he’s not just ‘cat’—he starts purring as I walk out the door and nearly crash headlong into Klara’s parents.