I carefully reach my hand out, not trusting that Mr. Pickles won’t scratch or bite. He watches, his skinny body tense as he waits.
I gently stroke his mangy fur, seeing the potential. With food, love, and veterinary care, he could be a beautiful black cat.
A smile curls my lips when I scratch Mr. Pickles’ ears,and he leans into my touch, purring. It sounds more like an old lawnmower trying to start up.
Sebastian’s voice has something in it I’ve never heard. Something… soft. “My car isn’t far away. Before we head home, we’ll need to go to the store and get supplies for Mr. Pickles.”
He scratches the cat’s ears again, his expression tightening. “No one should have to fight this hard to survive.”
My brows wrinkle. “Isn’t the pet store closed?”
He looks at his phone. “Not in the city.” He shifts the cat in his arms, then grabs the suitcase handle with the duffel bag on top. His dark eyes meet mine. “Let’s go.”
And as we head toward his car, I can’t stop smiling.
Sebastian chose me.
His stalker.
And a stray cat I call Mr. Pickles.
33
SEBASTIAN
I lead her to my car, still carrying the cat, her luggage trailing behind.
I pull my car keys from my pocket, lean the suitcase against the car, then open the door for Ivy. She slides inside. I hand her Mr. Pickles. He remains stiff as a board on her lap, clearly unhappy to be out of my arms.
She grins at me and shrugs.
I close the door, then load her luggage in the trunk.
As I walk around to the driver’s side, I shake my head.Imagine that. A mangy stray that loves me.
My eyes meet Ivy’s. There is nothing mangy about her, but the stray part fits. She chose me, even though I’m an aloof, slightly grumpy loner.
“I hope Mr. Pickles grows to like me as much as he likes you,” Ivy says as I pull away, heading toward the city.
“Don’t worry. He will.” Shooting Mr. Pickles a stern look, I say, “Isn’t that right, bud?”
I scratch his ears and he lets out a raspy meow. His engine tries to start again, but the poor thing is obviously in need of a tune-up.
Ivy laughs, the sound warm. Delightful.
“There’s a pet store on the corner of King and Queen Street. Figured we’d go there.” I keep stroking Mr. Pickles’s ears while steering with one hand. He relaxes on her lap.
I give Ivy a look, and she takes over. My hand moves to her leg while she strokes the cat’s ears.
The silence stretches between us, but it’s comfortable.
And now that she’s with me, it seems to go much faster than my usual commute.
We’re almost at the store when she looks at me, wide-eyed. “I think he likes me.”
I glance down at the black cat. He’s curled in her lap, peacefully sleeping.
“I know he does.”
