I still had to tell him about the baby. Our baby.
I waited while he finished cooking the meal and going over the extremely long list of things Mr. Meatball required. By the time he finished, I’d moved on to taking notes with my other hand and writing sloppily with my left.
“So I didn’t hear much when I was eavesdropping,” I said. “But what did you mean about this Patricia woman? Why did she give you her cat?”
Sebastian had been pushing the veggies around the pan, but he froze. His eyes lifted to meet mine but no other muscle on his body moved. “What else did you hear?”
“Not much. I just was wondering why you can’t put Mr. Meatball up for adoption or something. If you two don’t get along and he’s so hard to get caretakers for, I mean.”
Sebastian flipped off the burners and started plating the food, choosing not to answer for several long moments. “We have our difficulties, but I won’t send him to live somewhere they don’t care about him. It’s not his fault he had her as an owner.”
“Patricia?” I asked.
Sebastian’s jaw flexed. “I’m not going to talk about her. But yes. It’s not his fault she was his owner. So I take care of him the best I can. Maybe someday if one of his caretakers really strikes a bond, they can adopt him. But it’d have to be the right person.”
I considered him. “That’s thoughtful.”
“You sound surprised.”
“Because you don’t strike me as the thoughtful type. At least with people or animals. Or anything remotely resembling an organic life form...”
“I avoid attachments and relationships. It doesn’t mean I’m heartless.”
I raised an eyebrow. Was that defensiveness I detected? “Then why do you avoid using your heart if you have one?”
“There are more important things than relationships.” He set down the dish he’d been washing with a sudden clatter. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something in the conversation had soured his usually sunny disposition. He looked like a walking storm cloud now, ready to fire thunderbolts from his tight ass at a moment’s notice.
I’d expected Sebastian to sit and eat with me. Instead, he pushed a plate of chicken breast, broccoli, and rice my way. It looked way healthier than anything I would’ve chosen, but I had to admit it smelled delicious. As soon as I’d picked up a fork and knife, he’d left the kitchen and headed back upstairs.
The meal was tastier than it had any right to be. I left the broccoli alone until it was the last thing on my plate. Broccoli had done things to me as a child I still wasn’t ready to forgive it for, and I was planning to let it sit there and get old out of spite. But I was still hungry, and it did smell good. One probing nibble revealed it was actually not bad. Before I knew it, I’d basically inhaled everything.
If I could learn to enjoy broccoli, maybe I could learn to enjoy being around the broody, way-too-serious author grump who was apparently my new roommate. And the father of my unborn child, I thought, feeling some of my optimism leak out.
I lost a little more optimism when I caught sight of all the smeared ink on the inside of my palm. I cringed, checking the other one. Besides a few useless words, all the notes I’d taken on caring for Mr. Meatball looked like sidewalk chalk after a hurricane. Damn my tendency to sweat slightly more than average.
Well, then. I’d just need to rely on my impeccable memory. I got up from the stool and headed for the stairs. Where were the stairs again?
12
Kenzie
I woke early the following morning. Correction. I woke earlier than early. I woke up at four thirty in the freaking morning to go downstairs and preheat an oven for a cat. And no, I had never expected to cross that particular phrase off my Bingo card.
I’d totally been planning to blow off all Sebastian’s crazy requirements, but when I really thought about it, the least I could do was honor the arrangement. If he followed through on his end, I’d give “Mr. Meatball” everything exactly how he wanted it.
Well, almost exactly. I’d done my best, but my memory of all the specifics was a little hazy. I’d spent about ten seconds thinking about whether I should just ask Sebastian to repeat his little speech. With my luck though, I’d walk in on him completely nude this time.
I fiddled with the controls on the oven and set it for three hundred, then dug around for the cat food. Just when I lifted my head from beneath the sink, Mr. Meatball was landing loudly on the countertop. He regarded me, blinked, and waited.
“Alright, not-so-little guy. Just go easy on me. This is my first time, okay?”