Page 11 of High Note

“Smart. And I love the old mailboxes.”

The brass plate and locking mail slots were original too.

“What’s your place like?” Kirsten asked.

“It’s a bus.”

When she stared, Skyla shrugged. “I go to my folks’s place when I need room to run, but I gave up on having an apartment or house for now. I was never there.”

“Oh, man. I guess I can see that. I’ve been in this apartment since I moved out here.”

Ten years, give or take. Mrs. Harris loved her, and she adored her landlady.

“Wow. That’s neat. Now I can’t wait to see it.” Skyla grinned. “I mean, you accumulate shit in ten years, and I’m nosy.”

“Well, brace yourself for the mess.” She was sure the kittens were wreaking havoc.

She prided herself on being cluttered but clean, and she knew her house didn’t stink like litter. The apartment was a two-bedroom, with art from hundreds of artists who had passed through town on the walls.

As soon as she flicked on the lights, Skyla was making happy noises. “Oh, look at all your fun art! This is amazing.” Sheimmediately began touring the front room. “Oh, honey. What a collection.”

It was fascinating to watch Skyla, to see her little place through someone else’s eyes. Someone interesting. Hot.

“Meow!” Wacky peered down at her from her lofted bedroom, her pretty little black face framing those emerald green eyes.

“Oh, hello, my love. Where have you been all my life?” Skyla asked. She grinned, holding up a hand.

Wacky stared, nose working, then leaped, and Skyla had fast hands because she caught that little bugger, who started purring right off.

“That’s Wacky. I also have Deenie—she’s the kittens’ mom—and then Marge and Homer and the kitten, Sally.”

“Oh my god. Look at that white mustache.” Skyla grinned at Sally.

“I had to keep her. She’s a calico like mama.”

“She’s amazing.” Skyla carried Wacky around, looking at more art. She hummed at a huge goddess canvas. “That’s stunning. Did you date the artist?”

“Can you tell?” It hadn’t been love, but it had been hot as hell.

“Yeah. She had a thing for you at least while she was working on this.” Skyla tilted her head, taking it in. “You weren’t as into her.”

Her cheeks heated dully. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Art always shows it.”

“She was a great girl. I liked the hell out of her.” She just hadn’t loved her.

“That’s cool. My last ex was a great drummer. Terrible at monogamy. We’re still friends.” Skyla let Wacky down when she wiggled and made a warning noise in the way of formerly snuggly cats.

“Have a seat. You want a Coke or a hot tea or something?”

“I would take some tea if we have time.”

“We totally do.” She’d texted the wine and painting place on the way to her apartment, and Mira had said she’d hold a place for them.

“Cool.”

“I have cinnamon, caramel apple, or Irish breakfast.”

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