Page 69 of Relationship Goals

“What do we do once the cat is full? Do you let it roam around, or…?” Her voice trails off, and her throat bobs as she swallows, her face pinker than ever.

I don’t think I’ve ever been around someone who blushed so much.

“We could see what she does. Leave it up to her, let her lead the way.”

“Litter box?” she asks, looking away from me as she tosses the empty treat tube in a trash can under the sink.

“Want to hold her? I can get that set up.”

She nods, grinning at me, and the kitten lets out a half-hearted growl as Abigail picks her up, whispering nonsense at her. Eventually, the growl is replaced by a rumbling purr, and I dump fresh litter into one of the biodegradable boxes I keep on hand, smiling to myself.

“Look,” Abigail says in a hushed voice, and I do, stuffing the litterback in one of the cabinets, just in time to catch the tiny gray kitten kneading the towel she’s holding her in. “She’s happy.” Abigail’s eyes fill with tears, and a muscle tightens in my chest.

“Set her down in the box.”

“That’s all it takes?”

I shrug a shoulder. “Some cats are harder than others, but for the most part, yeah. They get it right away.”

“I’ve never had a cat,” she says. “We had dogs growing up. My mom liked the little white fluffy ones. Pomeranians, you know?” Carefully, she puts the sleepy cat in the litter, and the kitten mewls in aggravation before sniffing around, then digging furiously, and finally doing her business.

I breathe a sigh of relief, because either kittens get it right away or they don’t, and I’d much rather deal with the former.

Princess hops out of the litter box, still slightly damp, and Abigail scoops her back up. To my surprise, the feral baby gremlin is only too happy to let her, and that, more than my own feelings, seals what I’m going to do about Abigail Hunt.

I’m for damn sure not about to let her slip through my fingers.

I wash my hands in the sink as I mull it over, disinfecting the comb and other materials before putting everything back in its place. Nothing worse during a foster emergency than coming home to misplaced or missing supplies.

“Why don’t you see if she’ll settle on the couch with you and another treat?” I ask Abigail.

So I can figure out what to do about you.

The options are clear: I could tell her and ruin us before we’ve even started.

Or I keep the odd circumstances around the start of whatever the hell it is we have to myself.

Option two means I don’t risk losing her before we’ve even seen where it could go between us.

Option one means I have to make sure no one else tells her.

Who the hell would I tell, anyway? Gold won’t say shit, I trust him that much.

Besides, the odds that we make it work long enough to factor in me leaving LA are so low that it’s not even worth thinking about. And if we did make it…we could figure it out.

I set the equipment back where it goes, my mind made up in the small matter of minutes it takes to get everything cleaned up and put away.

I’m going to choose trying with Abigail Hunt.

Chapter Eighteen

Abigail

I don’t evenbother turning on the TV. For one, I don’t know where the remote is, and secondly, sometimes watching TV feels like work.

I can’t turn off the part of my brain that wants to analyze other actors and their character development choices. Sure, I could watch the news or a nature documentary, but I can’t be bothered when I have a sleepy kitten on my chest who needs to be socialized.

She deserves the attention, but frankly, cuddling up and petting a kitten while it eats treats from a tube sounds like an amazing night.

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