Page 27 of I'll Keep Her Safe

I find a box in the back of my truck and throw an old work shirt in there to make it soft, then Shawn scoops the kitten out of the hole and hands it over. I hold the little thing in front of my face, inspecting it, and it stares back with frightened eyes. It’s smaller than I expected, and very light, but I have no idea how old it is. A few months at the most, I’d guess.

“It’s okay,” I murmur to the small creature, settling it into the box in the front seat of my truck. I turn the key to run the air conditioning while I finish up for a few minutes, and return to find the kitten has fallen asleep in a ball. Knowing it’s comfortable and safe, I get a few more things done around the yard, then send the guys home early, before climbing into the truck. I was hoping to stay on later tonight to finish up that stone wall, but it’ll have to wait.

The kitten stirs when I buckle myself in, glancing up at me warily as I pull the truck into the street. It releases another helpless squeak, as if asking me where I’m taking it, and I sigh as I thread through the streets of Brooklyn, wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into. I can’t look after a kitten. I work long hours and I’m hardly ever home. I don’t know what I was thinking letting them talk me into this, but I can’t keep it. I’ll feed it and give it somewhere to sleep tonight, then, as much as it pains me, I’ll drop it into a shelter tomorrow. It’s for the best.

“Alright,” I tell the kitten as we pull the truck into a spot outside my house. “We’re going in here for one night, okay? No funny business.” I pull the box onto my lap and the cat looks up at me beseechingly. “You’re going to meet Poppy, and she’s wonderful, but this can’t last, so don’t fall in love with her.”

I’m no longer sure if I’m talking to myself or the cat.

With a grumble, I haul myself from the truck, cradling the box in my arms. Thankfully, the street is quiet, and the cat is too scared to make a move. We bustle in through the front door, greeted by the smell of something delicious cooking in the kitchen. The sound of Poppy humming wafts into the hall, and it occurs to me I haven’t got anything a cat might eat.

When I enter the kitchen, Poppy is bent at the waist, sliding something into the oven, her back to me. She’s wearing that damn red and blue apron again, and my gaze slides over her ass. Then I wrench it away as shame washes through me. What the fuck is wrong with me? Didn’t Ijustdecide I wouldn’t do that anymore?

But as Poppy moves around the kitchen, my eyes stray back to her, like an instinct that almost feels natural. It’s the apron. There’s something about it that feels so domestic that I want to pull her into my arms and murmur, “Honey, I’m home.” I’ve never been the sort of guy who believes a woman belongs in the kitchen, but I can’t deny the effect seeing her wearing that in here has on me. Maybe I should tell her that if she insists on cooking, she either needs to do it when I’m not home, or not wear that thing.

I’m sure that won’t be suspicious at all.

Poppy straightens and turns as I enter the kitchen, her pretty face lighting with a smile. “Hey. I’m making vegetable lasagna. I used some of the bell peppers you brought home. I hope that’s okay?”

I nod, setting the box with the kitten down on the counter as Poppy pulls the flour and sugar from the pantry. “And I was thinking for dessert, we could—” She stops abruptly when a loud cry comes from the box. “What the…” Setting the flour and sugar down, Poppy tiptoes across to peer into the box, her mouth opening in surprise. “Who is this?”

I bite back a smile at the way she refers to the kitten as awho, and not awhat. “This is the reason I had to send the crew home early today.”

“The poor thing,” she murmurs, reaching into the box without hesitation and scooping it into her arms. The kitten stiffens for a moment, then nuzzles into Poppy’s chest, purring.

Lucky thing.

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

I pull a beer from the fridge with a shrug. “How should I know?”

“Well, then, we need a gender neutral name.”

My brows tug together. I knew bringing that thing in here was a mistake. “We don’t need a name at all. We’re not keeping it.”

Poppy looks up at me with much the same expression the cat gave me in the truck. “We’re not?”

“We…” Jesus. What am I doing? There’s nowehere. “No. I’m at work all day.”

“But…”

“And you are too,” I point out.

“True.” Poppy gnaws her lip as she reluctantly sets the kitten back in the box, and I can’t help but feel like I’ve said the wrong thing. “Well, I’ll get it some food.”

I watch with interest as she sets about scrambling two eggs for the kitten. “Can kittens eat eggs?”

She cringes. “It’s not ideal, but it’s all we have. I’m sure she’ll love it.”

“She?” I echo with amusement.

Poppy shrugs, not looking at me as she plates up the eggs and sets the saucer on the floor. My shoulders sag a little. Ireallydon’t want a pet, but…

“I guess if you wanted to look after it, you could keep it.”

Poppy whirls around, her face alight. “Seriously?”

I nod, trying to be nonchalant. “But you work all day, Poppy, so I don’t see—”

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