“Sorry you had to see that, Whiskers.” I pat her head. “And I’m afraid I’ve set a bad example. You shouldn’t lie, okay?”
Whiskers licks my hand with her sandpapery tongue, as if to communicate she understands my—admittedly hypocritical—life lesson. She has the most beseeching golden-hued eyes, and as she gazes into mine, I feel a certain kinship with the sweet little thing.
“Whiskers is the last one in her litter to be adopted.” The girl who brought our coffee earlier pauses to give the kitten a pitying look. “A couple took her home a few weeks ago, but they brought her back after only one day.”
“Oh, how sad.” I cuddle Whiskers closer. “How come?”
“They said she wasn’t any good at normal cat stuff. She tried to befriend a mouse instead of catching it and wouldn’t use the litter box. Oh, and weirdly, they said she’d jump off the furniture but never land on her feet.” The girl shrugs and turns away to buss a nearby table.
“Huh.” I pet Whiskers’s tricolored coat, loving the soft feel of it beneath my fingertips. “That’s really not so strange,” I say, hoping to comfort her. “And I don’t blame you for not using a litter box. It’s kind of unsanitary when you think about it.”
Whiskers purrs peacefully, snuggling against me. And even though my date is over, and I should be leaving, I don’t budge.
Instead, I pull out my phone and dial Brynn.
She answers before the second ring. “Tell me everything!” she squeals. “Was it love at first sight?”
I glance down at Whiskers and smile. “Yeah, I think it was.”
CHAPTERSIX
“Oh, my goodness, they’re adorable!” Brynn’s friend, Harper Montgomery, gushes as I show her photos of Wilson and Whiskers on my phone.
We’re stuffing ourselves with savory crepes and smoked salmon canapés at this eccentric Brunch & Bingo place Brynn loves, which is a surprising combination of elaborately upscale with a dash of down-home diner. She invited Harper, her best friend in New York, to meet us there. I have to admit, when I first laid eyes on the gorgeous and glamorous PR manager, I experienced an unpleasant mix of apprehension, insecurity, and a smidge of envy. The woman practically screams effortlessly cool, from her copper-colored hair cut in an asymmetrical bob to her leopard-print jumper paired with black leather Christian Louboutin ankle boots. Plus, she gets to be Brynn’s best friend on a regular basis, in the flesh, whereas I’m merely passing through town. But those are my own issues. Objectively, Harper is great. And I like her even more as she oohs and aahs over each new photo of the humorously large dog and tiny kitten duo, who instantly bonded when I brought Whiskers home last night.
“They really are,” Brynn agrees, slurping her Strawberry Sunrise Spritzer through a twisty straw.
We pause the conversation when the bingo caller announces the next number, and we each place a chip on our scorecards.
“When Quincy told me about Whiskers,” Brynn continues, “it felt like kismet. I’ve been meaning to get a friend for Wilson, and he absolutely adores her. He even gives her piggyback rides around the apartment. It’s the cutest thing.”
“What does Ethan think?” Harper asks, placing another chip on her scorecard.
“Does this answer your question?” I swipe to the photo of Ethan sitting cross-legged on the floor. Wilson had managed to squeeze himself onto Ethan’s lap while Whiskers is perched on Ethan’s shoulder, both paws on either side of his face like she’s trying to give him a hug.
“Wow.” Harper whistles. “I didn’t think the man could get any sexier, but pair him with a big fluffy dog and adorable kitten and… wow. Can you send me that?” She points to the photo on my phone.
Her request catches me off guard, and I’m not sure how to respond. Is Harper into Ethan? The thought rattles me more than I care to admit.
“Ew, ew, ew.” Brynn covers her ears. “Please stop talking about how sexy my brother is.”
“Well, it’s your fault for sending me a Christmas card last year. As soon as I saw him in that dorky Rudolph sweater, I knew we were soulmates. And if you’d stop hiding him from me, we could finally start our lives together.” She pouts playfully, and I breathe a little easier knowing they haven’t actually met. Although, I don’t know why I care. Harper seems perfect. Shouldn’t I want Ethan to find love with someone as fabulous as Harper?
“My mistake for thinking Aunt Myrtle’s hand-knit monstrosity would be adequate repellent,” Brynn says with a laugh, then adds in a more serious tone, “I just don’t want to think about my brother dating one of my friends. When we go to Sunday brunch and you dish about your romantic first kiss, I don’t want to visualize him smooching you.”
She shudders at the thought, and suddenly my once-delicious raspberry Danish now tastes like cardboard. I had no idea Brynn felt that way. And again, I have no idea why I care. It isn’t as if I have any interest in dating him.
“Fair enough, but don’t think I’m giving up hope.” Harper takes a bite of a blueberry scone and tosses Brynn a teasing wink. Yet, beneath the easy smiles and playful banter, I sense there’s some sincerity in her words.
I quickly change the subject. “How did you and Brynn meet?”
“Oh, that’s a funny story!” Harper says brightly. “I handle PR for a few celebrities, and one of my clients got into a bit of a financial scandal.”
“A bit?” Brynn cries. “It was all over the news!”
“True, but it wasn’t her fault. Her money manager did her dirty.”
“So, you hired Brynn’s firm to clean things up?” I ask.