Page 23 of This

Mouth gaping, I look around. What was a stark white, minimally furnished room is now anything but. The walls are a soft blue to purple gradient, candles and café string lights blanket the room in a glow, and a fluffy down comforter covered with decorative pillows finishes off the transformation. It’s like a personal sanctuary I never want to leave.

“You did all this for me?”

She shrugs with one shoulder, feigning innocence. “It’s amazing what you can come up with on Pinterest.”

If she ever meets Keaton, they will be an unstoppable force.

“Thank you,” I say, still in awe. “This is incredible, Aria.”

“I’m just so glad to finally have someone else around. Steve spends most of his time either up in his tower or napping on the sofa.” She pokes her head out the door and looks up and down the catwalk. “Little Stevie?”

Little Stevie, aka Steve, is a massive, long-haired tabby with a perpetual scowl locked on its face. He tried to bite Marco several times during our short visit. Aria claimed he was acting out because the vet had recommended he go on a diet. Also, at one point, she mentioned something about him not wanting to interact with new people until Venus is out of retrograde. People are weird with their cats. The way she talks about him sometimes, you’d think he was a human sharing a living space with her.

Aria never finds the cat. She helps me carry my boxes up and leaves for a pottery class before he comes traipsing into my room. He stretches out on my bed, king of his castle. I never had any pets growing up. My mother was burdened with taking care of me. Why add to it?

I unpack, exchanging glares with him until he falls asleep. Over the next few days, it becomes a ritual. The cat appears on my bed, acts like a jerk, naps, and then disappears.

Other than him, I am in the apartment alone most of the time. At least, that’s what I think.

It takes five days for me to learn that has never been the case.

When Venus leaves retrograde.

Aria warned me she wouldn’tbe around much the first few weeks, and she wasn’t kidding. I only see her in passing when I come home from work and never for more than a few minutes at a time.

During the day, she works at a tech company focused on security something and other buzz words. At night, she fills in at a community college, teaching an English as a Second Language class until the instructor returns from maternity leave.

On Saturday morning, the metal door bangs at the normal time as she leaves for work. It’s tempting to stay in bed, but I want to spend my day off exploring the city. See something other than car bumpers and school kids on field trips. The life of a museum tour guide is not an exciting one.

I take advantage of not needing to rush through a morning routine, enjoying a long shower. Little Stevie perches on the dresser, staring me down while I get dressed. My presence in the apartment during the day clearly offends him deeply.

“Deal with it.”

I touch his nose, and he swats at me before jumping down. I follow him out, shutting the door to keep him from lying on my bed all day. When my eyes scan the living room and kitchen below, I freeze. The guy in sweatpants and no shirt at the stove glances over his shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, going back to cooking. “I forgot to ask Aria if you eat dairy, so I’m putting soy milk in the pancakes.”

I stand there, unsure of what to do. The way he talks, I should know why he’s in my kitchen, making me breakfast, and I refuse to repeat the psycho-stalker mistake.

“Shit, I used eggs.” He rubs a hand over his shaved head and turns around. “You aren’t a vegan, are you?”

Face on, I recognize him and relax a little. Pictures of him cover the refrigerator, arms tight around Aria, kissing her temple, smiling like Liam when he looks at Keaton.

I shake my head, descending the stairs, and he blows out a relieved breath, spinning back around.

“That would have been a terrible first impression,” he says. “Then again, I probably ruined my chances at a good one by refusing to meet you until Venus finished fucking with my life. Ari says I’m a temperamental artist, but I think it’s just a nice way of stating I’m a douche.”

Steve.

The Steve who naps on the couch and spends his time in his tower and isnotan overweight and moody feline but very much a human. Thank God I didn’t attack him with the TV remote or something equally embarrassing.

He checks over his shoulder and grins, seeing me in the living room. “It’s weird, having someone else here during the day. Usually, it’s just me and Stephen.”

“Little Stevie?” I ask. I need confirmation there isn’t another dude chilling around the apartment I’m completely oblivious to.

“Yeah, Stephen is his given name—Stephen Cornelius Matterhorn.”

People and their cats.

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