Page 227 of Things We Left Behind
“Let’s never speak of this again.”
Together, we quietly headed downstairs where the cat went into full meltdown mode, yowling at me like she was a spoiled heiress and I was an incompetent waiter.
“I want to make Sloane breakfast, not you.”
Meow Meow was unimpressed and narrowed her yellow eyes at me.
“Fine. I’ll feed you. Then you’ll stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours. Deal?”
I took the slow blink as a binding contract and went insearch of cat food. I poured a medium-sized mound of dry food into the cat face-shaped dish on the floor and then headed to the coffee maker.
Coffee started, I was ten minutes into a recipe for pancakes and texting Petula a list of necessities that I was going to need here since I’d be staying for the foreseeable future when the doorbell rang.
Cursing, I pulled the pan off the burner and made the quietest, fastest run possible to the front door. I nearly took a header into the door when the cat appeared out of nowhere and cut in front of me at full gallop.
“You furry little fucker,” I snarled as I threw open the door.
Nash and Lina stood on the doorstep, gawking.
“If you woke her up, I’ll be kicking your ass,” I warned Nash.
“Uhhh.” Lina’s mouth was open, her eyes wide and riveted to an area below my belt.
Nash covered his fiancée’s eyes and choked out a laugh. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
“The only thing that fucking fit.”
“No, you’re not,” Lina said, her voice tinged with hysteria.
“Wardrobe opinions aside, what the hell are you doing here?” I demanded.
Nash pokered up immediately. “It’s about the fire.”
Ice formed in my gut. “You know the cause?”
“Can we talk about this inside?” he hedged.
“Fine. But if either of you wakes her, you’re fired and you’re getting your ass kicked,” I said, pointing first at Lina and then at Nash.
“Fair enough,” Nash agreed.
They followed me inside and into the kitchen.
“It’s just as bad from the back,” Lina whispered.
I tried to hitch the pants higher but only succeeded in nearly spraining my balls.
She gave a strangled laugh.
“Jesus, man. Have some dignity,” Nash said, throwing a dish towel at me.
“I have clothes being sent,” I said testily. “Tell me about the fire.”
“Wait a second. Why are you answering Sloane’s door dressed like that?” Lina demanded, recovering from the hilarity.
“I spent the night.”
She shot Nash a long, meaningful look. He rolled his eyes.
