“No,” I say into the phone. “I’m not letting you in.”
“You want my help? You’ll open this door.”
I pace my small apartment three more times. I really do need his help, but nothing good will come of me opening that door. Whatever he has for me will not be good. It will probably be life-ruiningly bad.
Unfortunately, not opening that door will mean a sub-par wedding experience for Peach and her first wedding should be perfect in every way.
I stomp over to the door and fling it open. “Fine. What do you—?”
Garrick shoves something soft and furry into my arms. “This is for you.”
The furry creature is wriggling, and it has sharp claws. “Ow. What the—?”
“Be right back with the rest.” Garrick turns and walks away, leaving me with a clawing, hissing beast.
“Garrick Evergreen, get back here—Ow! What?” The beast leaps out of my arms onto the kitchen counter that’s about five feet from where I’m standing. It then vaults onto the top of the refrigerator where it faces me, fur sticking up all over its skinny body, and hisses.
It’s a cat. A furious, possibly terrified, cat.
Garrick wouldn’t hesitate to put me in harm’s way, but he’s too crunchy granola, save the planet to actually hurt an animal. What the hell is he doing?
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask the man himself as he appears in my doorway again, his arms full of some sort of plastic box filled with bags of cat food and kitty litter. “You aren’t going to leave this thing here, are you?”
He shoulders past me and looks around my place. I’ve lived here for nearly three years, mostly alone, and I haven’t devoted a lot of time to interior design. There’s one couch in the living room, a small TV in the corner, and my bed in one of the two bedrooms. I don’t even have a kitchen table, because it’s easier to eat at the counter, sitting on a stool.
The other bedroom was Peach’s for a few months, before she got sick of me and moved out. Someday, I’ll put a desk in there, but for now it’s bare.
It’s a far cry from how I lived in Vegas, when every night was a party and I had friends over as often as possible. It’s hard to find the time for parties as the mayor of Yuletide, and even harder to make friends when I’m the outsider proposing laws and bossing everyone around.
“Nice place,” Garrick says with one raised eyebrow. “Not surprised you prefer the dark, like the demon you are.”
“I’m not keeping that cat, so whatever you think you’re doing, just turn around and leave.”
Garrick shrugs. His hair is pulled back in a man bun, his beard scruffier than usual. He’s probably just back from a camping trip. Apparently, shaving and grooming is difficult when you’re sleeping in the wild.
I wouldn’t know. Grooming is breathing as far as I’m concerned.
“If you don’t want the cat, I’ll have to take her to the kill shelter.”
My heart sinks. I can’t let this cat be killed, but… No, he’s got to be messing with me. “There’s no such thing as a kill shelter. She’ll be adopted.”
He snorts and tilts his head toward the cat, who’s still on top of my fridge, bristled and glaring at us. “Oh, yeah, she’ll win over a great family. Not one that’ll use her for target practice.”
“I’m sure you can find someone else to take her.”
He sets the box down in the corner farthest from the kitchen. “This a good spot for the litter box?”
I stomp one foot. “Garrick. I’m not taking this cat.”
He straightens and faces me. “Okay. I’m sure no one will think less of you for not taking in an animal in need. Everyone will understand you had no choice but to send her to the kill shelter.”
“Gah.” This man is so annoying. I stomp across the room and poke a finger in his chest.
His surprisingly firm chest. The scent of cedar and cinnamon wraps around me as I stare up into his stupid face. Why does he have to smell so damn good?
He smirks down at me like he knows exactly the effect he’s having on me.
I focus back on the situation at hand. “I didn’t ask for this cat and I don’t want it. Find someone else.”
