Page 44 of Fish and Chip: Nine Lives One Murder
“Emotional time isn’t measured in calendars,”Bizzy points out. “It’s measured in realizations. And it sounds like you realized your marriage was over long before you packed your bags and found your husband doing unspeakable things with flexible people.”
“Maybe.” I consider this. “Or maybe I’m just so angry at being discarded for a yoga instructor that I’m willing to throw myself at the first attractive man who doesn’t treat me like yesterday’s leftovers or suggest I need to find my inner goddess through meditation and overpriced smoothies.” I stare out at the moonlit cove, the surface silver and smooth like it’s been photoshopped for a dating app backdrop. “I just don’t want to be the cliché. The woman with a heartbreak haircut and a sudden thing for emotionally unavailable law enforcement.”
“You’ve already got the talking cats and the murder,” Bizzy says, patting my arm. “The cliché ship has sailed.”
Hoomans overcomplicate everything,Chip comments while grooming his paw with single-minded dedication.You like him? Sniff his hand. Nudge his knee. Demand snacks. Done.
Yes, excellent advice,Fish mewls wryly.Nothing says romance like demanding food and staring directly into someone’s soul.
Feline wisdom aside,Sherlock interjects with a woof,Jasper says that trauma can make people rethink their priorities. Make them realize what they actually want out of life instead of what they think they’re supposed to want.
Bizzy and I exchange a glance at the unexpected insight from our furry friends.
“How did you know with Jasper?” I ask Bizzy suddenly, struck by genuine curiosity. “That he was the one? You’d dated other guys before—I remember that disaster with the guy who collected vintage lunch boxes.”
She considers this for a moment. “I knew because he felt like home—not the home I’d had, but the home I wanted to build. And because he looked at me like I was a puzzle he wanted to spend his life solving, not a problem he needed to fix.” Sheshrugs. “Also, Sherlock approved of me immediately. He belonged to Jasper first, and that sealed the deal.”
It took approximately seven seconds to determine she was worthy,Sherlock confirms, tail wagging.A personal record.
The night deepens around us, stars emerging one by one like shy dancers taking the stage.
Bizzy glances at her watch and rises. “Speaking of my better half, I should head home. Jasper’s probably wondering where his dinner is, even though I’ve told him a thousand times that opposable thumbs are not just for show.”
I stand to walk her out, and we gather the animals. Fish goes with Bizzy, shooting Chip a look of long-suffering dignity.
Don’t burn down the inn while I’m gone,she warns.
Define burn,Chip says, and ignites a roar from Fish in response.
We say our goodnights and Bizzy promises to track me down tomorrow night for updates on both the murder investigation and what she insists on calling Operation Blue-Eyed Justice.
Back on the porch, I curl up under one of the plaid blankets with Chip nestled in my lap like a furry heating pad with opinions. The cove stretches out before us, dark and mysterious in the moonlight like something from a romance novel where everyone has excellent cheekbones and mysterious pasts.
I pull out my phone and scroll through the photos from earlier, trying not to focus too much on how good Dexter and I look together. In one shot, Dexter is mid-laugh at something I said, his entire face transformed with genuine amusement that makes him look about ten years younger and possibly dangerous to my mental health.
Without overthinking it, I select that photo and send it to the family group chat with McKenna and Riley. Their responses are immediate.
McKenna:OMG WHO IS THAT?
Riley: Mom’s got GAME! Spill. The. Tea!!!
I’m smiling like a fool when a third message pings.
Clyde: Who is this yahoo? Where did you find him? This is completely inappropriate, Josie!
This from the man who literally got caught playingdownward doggiewith his yoga instructor in our guest bathroom?
Before I can respond with something petty but poetic, the girls jump in like synchronized lawyers.
Riley: Chill, Dad. Mom’s allowed to have friends.
McKenna: Turnabout is fair play, right? Pretty sure you didn’t get a permission slip for Flexi-Greta.
My smile turns borderline villainous. The kind of smile that comes with theme music and a slow clap.
I read the exchange to Chippy, who blinks up at me with lazy interest.
Betrayed mate is exhibiting textbook territorial behavior,Chip points out while stretching lazily across my lap.Very satisfying. Almost as good as catching a mouse with performance anxiety.
