“I’ll think on the name,” he says eventually. “And you can come in any time before six tomorrow.”
Chapter 12
Fresh Cream
Poppy
I stumble out of the restaurant on shaky legs, already dreading the walk back to my sweatbox of an apartment.
At least the shower works. I’ll scrub everything until my skin shines pink, and then maybe I’ll do a face mask. Anything to help melt away the layer of grime and grit sticking to me after yet another full day of cleaning.
We’ve been at it nonstop for days now. My life has been reduced to a pattern of wake up, clean, shower, sleep, repeat. I’m so tired, I don’t even mind the weak AC.
I have to admit that the restaurant is looking better every day. With Herman’s help, we’ve set most of the kitchen and dining room to rights. There’s hot water (thank god) and a pest company working to keep me from fainting at the sight of dead vermin (double thank god). If anything, Jack has gotten even more stubbornly taciturn, but I know he’s pleased with the progress.
This work has done a better job at keeping me out of my head than a punishing SoulCycle class. Maybe I’m too exhausted to think. Maybe it’s nice to ignore the world for a bit. It’s no wonder that it helps keep Jack’s neurodivergent brain occupied, too.
I undo my braid, chewing on my lip. Still no cooking. Still no talk of what he wants this restaurant, however short lived it will be, to become.
I jump as a lizard runs across my path. I expected the bugs, but I didn’t know that Florida was so populated by lizards, too. Tiny ones with curled tails, long brown ones, and even fat ones with reddish heads and yellowy bodies. They’d be cute if they didn’t remind me of their much larger, much deadlier cousins.
Before I can continue, a cat darts after the lizard. He meows loudly, pawing at a crevice in the sidewalk. Despite his best efforts, it seems that the lizard got away safely.
I drop to my knees. “Hey, handsome boy.”
The cat deigns to look at me. His fur is a mix of black and white, and one of his ears is missing the tip. He stares with wide, unblinking eyes as I hold out a hand.
No collar. I chew the inside of my cheek, watching him inch in my direction with careful curiosity. Hopefully he isn’t someone’s pet. My brain helpfully conjures up the image of a crying girl putting up lost cat posters.
I stroke my hand down his back. He purrs, arching into my touch. Part of his fur is matted, but the rest is silky-soft. I smile, missing Miso.
“Was the lizard going to be your dinner?” I murmur. “Sounds pretty gross to me, but you never know. Maybe they’re delicious.” To my surprise, he doesn’t protest when I scoop him into my arms.
A few days ago, I noticed a veterinary clinic on my walk from the apartment to the restaurant. I head there now, holding him like he’s a baby. He seems quite happy with this arrangement, although it means getting his fur all over my sticky, sweat-slicked skin. Hopefully he doesn’t have fleas.
“Hello?” I call as I ease into the office.
The air conditioning, deliciously crisp, washes over me. The waiting area is painted coral, with animal photographs on the walls. The air smells like lemon and the deeper, muskier odor of pets. I take a seat, fussing with the cat. He licks my wrist, tail flicking.
“Do you have a name? How long have you been living on the streets?” I hold him up, looking into his eyes. The kaleidoscope of green reminds me of Jack’s. “Are you wanted for lizard murder?”
He meows, as if in reply. I suppress a smile as I stroke his ruff.
I really shouldn’t be getting attached in case he belongs tosomeone... but I can’t deny that my apartment would be a lot less lonely if he was in it.
“What if we called you Alligator?” He meows again, straining to reach my face for a lick. “Gator? Yeah, you’re totally a Gator.”
The door behind the desk opens, revealing a woman around my age. She’s in a white coat with jeans and a silky button-down shirt, her black hair pulled into a ponytail. As she spots me, her face breaks into a smile. It’s warm and genuine, which feels magical after the week I’ve had. I notice a little gold chain at her light brown throat, and matching teardrop-shaped earrings.
“Hi,” she says. “Sorry about the wait. My receptionist called in sick today.”
“Of course, no problem.” I juggle Gator as I stand, meeting her near the desk. “I found a lost cat.”
“Oh, no. Where was he?”
“By the marina. He doesn’t have a tag.”
The woman frowns. “Poor little guy. Why don’t you bring him on back? I’m Dr. Torres, by the way. But call me Kiara.”
