Page 19 of Hell's Kitten

I look up at Nim in horror. “I could have burned your apartment down,” I utter. “And the café. Holy fuck, I putall the cats in danger?—”

“Hey, hey,” Nim says quickly, closing the distance as I start to spiral. Before I know it, his arms are wrapped around me, hugging me tightly. I cling to him, trying to breathe properly. But tears are spilling from my eyes as I imagine how much of a disaster I could have caused.

How many lives I could have destroyed.

“I’ll leave,” I choke out. “I’ll pack my stuff right now and?—”

“Jessie,stop,”Nim barks. He moves to hold my shoulders and looks into my eyes. I hiccup, but miraculously, I do stop crying like he said. “It was an accident. Nothing bad happened.”

“It could have,” I insisted.

He shrugs and steps back. I miss his touch immediately. “But it didn’t.”

I swallow and rub the back of my neck. “Right,” I say slowly. Gradually, my heartbeat starts to slow down. However, now I’m feeling completely awkward as we just stand there and look at each other, various cats twining around our legs. “Um, so, you liked the lasagna?”

He grunts, that ghost of a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth again. “Yeah. Thanks. It was…yeah. Thanks.”

I know words are not his forte, so I take what he says at face value that he really did enjoy it. “You’re welcome. Do you think…do you mind if I have some? I haven’t eaten today, and I didn’t want to just steal your food for myself, but I thought it might be nice to make dinner for the both of us, but then I fell asleep and…”

“Course,” he says with a frown, stepping over to the fridge and removing the dish so he can cut another square out and put it in a glass bowl with a lid. “You want it hot?”

I move across the kitchen and lean against a counter. “Yes, please. Thank you.”

He shoves it into the microwave and jabs at the buttons, leaving us with a background hum as it starts to cook.

“Uhh…” I say, anxious to break the tension between us. “I’m sorry I fell asleep and almost burned your home down. I know you told me to stop apologizing, but I feel like this is a pretty good exception. Also, I could have sworn I passed out on the couch, so, um…do you know anything about that?”

He shrugs and looks at the microwave for a few moments, making me think he’s going to tell me I sleepwalked up the stairs, or not even answer at all.

“You needed proper sleep,” he mumbles.

I continue to frown. “But how did I?—”

“Carried you,” he cuts me off.

For a second, I just stare. It’s his turn for his face to turn pink. “You…carried me up the stairs without waking me up?” I ask.

“You were really tired,” he says without meeting my eyes, like that explains everything.

I’m so stunned I don’t know what to say. This man, who I met literally hours ago, was so worried about me that he carried me like some sort of superhero upstairs and tucked me into bed?

A lump rises in my throat, and my eyes sting. I blink furiously, refusing to cry. It’s difficult because I’m feeling so many emotions all at once. Mostly, I just feel sotreasured.Like I matter. Don’t get me wrong. My mom loves me to the moon and back. I’ve never doubted that. But she’s been through so much over the past five years it didn’t leave her which much energy to give me a whole lot of attention. And anyway, the kind of affection I’ve been craving really wasn’t the maternal kind.

I’ve been dreaming of a man who thinks the world of me. Who will anticipate my needs and—just every once in a while—do something sweet.

I’ve known Nim for half a day and he’s made me feel like some sort of Disney princess.

Mercifully, the timer beeps on the microwave, pulling us from the pregnant pause that had fallen over the room. I shake myself and smile, catching Nim’s eye again. “Wow, that does smell good, if I do say so myself.”

He grunts with that little smile again. “Tastes even better,” he says, making me glow with pride.

He scoops the generous, steaming portion onto a plate, and sets it on a tray. But then he gets a bowl and tips some salad into it from a bag. He fetches some ranch dressing from the fridge, and holds it up, raising his eyebrows at me.

“Oh, yes, please,” I say, watching as he pours some over the green leaves. Then he butters a roll. “Is all that for me?” I ask hesitantly.

“You said you haven’t eaten all day,” he answers with a scowl.

I bite my lip. “Yes, but it’s your food. I don’t want to be greedy.”

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