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"They just don't like me being here when they get home. Or seeing me at all. They just mail me a check."
"Alright, yeah, that's weird," he agreed, turning back, and only handing me the leash when I was on the front steps. "I'll load this up so we can get you home to that cat. Don't know shit about kittens, but figure they eat a lot at this age."
Normally, at around four weeks, he would be eating every four or five hours, but given that he was thin, and had been out in the cold for the night, I was going ahead and giving him a bit more to fatten him up.
"I'll be right back," I agreed, maybe going about rinsing and drying their feet a bit more quickly than I normally would, giving them each a busy bone before I headed back outside, knowing I was doing so not because the owners would be home soon - and annoyed that I was still there - but because I wanted to spend more time with Reeve.
"Ready?" he asked as I rushed into the warm cab, holding my fingers up to the heaters.
"Yep."
"Babe," he said after a second. When I looked over with raised brows, he shook his head, un-clicked his belt, then reached across to grab mine, and pull it into place. "Now we're ready," he said, re-clicking himself, then pulling away from the curb.
"Alright. Let me just grab..." he started when we pulled up.
"I can get it out of the cab. Really. I... I'm not going to win this one, am I?"
"Not a chance," he agreed, hopping out.
"Incoming," I called as I made it to the door, opening it up, and letting the dogs out who had clearly been waiting impatiently. "You can bring it in. I need to check on Ford real quick."
"Whoa, what the fuck..." I heard behind me as he moved through the house to the kitchen. "You have a tortoise in the house?"
"He's cute, right?"
"Cute? He's a shell and scaly skin."
"Oh, come on. Ugly things can still be cute," I insisted.
"Babe, you know you have food cooking?"
"It's a crock pot. It can be left on when you're not home. Stew. It only had another hour, if you want to stay and have some," I offered, picking up Ford who was slightly less opposed to my touch since he learned I control the food. It was a crapshoot with kittens on whether they would eat or not without their mamas. Sometimes you would have to go buy this special hormone stuff that reminded them of their mothers for them even to attempt it. I lucked out with Ford.
I looked up when Reeve paused in answering, doing so fast enough to catch a look passing over his features, a look I didn't often see in life, but when I saw it, it was impossible not to recognize. It looked like complete and utter agony. The emotional kind.
But as soon as he noticed my gaze on him, a mask went down over his features, blocking it out, making you think it had never been there in the first place.
But it had.
And even across the room, I could feel the impact of it, it hung heavy in the air, an oppressive fog, pressing down on your shoulders until you felt like you couldn't stand up straight anymore, moving in through your nose and settling into your chest, so it made your lungs feel weak and sluggish.
One thing was clear about this man; he had been through something awful.
While I knew it was none of my business, that people sometimes needed to shoulder their burdens alone, I found myself wanting to know why, wanting him to entrust me with it.
"No. I have to go," he said, tone cool and distant as he moved across my kitchen floor.
"Reeve," I called, tone almost a little desperate as he got to the front door, leaving me rushing behind him until I was halfway across the living room, Ford clutched to my chest.
"Yeah?" he asked, half-turning toward me, but his head not swiveling in my direction, just giving me his profile, his shoulders hunched up and tense, his gaze on the floor.
I didn't know what I was going to say.
I knew what I wanted to say. Stay.
But I couldn't make him do that.
It didn't feel right to even demand it for some reason.
So I said the only thing I could.
"Thank you."
He still didn't let his beautiful light eyes drift toward me. His shoulders did relax somewhat though, like he had been dreading the possibility that I might ask him about the look, like he had been bracing himself for it, and now that it was clear I wouldn't, he could relax slightly.
He gave me a slight nod.
"Don't mention it."
And then he was gone.
The quiet click of my door sounded a heck of a lot like goodbye.
