I drop my gaze to my plate, willing myself not to fixate on her beauty. Not to imagine leaning in, tasting red wine on her lips. Not to wonder what she’d do if I did. It’s official: I’m losing my mind over someone I’ve no business wanting.
We eat and sip in companionable silence for a beat, then Cami tilts her head. “So, five nights ago, you were here alone, probably enjoying peace and quiet.” She takes a bite. “Now you’re surviving on four hours of sleep and sharing your space with two squalling newborns and an under-qualified co-parent.”
“Oh, come on now. Under-qualified?” I lean back, fork in hand. “You went from newbie to pro in a matter of hours.”
She smiles, a hint of color blooming on her cheeks as she lifts her wineglass. “What about you? Have you fostered kittens before?”
“Nope. First time for me, as well.” I take a sip of wine. “Seemed like they’d be a good distraction.”
She raises a questioning brow.
“From my divorce,” I say. “Figured fostering kittens would be cheaper than therapy.”
Cami’s smile tugs sideways. “Therapy helped me heal from a traumatic relationship.” She traces the rim of her glass, fingercircling in slow, thoughtful loops. “I spent years with someone who made me feel like every single thing was my fault. It took a while for me to understand love isn’t supposed to be me constantly side-stepping landmines.”
I shift in my seat, wineglass balanced loosely between my fingers. “I’m sorry you went through that.”
She shrugs, her eyes showing no deflection, only clarity. “I’m not sorry. Not anymore, anyway. I got out. Went to therapy. And I’m okay, which, for now, feels like enough.”
Her admission grazes a nerve. I may not have walked her exact path, but I’ve stood,or maybe am still standing, in the same emotional wreckage. My ex made me feel like her cheating wasmyfailure. And like Cami, I’m rebuilding pieces someone else shattered.
I clear my throat. “You deserve more than okay, Cami. But I get it. Sometimes enough is the first step.”
After dinner, we tidy up, then migrate to the living room, wineglasses in hand.
Cami drops onto the couch without hesitation, one leg under her as she sips wine.
I settle into the armchair opposite, feeling the pull of her presence like gravity.
Our kittens mewl from the crate, already stirring from their nap.
Stripe’s up first, scrambling toward the edge, loud as ever, as though he’s demanding someone pick him up.
Cami sets her wine down and crosses to the crate, scooping him up. “Bossy little thing.” She brushes a kiss to the top of his head. “Just like your co-parent.”
“I’m not bossy,” I mutter, trying not to smile. “I’m assertive.”
She flashes a grin over her shoulder. “Tomato, tomahto.”
Shadow wakes slower, wriggling in that bleary newborn way before stretching a paw in Cami’s direction.
“You’re definitely her favorite,” I say, watching Cami cradle them both now, close, all tenderness and instinct.
Her expression softens. “She’s just naturally drawn to me since I can sometimes be quiet, too.”
I take a long sip of wine, letting the silence linger as Cami settles onto the floor, both kittens curled against her. Stripe’s already kneading her thigh, purring like a motorboat.
“You ever want kids?” she asks suddenly, without looking up.
Her question shouldn’t shake me, but it does.
“I did,” I admit. “Still do, if I’m honest.”
She draws in a breath, eyes on the kittens curled in her lap, fingers trailing through fluffy fur. “Me too. Eventually.”
That familiar ache stirs again. The one that started when I first saw her holding, mothering those kittens.
“I’d bet you’d make an amazing mom.” The words leave my mouth without having to think about them. “You’re already doing it now, with those kittens.”
