Page 33 of Just A Little Magic

“My place isn’t that big. I don’t have room for it.”

“If I want to see you outside again, I’ll need supplies for my house, or you’ll refuse to come over. I see exactly where this is headed. You get a bed. I get a bed. We all get a bed.”

I rolled my eyes as he did his Oprah impression in the aisle, but I couldn’t hide the chuckle at his antics. This was the Barrett I’d always loved. He was silly and funny and didn’t take himself so seriously that he couldn’t have fun. His boys were lucky ones because he was always down for the stuff they wanted to do.

PJs and a gaming marathon? Done.

Go for bike rides and trips to a playground? He was down for it.

Comic conventions and superheroes? He was all over it.

Diapers and bottles? Not so much.

“We need this one,” Barrett said while he stashed the fancy robot litter box option with the eye-popping price in the cart. When he grabbed a second one, I realized he needed an intervention.

“My guy, a plastic tray and a trash bag work well enough.”

“Well enough isn’t good enough. Not-Lucifer needs a five-star experience. She’s a hero. Nothing but the best is good enough for her.” He pointedly ignored my pout.

“We could compromise and get sifter bags.”

“Sifter bags? Surely you can’t be serious.”

“That’s crazy expensive for something the cat is gonna shit in.”

“Call it a homecoming present because it’s my gift to her.”

“I thought the new bed was your gift to her?”

“It’s a package gift.” And with that, Barrett bulldozed right over my objections and got his way.

It was hard to be mad at someone who wanted to spoil the cutest cat in all the world. And this was what we did. I pretended to say no, and he pretended to run roughshod over my objections. He knew me well enough to tell the difference between my real and feigned outrage.

When we got to the toy aisle, I put my foot down at more than three toys for each house. Barrett reluctantly accepted my edict, and I crowed in victory. I won that battle, but the war was still an open question.

“Babe, the cat needs a climbing tree thingy.”

“I don’t have room! It’s a cottage. Where am I going to put it? You can get one for your house.”

“Cats like places to hide and want to be able to go up high. Let’s at least look at them,” Barrett said as he tugged me closer to the display options.

It felt like heaven to have my hand in his. For a moment, I pretended that our overnight experiment meant something more than it had. I could still feel him in the deep ache of my body, and my foolish heart wished we’d gone for a second round.

If I thought for a minute he would be happy with me, I would make the leap. But he wouldn’t be, so I didn’t. He needed a different kind of boy. I’d never ask him to settle for what I had to offer because he deserved everything.

“Earth to Owen. Earth to Owen,” Barrett interrupted my internal whine fest.

“Sorry, I spaced out…get it?” I tried to distract him but crashed and burned inside.

“I refuse to acknowledge a joke that bad. Anyway, what about this one?”

Barrett deposited a cat tree in front of me. It looked like a twisted, garbled walking stick with branches still attached. The lowest level was a platform covered in wool sherpa, the next tier was a rope hammock, and the highest was a rounded yurt-looking space for her to hide in. The bottom level was sandpaper and sisal for scratching. It was streamlined enough to fit perfectly in the corner of my living room. Dammit, I hated when he was right.

“It’s okay, I guess.” Barrett’s knowing look had me rolling my eyes. “Fine, it’s slightly above okay.” Now, he stared at me. “Ugh. It’s good, all right? It’s good.”

“Great. Let’s get it. This is the smaller one, and I’ll get the bigger option for my house.”

At my huffed sigh, Barrett added with a grin, “Now we have to get her food, and we’ll be done.”

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