Page 16 of Decked By The Grumpy Golem
The admission reveals more than I intended, this longing for something to nurture, to care for. Something that would love me unconditionally, no matter how spectacularly I mess up my deadlines or my life. Something I could love back.
Shit. Is my life this empty?
Gideon shifts his grip on the equipment we're still technically moving and says, almost hesitantly, "Martha keeps saying the house is too quiet."
I glance up at him, and I can’t suppress a surprised gasp.
"She talks to the TV like it's a person," he continues, a hint of warmth creeping into his tone. “Argues with the weather reports. Talks back to the newscasters like they’re her best friends.”
I chuckle at the thought of his golem mom, so sweet and soft-spoken, arguing with the people on TV.
"Remember Pebble?" I say before I can stop myself. "How he used to climb on your shoulders when you were trying to do homework?"
Gideon's expression softens with genuine fondness and his face breaks into a smile that threatens to send me to my knees. As if I needed more reason to find himirresistible.
“You sound like you miss him,” I say, easing the kitten toward him.
"He was my best friend," he says, accepting the small weight like it's made of precious glass.
The kitten immediately begins his assault on Gideon's defenses, climbing up his coat with determined little claws and bonking his fuzzy head against the underside of Gideon's chin. An unguarded, boyish laugh rumbles from deep in his chest.
"Cheeky little bugger," Gideon scolds, but his voice has the softest tone and the sound does dangerous things to my heart.
The tiny wannabe tiger reaches up with a soft paw and pets the large golem’s cheek, like Gideon is the pet and not him, triggering another wave of laughter from him.
A memory surfaces without warning in my mind. Gideon at fifteen, sprawled on his bed, homework sheets in disarray while the tabby cat headbutted him, walking all over our papers.
It feels cruel and incredibly sweet at the same time, the vision so vivid in my mind I have to blink it away.
"He'd knock over my pencil cup every single time, like he was personally offended by geometry." He pauses, stroking the kitten's tiny head. "Martha swore he was trying to help me."
The memory flows naturally between us, a bridge to our shared past that doesn't hurt for once. Just two people who used to know each other's histories, each other's secrets, each other's everything.
“I could adopt him.” He says the words softly, the tiny creature cradled in his huge hand like the most precious treasure in the universe. “It would be a great present for Martha. For me, too."
The words surprise me with their quiet vulnerability and I get a glimpse of him I never suspected. Like maybe, just maybe, Gideon is as lonely as I am.
Maybe I am going crazy after all.
I search his face as he looks at the cat, now snuggled against his neck, his eyes closed, fast asleep. Like part of the feline knows he is safe now.
"You'd really do that?" I ask, still incredulous. "Take on a tiny dictator who's clearly going to rule your entire household?"
"Someone has to," he says, turning his tender, open smile from the cat to me. "Might as well be me."
I reach for the box of adoption forms, retrieve one, and begin filling it out as fast as I can while Gideon looks at me. I’m positively melting from the sight of the giant golem cradling the tiny kitten.
Gideon glances at me before signing. "Do you think I can take him home tonight?"
"Positive. If anyone asks, I’ll vouch for you. I’m glad he’s not going to spend another night at the shelter." I grab a pen and scribble feeding notes on the flip side of a spare form. “This is the brand of food he’s eating so you can buy the same for now. He’s going to need a litter box and bowls for food and water, too, of course.”
I glance at him, then write my phone number at the bottom.
"For the kitten," I clarify quickly. "In case you have questions about his care."
"Right. For the kitten." But there's something in his voice that suggests we both know it's not just about the kitten.
"He needs a name," I decide, watching the kitten, still kneading Gideon’s neck in his sleep. “Something sweet and spicy at the same time. Oh, I know! How about Cinnamon?”
