Page 61 of Love is an Open Book
“She’s probably starving,” Mia says.
“Or feral.”
She laughs, which earns her a glare from Mama Cat. We’ve yet to name the kittens, but I have a feeling the mom’s nicknamewill stick. Letting go of my hand, Mia eases herself up off the floor.
I’m distracted by the way the fabric of her shorts clings to her legs as she stands but then it dawns on me that she’s standing so slowly because she’s sore, and I scramble up to offer a hand. “Where are we going?”
“To get supplies.” She grins mischievously. “Looks like we’re pet parents.”
By the time we buy supplies and swing by Mia’s house for her laptop, it’s lunchtime, and I promised the crew I’d be back on-site in the afternoon. We check in on the cats and set up their room, then I make us sandwiches while she spreads out her stuff at the kitchen island. My phone lights up with a text and I dart a nervous glance her way when I see who it is, but she’s busy setting her stuff up.
Joe:Sera told me her cousin is single and coming to the baby shower. Interested?
Gavin:Baby showers aren’t for hookups.
Joe:You don’t do hookups. I’m just talking about a conversation. Sera could give her your number.
Gavin:You’re doing this on purpose.
Joe:Obviously. Have you talked to Mia yet?
“Who are you texting?” Mia asks, and I slam my finger on the screen shutoff button.
“Just Joe.” I wish I could tell him what’s really going on, and that I don’t need the nudge. But whatisgoing on?
“What did you tell him after he called during our date?” Mia’s flipping through a book on cat care that she insisted on picking up, showing every indication of being distracted, but I know better. “I thought he might sense something fishy, but Sera never brought it up.”
Probably because Joe didn’t want to tell his wife he suspects his best friend of being in love with her best friend. “He didn’t guess it was you.”
But he wanted me to ask you out, I don’t add. Too early to talk about what we’ll tell our friends, even though I’m ready to be honest with her and them and everyone about how I feel about her.
She seems to accept this, or maybe is too preoccupied to push the issue, and opens her laptop. I finish making lunch and set a plate next to her, but she’s typing, fully absorbed in her work, and doesn’t notice. I can’t help pausing to admire her. Her posture is relaxed, but her brow is furrowed, lips moving, like she’s thinking aloud, under her breath.
“You’re low-key a genius.” The thought makes its way into words. “You know that, right?”
She looks up and blinks at me from behind her glasses. “For suggesting we stop at a bookstore before the pet shop?”
I shake my head. “No, that was a waste of time,” I say, just to get a rise out of her, and she scowls adorably. She wanted to get pet care books, but I lobbied for looking things up on the internet. The stack of books by her laptop shows who won that argument. I bought the latest in an espionage thriller series I love, so I guess we both got a win.
“But you create stories for a living. Actual books. More than one. More than ten. That’s wild, Mia. Sometimes I forget for a minute how amazing you are. And then you’re sitting here in my kitchen and I’m like, damn. What did I do to deserve this woman in my life?”
“You make things grow, for one thing.” She smiles over at me. “Not that you have to do anything to earn my friendship,” she says, and part of me latches on to that word and fantasizes about hurling it out the window, but she’s still talking, and I refocus. “You plant living things and nurture them. You might think it’s easy, or simple or whatever, but I know better. I’ve single-handedly been responsible for the demise of enough plants that they probably pass down myths about me to their grandchildren. I’m an urban legend to them, whereas you’re like the plant god.”
I can’t help laughing. “I dunno. I’ve pruned enough branches to be a vengeful deity. And what about Frank? You’ve helped him grow.”
“Frank’s an anomaly. But I’m glad he’s still around. Glad I met you that night.” Her grin turns mischievous. “Even if it was the start of your descent into a life of crime.”
“Rescuing your book was worth it.”
“Just a manuscript.”
“Back then. Now it’s going to be a novelanda show.”
“Maybe. Hollywood is never a sure thing, and I still have to finish the thing.” She turns back to her laptop, and I take that as my cue to finish tending to the cats. Setting up a litter box and dealing with the disgusting slop of canned cat food wasn’t in my plans, today or ever, but watching the mama cat take small, precise bites of food while her kittens are curled up in the fleecy bed is kind of worth it.
When I return to the kitchen, Mia doesn’t look up. The sandwich is untouched, but I know she’ll be grateful for it later. Not wanting to disturb her focus, I let myself out. For the first time since I moved in, I won’t be coming home to an empty house, and the fact that it’s Mia who I’ll be coming home to makes it all the sweeter. It also makes my decision to stay or take over for my dad even more complicated.
Nineteen
