Page 11 of Dating the DILF
“Hurry up, Charlotte, your grandma is expecting us for dinner.”
Mom sounds grumpy, but she has been ever since we got on the bus. My face feels warm when I remember what she looked like as she searched her purse for change for our fares. Everybody was looking at us and I didn’t like it.
“Mom, I’m tired.” I stop for a moment to catch my breath. My legs are little, and I can’t keep up with her.
“Charlotte.” She finally stops and turns to look at me, but when she does it just makes me scared. She looks angry, so I do the only thing I can and let a scowl settle on my face, so she doesn’t see how scared I am of her.
She walks up to me, angrily snatching my hand and pulling me to walk alongside her.
“Walk, Charlotte. Now.” We take a few steps and then she looks down at me, catching my eye. “We’ve had such a nice day, why do you have to ruin it?” She shakes her head and looks away. “Why do you always ruin everything?”
The crisp white wine slides down my throat, the almost imperceptible sweetness stimulating my taste buds, and I have to stop myself from gulping down the entire glass.
Sliding my glass onto the coffee table, I groan when I notice the ring of condensation left by the cold glass. I really should be using a wine glass like a grown-up, not a tumbler. But then I also should probably be drinking wine from a bottle, not a box, so what are you going to do? Curling up on the sofa, I drag my eyes back to the document on my tablet, trying to concentrate, but it doesn’t take long before I realize that I have no hope of accomplishing anything tonight. Mom’s phone call has left me too distracted.
Shutting my tablet down and gathering up the files I brought home, I move to the front foyer and place it all by the front door, promising myself I’ll go into the office early tomorrow to make up for it.
I’m about to head upstairs for a long hot shower, followed by Netflix to lull me to a hopefully dreamless—although if the past month is any indication, the mysterious Miles will no doubt appear—sleep, when a noise catches my attention. Pausing by the stairs, one hand already holding on to the banister, I take a moment to listen and it’s not long before I hear it again. A soft mewl that seems to be coming from my front porch.
Opening the door, I turn on the porch light and I immediately spot what is making the pitiful sound. A tiny gray kitten is curled up on the top step, shivering despite the warm air.
A tightening in my chest has me moving forward.
“Hey, boy. Come here, sweet boy.” I make some kissy noises and I probably look completely ridiculous to anyone walking past right now, as I try to keep my movements as nonthreatening as possible so as not to scare the cat away.
I needn’t worry though. The kitten looks at me with the saddest eyes and doesn’t move. When I reach the tiny creature, I kneel down and scoop him up, softly cooing, and pull him to my chest.
Now that I have my hands on him, I can see exactly how small he is, and I realize he can’t be more than a few weeks old. I look for a collar with a tag but find nothing. It’s then that I notice he has a deep cut at the tip of one of his ears and the fur around it is matted with blood.
“Oh, sweet boy, c’mon, I’ve got you.” I walk back inside, grabbing up my phone off the console table and google the nearest vet.
McConnell Street Veterinary Clinic. I glance at the time and see that I only have thirty minutes until it closes, and so I quickly run upstairs and grab a blanket to wrap the kitten up in. Then, making sure I have my purse and phone, I settle him in the front passenger seat of my car.
I’m not even sure if this clinic takes walk-in appointments, but what sort of vet would turn away an injured pussy?
Ten minutes later, I am pulling into the parking lot of the large clinic, one hand on the steering wheel and the other softly petting the kitten, listening to his contented mewls.
The clinic is still brightly lit, and I can see people moving around inside which sends a flood of relief through me. Gathering the fluffy bundle in my arms, I make my way inside and head straight for the reception desk.
A petite redhead with kind eyes and a name tag that readsKYLA, greets me warmly. “Good evening, how can I help you tonight?”
“Hi, I’m sorry I don’t have an appointment,” I start, apologetically. “But I found this little guy on my porch a little while ago and he has a pretty nasty cut on his ear. I know you’re closing soon but I was wondering if the vet could take a look at him?”
Her brows furrow and concern is written all over her face. She leans over the desk, peering at his little face. “Of course, he can, follow me.”
Kyla walks us over to a small examination room that is empty and motions for me to go in.
“Take a seat. Dr. Kent is with a patient at the moment, but I’ll send him in as soon as he’s finished. It shouldn’t be too long.” She smiles warmly at me and hands me a clipboard with some forms. “If you wouldn’t mind completing these while you’re waiting, I can get you in our system.”
“Of course.” I gently lay the kitten on the chair beside me, place my purse under it and, using the pen attached to the clipboard, I begin filling the forms out.
I have just finished writing down my phone number when the door opens.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Kent. I hear you found a—” I turn to face the vet, curious why he cut himself off, and come face to face with the last person I ever expected to see.
Miles.
Cherry Garcia Miles.
