"Good, because he'sallmine."
"You can't call dibs on decking someone."
"Oh, yeah? Watch me." Her voice rose. "Dibs!"
I frowned. The way it sounded, I'd interrupted an argument. My finger was still poised over the doorbell, but I hadn't yet rung it.
Family arguments – I'd seen enough of those growing up, especially at the holidays.
I turned and looked toward my house.Should I come back tomorrow?
I was still debating it when I heard the sounds of a scuffle followed by a thud against the door. As I turned to look, the door swung wide open.
Framed in the open doorway was a cute redhead with light freckles. She wore a black sweater, dark jeans, and an expression so fierce she looked ready to growl as she demanded, "And what doyouwant?"
I drew back. She was being rude as hell, but I wasn't without sympathy. Obviously, I'd just interrupted some sort of dispute. And now that I thought about it, the time was nearly nine o'clock – a little late to be knocking on a neighbor's door.
But hey, I was here now, so I might as well get it over with. I told her, "I've got something that belongs to you."
She crossed her arms. "And what might that be?"
Already, I'd propped the sign against the brickwork near the door. I pointed. "Your sign."
She poked her head out through the open doorway and read the sign out loud. "Welcome to Kitten Cove?" She turned back to me, and her eyes narrowed. "Are you mocking us?"
I didn't get it."For what?"
"For the cats." She gave a little sniff. "I bet you're a dog person, aren't you?"
Something about her face looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t seem to place it. "What cats?"
She turned and pointed. "Thosecats."
I looked to where she indicated and spotted a pack of kittens frolicking near the fireplace. They were so cute, I almost smiled.
Well, I guess that explained the sign.
I told the redhead, "I'm not mocking you. I'm returning your property."
She smirked. "But the sign's not even mine."
Myinformation said otherwise. "That's not whatIhear."
From somewhere to the left of the open doorway, a bookish blonde sidled next to the redhead and gave me a curious look. I tagged her as the owner of the second voice – the one whohadn'tcalled dibs.
I wouldn’t say she looked friendly, but she didn't look nearly as ticked off as the redhead, who was still glaring like I'd kicked one of the kittens.
I hadn't. And I wouldn’t.
I wasn't that kind of guy.
I asked, "Which one of you is Celia?"
The redhead replied, "Neither one of us." Under her breath, she added, "Dumb-ass."
What the hell?
For some reason, I thought of Lexie Sullivan. She'd been my assistant for all of two weeks before she'd walked off with no notice – a good thing, too, since I'd been more drawn to her than I'd liked.
