Page 14 of When Ben Loved Jace
The cat chatters back at him, like they’re having a conversation. Then they both turn eyes on me.
“This is Ben,” Jace says, bringing the cat close, who is a little on the chunky side.
“He’s got your eyes,” I say, even though they’re a different shade of green. I reach out and try to pet him. Samson ducks to avoid my hand. That’s no good! I was hoping to score points.
“You only had dogs growing up?” Jace asks.
“Just the one, yeah.”
“Cats are a little different. Let him sniff your hand first.”
I hold it out again.
Samson sniffs intently before rubbing his whiskers against me.
“Nowyou have permission to pet him,” Jace says.
I do so, his fur soft as silk.
“He’s really cute!”
Jace smiles. “I’m glad you think so.”
Samson squirms until he’s set down. Then he begins weaving through our legs again while meowing. “Sorry,” Jace says to him. “My flight was delayed. Coming right up.”
He opens one of the cabinets, which is full of dishes, and takes out a plate. A different cabinet reveals canned food.
“All this is for him?” I ask. “The whole trailer?”
“Notallof it,” Jace says. “I live here too.”
I laugh, thinking it’s a joke.
Jace reacts with puzzlement.
“Really?” I jerk a thumb over my shoulder. “Whose house is that then?”
“Greg’s,” Jace says while he works.
“Oh. Does he have a wife and kids?”
Jace shakes his head and moves to the table. Samson jumps up on it and begins eating as soon as the plate touches down.
I still can’t let it go. “How many bedrooms does it have?”
“The house?” Jace squints. “Three, I think. Would you like something to drink? You didn’t get to enjoy much of that champagne. I have a few bottles”
“Sure,” I say, sitting on the couch.
I don’t get why he’d choose to live here instead of in a great big house with his best friend, but I have to admit that the trailer is charmingly quaint. Souvenirs dot many of the surfaces, all from his travels, I assume. I can see a bedroom at the opposite end, and a door that potentially leads to a bathroom. Most of the built-in shelf space is filled with books. Everything appears well organized, probably by necessity.
Jace rummages around in a pint-sized fridge. He returns to me with two small champagne bottles and a pair of empty jam jars.
“I don’t have champagne glasses,” he says apologetically.
“That’s okay. I’m not a fancy boy.”
To prove my point, I twist off one of the caps and drink straight from the bottle. He laughs and joins me on the couch before doing the same. “So what do you think of my place?”
