“Yes,” said Iris, her eyes glowing. “Chloe tells me he’s more than a pretty face.”
The second the words left her lips, my belly twisted. She was only joking, but I fought the urge to kick her under the table. I lifted my gaze to see if Maxime had heard.
When our eyes locked, my breath caught in my throat. I was expecting him to be furious. He was so private. I didn’t want him thinking I’d talked about him to my friends. But he didn’t look cross in the least. Instead, his cheeks were a vivid pink.
“Papa!” giggled Sophie. “Are you blushing?”
Maxime blinked three times before scowling and barking out the word. “No.”
My mouth tugged into a smile. He wasn’t mad—just pink-cheeked and bristling in his usual delicious way. The sight did something fizzy to my insides, and for a breath or two, the table felt suspended in golden light.
Appetizers appeared and disappeared; we ordered main courses; and the table buzzed with easy laughter. Even Maxime had loosened his shoulders. I caught a snippet of conversation between him and Luc about motorcycles. Though he remained quietly vigilant, his focus flicked between his investor’s expressionand the slim trickle of guests Fifi seated in the background.
At the far end of the table, things were less tense. Sophie quizzed Matteo with the intensity of a grandmaster at an international chess tournament.
Up to that point, Bean had been perfectly content, curled on Sophie’s lap. But when the waiter approached with a steaming bowl of fish soup, Bean lifted his head, nose twitching. The moment the bowl passed behind Maxime, temptation won.
The little cat sprang off Sophie’s lap and scrambled up Maxime’s arm, knocking over his water glass and drenching the front of his shirt.
Everyone around the table gasped as Maxime’s the cotton shirt slowly turned translucent, revealing every single one of his tattoos.
To his credit, he didn’t flinch, only turned to his daughter. “Sophie. Please remove your cat from my shoulder.”
Instead of moving, she widened her eyes, and her mouth curved into a smile. “He’smycat?”
I swallowed a chuckle.Priorities.
“Sophie,” Maxime ground out.
A line formed between her brows. “I can’t move him. He’s happy. He’s making biscuits.”
He was. His little paws pumped against Maxime’s sodden shoulder like he was kneading dough, a low purr rumbling as he worked.
I stood, moving around the table to extract Sophie’s little sidekick. “I guess he’s technically mine, too. Let me take some responsibility.”
“Yours?” Maxime asked, his brows drawn.
“Well, yes. You see, he made friends with me first, but then he met Sophie, and …”
“Please, I don’t need an explanation. I just want my shoulder back.”
I clamped my lips together, stifling asmile. As I extracted Bean’s claws from Maxie’s shirt, I gave a tiny shrug. “You can have a share of him, too, if you like. He’s technically a free agent. It’s part of the cat-distribution system.”
He rubbed his shoulder where Bean had clawed at him. “What?”
“You know,” said Iris, barely containing a grin. “When a cat randomly appears in your life just as you need them and they need you. You’re chosen. It’s like karma, only fluffier.”
Maxime blinked at her in quick succession, and I wanted to high-five my best friend over the table. She was a true cat lover, too.
Instead, my boss straightened. He rose from his chair, my face meeting his soggy chest. “I don’t need karma. I need dry clothes.”
With that, he stalked towards the kitchen.
We all stared after him in silence. “Oh, wow,” said Iris, her voice almost whisper quiet. “You hinted he was pretty. I didn’t know you meant all over.”
I swallowed hard. She had no idea.
Six sips of wine and a lot of small talk later, I’d reached the end of my tether. Maxime was still missing, and the urge to find him; completely overwhelming. There were only so many times I could check the kitchen door without looking like I’d developed a tic.
