“Hey, buddy,” he croons, reaching for Yeti. “What’s this?” His callused finger drifts to where three stitches peek through a shaved spot on the cat’s chest.
“The vet says he’s okay. He was probably squeezing into a tight space.” I leave out how he was gone for almost two days. I wish I could’ve thanked his rescuers, but the Humane Society couldn’t tell me who they were or how he got hurt. Or where he picked up that unbelievable smell, like a barnyard died in his fur.
He needs to become an indoor cat, for his own safety. And formine, because Amber almost killed me over how upset Eleanor was when he was missing.
“I bet it was expensive. How much do I owe you?”
I gesture to the machine. “It’s fine, Tobin. We’re even.”
“Do you want me to hook it up, or—”
“I can connect it, you’ve already done—”
“Let me do it, Liz. You’ve got the cat, anyway.”
In the family room, his head swivels from the fractured face of my parents’ machine to the stray kernel of popcorn I only now see nestled against the earth-colored area rug.
“It wasn’t my fault.”
“I know.” He sets the DVD player on the couch. “You’re too careful for that.”
He can’t be kind to me like this.
I want kindness too badly right now. If I took what he’s offering, I wouldn’t know whether I wanted him or whether I just wanted one person in this world to tell me everything will be okay, and I’m not an irredeemable screwup getting ready to throw my thirties down the same hole as my twenties.
Turning away, I manage to put my heel right on the damn kernel. I pinwheel wildly, knowing it was my destiny to end this night on my ass.
Tobin’s hand in the small of my back saves me.
How five fingers can do so much is a mystery. I can feel every whorl of his fingerprints inking a tattoo into my skin. His palm burns hot through my outfit, which promised to be substantial, but is clearly as flimsy as my willpower right now. His eyes are a thin rim of spun crystal around a well of deepest black.
Against my very specific instructions, my nipples tighten traitorously. If Tobin didn’t know I was braless before, he does now.
“You okay?”
I have a lot of questions about why my body is tuned to thespecific frequency of his voice. Why none of my parts are listening to my brain’s frantic pleas to ignore him. Whether I am in fact okay, or maybe not okay at all.
“Amber will be back any minute,” I lie, not ready for the answers. “And McHuge is waiting.”
“Right,” he says, carefully. “So our choices are, risk Amber finding out that everything’s fine, or I take the evidence and rappel off the roof to avoid getting caught.”
I can’t stop the smile from popping one side of my mouth up, the other side down.
“Ah,” Tobin says, biting his lip. “I missed your dimple.” He indicates the down side of my mouth.
My hand flies to my face. “My smile is weird. It looks like half of me is frowning.”
“No,” he says. “It looks like you have a secret. Something hilarious you’re keeping inside. I wish I knew what that was anymore.” His hand hovers, then strokes my smile, featherlight, up and across and up.
I can’t speak.
Not when he settles me firmly on my feet.
Not when he lets go.
Not when he picks up the busted black box and walks out the door, leaving nothing but silence behind.
Chapter Twelve
