Page 9 of Catastrophically Yours
The music wasn't loud, wasn't intrusive, but something about the gentle fingerpicking pattern made concentration impossible. Each note seemed designed to pull her attention away from spreadsheets and toward something more immediate, more felt than calculated.
"Ms. Novak, are you still with us?"
"Yes, absolutely. Where were we?" Piper forced herself to focus on the computer screen, but the melody continued weaving through her thoughts, transforming dry financial data into something that felt almost... musical.
By the time she finished the call, her carefully structured morning had dissolved into something unrecognizable. Papers scattered when Pickle had decided her printer made an excellent observation perch, client files mixed with Drew's sticky note system, her mental schedule completely derailed.
She should have felt frustrated. Instead, searching for her documents while that beautiful guitar music continued in the background, she felt oddly energized.
Lunchtime brought another small disruption to her routine. Opening the refrigerator revealed Drew's handiwork: leftover containers labeled with cheerful sticky notes in purple ink. "Drew's experimental quinoa situation," read one. "Leftover tamales (the good stuff!)" proclaimed another.
At the bottom of the stack, a single tamale in a small container bore a note that made warmth spread through her ribs: "For Piper's emergency snack stash—because everyone needs backup food."
The consideration behind such a simple gesture caught her off guard. How long had it been since someone anticipated her needs? Since someone considered what might make her day slightly easier?
She ate the tamale standing at her kitchen counter, tasting not just the complex spices Drew had so carefully balanced, but something else entirely. Care, maybe. The kind of casual consideration that felt both foreign and deeply welcome.
The afternoon brought its own negotiations with her disrupted routine. Grocery shopping took twice as long as usual—partly because she found herself considering Drew's dietary preferences without being asked, partly because she keptcatching herself selecting items that might surprise or delight her temporary roommate.
Drew liked fresh fruit, she'd noticed. Had mentioned missing good bread since money got tight. And coffee—clearly the woman appreciated quality coffee.
Returning home with bags full of groceries she'd never normally buy, Piper climbed the three flights to her apartment wondering when her careful budgeting had evolved to include another person's happiness.
She found Drew teaching Pickle to high-five on her pristine coffee table.
"Come on, buddy, you almost had it," Drew was saying, holding a small treat just above the cat's reach. "Just lift that paw a little higher?—"
Pickle, apparently deciding direct action was more efficient than following instructions, lunged for the treat and scattered crumbs across Piper's carefully maintained surface.
"Pickle, no!" Drew laughed, the sound bright and genuinely delighted despite the mess. "You're supposed to earn the snack, not steal it."
Piper stood in her doorway, grocery bags still in hand, watching this scene of complete domestic chaos unfold on her furniture. She should have been irritated. Should have pointed out that the coffee table wasn't designed for cat training, that crumbs would leave stains, that her entire careful system was being undermined by treats and paw prints.
Instead, Drew's genuine laughter made every concern evaporate. The pure joy in her voice, the way she celebrated Pickle's small victories even while gently correcting his technique—it transformed the mess from disorder into something approaching magic.
"How's the high-five training progressing?" Piper asked, setting her bags on the kitchen counter.
"Pickle's more of a 'take what you want and apologize later' kind of student," Drew admitted, scratching behind the cat's ears. "But we're making progress. Aren't we, buddy?"
Pickle purred agreement while stalking another treat.
"I brought groceries." The words felt inadequate for the careful consideration she'd put into each selection, but Drew's face lit up as if she'd announced something wonderful.
"You didn't have to do that. I can contribute?—"
"It's fine." The dismissal came out sharper than Piper intended, reflexive protection against acknowledgment of financial disparities. "I mean, it's easier to shop for two. More efficient."
Drew studied her for a moment, something knowing and gentle in her expression. "Well, thank you. For the efficiency."
The work day stretched longer than usual, client deadlines converging with the particular intensity that marked month-end financial reconciliations. Piper remained at her dining table as afternoon faded to evening, laptop screen casting blue light across scattered papers, calculator clicking rhythmically beneath her fingers.
She'd forgotten about dinner entirely until a mug appeared at her elbow—chamomile tea in her favorite ceramic cup, steam rising in delicate spirals.
"Thought you might need a break," Drew said softly, her fingers brushing Piper's during the handoff.
The contact lasted barely a second, but electricity shot up Piper's arm and made her skin suddenly hypersensitive. Drew's hands were warm, slightly callused from guitar strings, and the brief touch left Piper acutely aware of the space between their bodies.
"Thank you." The words came out more breathless than she intended.
