Page 35 of Joy to Noel
I growl. “One younger sister.”
Madison holds up two fingers. “There’s your second feeding. Now, what shall I ask for the third?” She taps a finger on her chin with mischievous delight, and I decide to disrupt her little power play.
Placing a hand on either arm of the Adirondack chair, I lean in close. Her sharp intake of breath and stiffened posture assure me that I successfully stole back the upper hand. “Choose your final question wisely, MJ. Because you won’t be trapping me in personal questions again.”
Her eyebrow arches, and I have a sinking feeling in my gut that I’m in for it with this one. Her voice is steady when she asks, “Why don’t you like small-town Arkansas, Suits?”
I mentally scramble for some version of the truth that wouldn’t admit the truth. But, my value of honesty trumps my self-preservation instinct, and I tell her, “Because I grew up in small-town Arkansas, and I hated it.”
Her eyes widen, and I see a thousand newly-hatched questions forming on her tongue.
“That’s it. Three answers for three times checking on Hamlet. I’ll drop the key off tomorrow before I leave,” I say, rising to my full height. Motioning toward her laptop, I ask, “How’s the editing going?”
She can’t stifle her smile as she responds. “Good. I landed another new client today, so I’m up to three. The new one today won’t need me to start for another couple of weeks, but it’s still another contract.”
“Keep it up. Madison Joy Editorial is ready to skyrocket,” I say as I take a few steps backward. “See you tomorrow, MJ.”
Chapter seventeen
Madison
“I’m coming in, and I’m providing you with basic living necessities, so you’d better not give me any attitude!” I call loudly through the door. Perhaps if I announce my presence to Hamlet, he’ll be less threatening.
Opening the door a crack, I poke my head in to look around the cabin. I’d like to assess the position of my enemy before I step onto the battlefield. A mild panic sets in when I see zero signs of life.Liam only left this afternoon. Surely Hamlet hasn’t figured out how to unlock doors to escape?
“Hamlet?” I call out as I tentatively step inside—right into a trap.
I nearly jump out of my skin when Hamlet loudly hisses right next to my ear, where he’s perched by the door on the built-in bookshelves that Liam repurposed as a shoe holder. I clap a hand over my racing heart and narrow my eyes. Pointing a finger at Hamlet, I say, “You are the type of cat that gives cats everywhere a bad name.”
As if to emphasize my point, Hamlet swats at my finger, hissing a second time. I jump back, glaring at the feline. “You’re lucky I’m a rule-follower who believes in doing the right thing, or I’d walk right out of here and let you fend for yourself for the next twenty-four hours.”
He leaps to the floor and haughtily pads away from me, leading the way to his food and water dishes. There’s a bag of bougie-looking cat food on the counter along with a note from Liam.
One scoop for each feeding.
Thanks,
Suits
I openly smile, since there’s no one here to hide it from. Direct and to the point, just like I’ve come to expect from Liam. But his embrace of my nickname for him makes my stomach do a weird flutter kick.
Carefully measuring out the scoop of food, I pour it into Hamlet’s food dish, pulling my hand away quickly to avoid any more swatting. I dump out what’s left of the water and refill it in the sink.
As Hamlet munches away on his dinner (keeping watchful eyes on me while chewing), I turn a slow circle around the cabin. I’ve been here before, but it’s worth pausing to see if there’s more information to gather. As much as I’d love to full-on snoop around, I have moral boundaries. So I settle for absorbing anything in plain sight—which is disappointingly little. A set of adjustable dumbbells sits on the floor by the loveseat, but that only serves to confirm Liam’s commitment to fitness. Which his regular runs already indicated, so that’s nothing new. There are no family photos or personal memorabilia of any sort.
Unless you count the suits.
The past couple of weeks have been an odd contrast to our first week as neighbors. Liam has kept more distance ever since the night he helped me get my business launched instead of working on his own reports. In theory, Iknowthat he has simply been absorbed by his actual job. That he remembered his focus needs to be on what Holden Inc. is paying him to do rather than on me launching Madison Joy Editorial.
But I have a hard time not assuming the worst—assuming that he got tired of my company, tired of my sass. After all, he wouldn’t be the first man to do so.
I have a whole litany of reasons people shouldn’t enjoy being around me. I’m the chairwoman of the “Madison’s Critics Club,” ready at the drop of a hat to give a lengthy speech about everything that’s wrong with me.
Too direct.
Overly critical.
No filter when speaking.
