That’s the explanation I settled on.
I unlock the door and flip it off, stepping inside.
“Welcome home.” Drew looks up from where he’s perched on the couch, his laptop on his thighs. “I want it on record that I did indeed return early this morning, so there will be no swimming in the lake naked.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “I still can’t believe you thought I’d get back with her.”
I shrug. “It was an eventful morning. And stranger things have happened.”
He nods at the keys in my hand. “It’s really strange that you lock every door except the patio door. Day and night.”
“Habit. I feel safer locking doors behind me.”
Drew looks at Ivy as she appears in the doorway. “There’s one exception.”
Ivy smiles brightly at me, then hurries over, throwing her arms around my neck. I hug her to me, breathing in her vanilla sugar scent.
I lock eyes with Drew, who has a funny smile that makes me uneasy. Like I’m doing something I shouldn’t.
It hits me that he’s never seen me hug a woman until Ivy.
Mr. Pickles bats at my ankles. I laugh, releasing Ivy to pet him. He makes his odd purring sound when I scratch his ears.
“Hey, boy. Did you get in trouble today?”
Drew snorts. “That cat is nothing but trouble. He peed on my damn comforter.” He gives him a scathing glare. Mr. Pickles responds by hissing.
“You spilled his cat food,” Ivy says, hands on her hips. “You should’ve known he was going to retaliate.”
“Accident.” Drew waves his hand. “That damn cat looks for any reason to torment me.” His eyes lock with mine. “As do you, with your PDA.”
I roll my eyes, not acknowledging the PDA comment. “Are you sure you’re not related to the cat? You bicker like your siblings.”
Drew looks offended—and so does Mr. Pickles. His tail swishes from side to side before he gives me a warning strike with his paw.
“Point taken,” I say, chuckling. “I won’t insult you like that again, Mr. Pickles.”
My brother snorts. “Oh, sure. Side with that cat. I’m just chopped liver.” He stares at him. “Did you ever get him to the vet? I still don’t trust that I don’t need a rabies shot.”
“He has an appointment tomorrow.” Ivy leans down and scratches the cat’s neck. “He doesn’t have rabies. Right, Mr. Pickles?”
Drew looks doubtful. The cat gives him a smug look.
“Why did you name him that, anyway?” Drew asks.
I look over at Ivy. I’ve never asked her why she named him that. I just assumed it was an Ivy quirk. She eats pickles, so I just figured she likes them so much that she named the cat after them.
“The first time I saw him, he was gingerly licking pickle juice from an empty jar my dad left outside. You could tell he hated it, but he was so skinny…” She sighs, her face etched in pain from the memory.
“Skinnier than he is now?” Drew looks over the rim of his reading glasses. “Hell, he looks like he only weighs two pounds.”
Ivy scoops him up, pressing him against her chest. “He weighs more than two pounds. I’m slowly fattening him up. He loves cheese. That’s helping.”
“Maybe you should change his name to Mr. Cheese?”
Ivy shots Drew a dark look. “Doesn’t have the same ring as pickles.”
They bicker while I move through the living room, checking the windows out of habit more than concern. They’re locked. But the blinds are angled slightly off.
Mr. Pickles is known for getting short bursts of energy and tearing around the house, so he may have done it.
