I knew this would happen—plenty of past lovers have complained about my heat-seeking, ice-cold toes.
His breath is slow and steady, our bodies rising and falling together, and my throat catches when I realize we’re breathing in sync.
My head bounces on his huff of laughter. “I can feel you blinking, you know.”
I roll off in an instant, mortified that I’ve invaded his space so egregiously. God, what is wrong with me? Morgan probably thinks I’m starved for attention or something. Secretly a cuddler. I’m not.
My roll takes me all the way off the bed. I plant my feet on the floor and grab the first thing I see that even remotely resembles pants and tug them on. Princess stands in her bed and stretches, giving a great big yawn before padding over to wag her tail at me.
The blinds are drawn and there’s a soft gray light coming through the cracks. “It’s early,” I say. Even for me. “Go back to sleep.”
“Rory—” Morgan’s interrupted by the toilet flushing.
The perfect excuse. “Grandma’s up. I’m going to check on her.”
I step out the door and shut it behind me. I listen to Grandma wash her hands and then that door creaks open and she jumps.
“Rory, holy mother—you scared me.”
“Sorry,” I say. Grandma’s dressed already, soft wine-colored pants and a white T-shirt. “I heard you. Want to get some breakfast?”
To my surprise, the door behind me opens. “I was thinking we could go to the coffee shop in town. It’s just a few blocks over, if we want to walk,” Morgan says. He’s dressed in jeans and a long-sleeve shirt now, the waffly kind. It’s a burnt orange that brings out the blue in his eyes.
“I can walk a few blocks,” Grandma says.
We walk to Main Street, Princess on her leash making four of us, and sit outside. The coffee shop is cute and busy for a Tuesday morning. Grandma’s hyper-critical of everything, as usual, but she hums in pleasure when she bites into the cinnamon roll.
Morgan knows everyone in the shop. He introduces me—“This is my fiancée”—and Grandma. He’s charming, making everyone laugh, and I can’t help but think of his childhood. He didn’t get love and attention at home, but by charming all the Herevians, he found a new family.
When we get home, I have to get to work. Since I took yesterday off I have to catch up on my emails and billing, but it’s not exactly the best environment for this, because Grandma and Morgan are trying to coax Bartholomeow out of hiding.
I’m facing the back of the house, and the door is open enough that I can see Morgan and Grandma moving around. Princess is shut in Morgan’s room, so there’s whining. There’s also the soft crooning of Morgan’s voice, the matter-of-fact statements from Grandma—“He’ll be the one feeding you now, you better not bite that hand.” At some point, they open a can of the good stuff and the place reeks of cat food.
Morgan is a saint to be putting up with my grandma and her ornery cat.
Eventually, Grandma wants to go home and Morgan has errands to run. He offers to drive her and she pats my shoulder and tells me not to work too hard, and she’ll see me on Sunday. I’ll be back from a job in Vermont by then and we have an appointment scheduled.
When they leave the house is quiet and I get way more productive . . . until I spy a cautious black head peek around the corner.
I ignore the cat—that’s how he likes it.
About half an hour later, something rubs against my leg. “Hey, buddy.”
“Meow.”
He jumps up onto the chair next to me and then the table. He sits, tail flicking, as he surveys his new—albeit temporary—home.
I sigh. When the six months are up, and Grandma wants to move again, I’m going to have to figure out what to do about him. About everything.
I am not looking forward to it.
Morgan
* * *
It’s Monday, and Rory’s been “living” with me for a week—in reality, she’s been on a job in Vermont and then came back on Thursday for a half day of paperwork before she carried on to New Jersey all day Friday. I’ve been tiptoeing when I come home from the bar at night, so I don’t wake her up when she’s sleeping in the guest room. Any time this weekend that I wasn’t at the bar, I’ve been working for Kit.
Like today, when Kit and I have an unusual back-to-back day. We’ve been busy all week—including the job I signed the NDA for.
