Page 179 of Bewitched By the Sea Monster
Kind.
Friendly.
Easily distracted. Conversations with him could be exhausting, because he veered off into the weeds so often, sometimes he and I forgot where the road was. But those weeds…we had somedeeptalks in those weeds.
He laughed easily and loudly—still sonic booming, even as a human.
Tears came nearly as frequently to him as laughter. Even watching a sappy movie could have him welling up and pulling me close.
He loved to snuggle and always needed to touch; he would brush my knuckles as we sat together at dinner, stroke my hair as we perused the shelves in a store, hug me every chance he got—and he gave thebesthugs. They were big and boisterous and warm and secure. Just like the man himself.
He was high energy, though, likely because his diet consisted of sugar, more sugar, extra sugar, and French fries (or “chips,” as he called them). He was a junk food junkie, and he was alwayswired. Those long legs of his didn’t have a walk mode. He raneverywhere, only slowing down when he found me struggling to keep up.
“My legs are littler than yours,” I’d grouch at him.
“Ah, you may have little legs, but you’ve a big heart,” he’d throw as a sappy response, knowing it would make me smile. “And I’d not have you any other way.”
It was incredible.
Being with someone who suckled my affection, my love, and fed it right back to me. Someone whogave, instead of took.
And I’d never known, never realized, life could be this way. That it could be so full of joy.
I squinted at the screen,my eyes blurring, smooshing the words together in a big glob. I honestly couldn’t tell if what I’d written was English or jabberwocky.
But jabberwocky or not, it wasdone.
I rolled my shoulders, wincing when they crackled (spending multiple hours crouched over a desk was a dangerous activity for those in our late thirties) and gently wiggled Cocoa out of my lap.
Cocoa mewed tiredly, yawned, and curled into a tighter ball.
“Uh-uh, ma’am,” I murmured. “This is your official eviction notice.”
Cocoa rolled herself into a bone-shuddering stretch, flashed me a look that said she was cursing me and all my unborn offspring for daringto inconvenience her, and slithered to the floor, dragging herself into the cat hut under my desk.
Such a tragedy, the things I put this cat through.
I stood, stretched, winced when that stretch made me sound like a bowl of Rice Krispies, and strolled from my little corner writing nook to my airy, open-concept kitchen.
Finishing a book—a full-length doorstopper of an epic romance—called for some wine.
And maybe some chocolate.
And—
With a softclink, the door to my apartment opened, and that was all the warning I got before my two-legged golden retriever (a.k.a, Alistair) barreled into the room and swept me into a bone-crushing hug.
“The key worked okay, I take it?” I laughed.
“Like a dream.” He beamed and cupped my face. “Hi there.”
“Hello yourself.” I frowned a little when a twinge of sadness rolled through him. “Are you alright?”
He stroked my cheek. “It was a hard day. I was in the bank earlier and they had a big vase of orchids. And…well…Some days are like that, you know?”
They were.
We’d talked about this before. Openly.
