Page 22 of A Very Merry Mistake

“Hey, sweet girl,” I say, moving toward her to pet her head, but when I bend down, she darts away. “Oh, don’t play hard to get. You know you missed me.”

I reach for her again, and she gallops away. As I stand upright, I shake my head and turn to see Claire watching me with a wry smile. “You talk to all the ladies in your life like that?”

I snicker. “I don’t date sweet girls. It’s why I’m always single. I tend to gravitate toward the bad ones with something to prove.”

She swallows hard, but I see something flicker behind her eyes.

“What? You’ve got something to prove?”

She clears her throat. “I do, actually. But isn’t that life? We’re all on this planet trying to prove something to someone. If we’re good enough, smart enough, rich enough, pretty enough, popular enough, loved enough… I could keep going.”

I tilt my head and meet her eyes, really seeing her. “Actually, you’re right. I never thought of it that way.”

“Perspective.” It’s all she says, and I get it.

She’s lived a different life than I have. That’s obvious. She’s New York, and I’m Texas, universal opposites in every way.

“Will you show me around?”

“Of course. Sorry about that. Right this way,” I say, leading her into the kitchen she could see from the living room since it’s an open-concept design. She walks around the island in the center of the space that I wanted for when I throw parties, something that hasn’t happened in far too long. That’s something I might have to change in the new year.

“May I?” she asks, reaching for the pantry door and sliding it open. When she flicks on the light, she gasps. “The organization. This is incredible.”

I show her the laundry room and then lead her across to the other side of the house. “This is the bathroom. Shower. Tub. Toilet. Towels,” I say, opening the closet.

Then I open another door that leads to my bedroom. A large, hand-carved, four-poster bed is in the middle of the room, along with several rugs, because the hardwood can be cold in the winter. Her eyes trail over it, over the windows, the large dresser, and the television. “Another fireplace?”

I shrug. “Why not? Can one really have too many?”

“Point taken,” she says.

“You can have my room if you’d like,” I offer. “I know you’ve had a long day, and I don’t think I’d feel right about you bein’ on the couch.”

“I can’t do that.” She shakes her head. “I’m tired enough that I won’t care where I am once I’m asleep. As long as I can shower, I think I’ll be able to handle it for a night.”

“You’re sure?” If there is one thing I’ve learned about Claire in this short amount of time, she’s stubborn, and when she puts her mind to something, I don’t think she’s easily swayed. I might not always be the best judge of character, but I’ve witnessed that much myself.

“I’m sure. You’ve done enough already,” she says.

“Let me draw you a bath. The tub is great after a long day. Just a warning, you might not want to get out.”

“That actually sounds divine,” she admits. “I’ll get my clothes and toiletries from my suitcase.”

Claire walks away, but the hint of her sweet perfume still lingers where she was. While Claire is in the living room, Tinsel presses two paws against my door and cracks it wider before prancing inside with a meow.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” She walks past me, leaning her body against my leg, her tail trailing against my pants. I turn around to look at her. “Are you still mad?”

Tinsel jumps up on the ottoman and then hops onto the bed. She’s ten, an elder kitty at this point, and sometimes she’s lazy. With a thud, she plops on her side and starts kneading imaginary biscuits in the air with her paws. I pet her belly, feeling her purrs. When I give her too much, she swats at me but then leans into my touch. “Don’t be upset. She had nowhere to go.”

I give her one last belly rub before walking to the bathroom. I sit on the edge of the tub, getting the temperature of the water just right, then set two towels on the counter. Claire walks in with a bag full of items.

“Take your time,” I tell her, standing from the edge.

She glances at the deep tub. “Thanks. I just might.”

When I go to walk away, Claire reaches out and stops me. Her soft hand is on my arm as she peers up into my eyes.

“Thanks, Jake. You didn’t have to help me, and I appreciate you being persistent. I’d still be walking.”

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