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I typed back:
I’m alright. Running errands and trying to make sure a certain orange cat doesn’t bankrupt me. Hope your day goes smoothly.
His reply came a few minutes later.
That sounds like a serious responsibility. Let me know if you need a cat-food loan.
I laughed aloud.
Ricky looked up from his coffee. “Josiah?”
“Possibly.”
“You’re smiling at your phone.”
“I smile at lots of things.”
“Not usually your phone.”
I slid it back into my pocket. “I’m going home before you decide to give me a lecture about my love life.”
“I wouldn’t lecture you. I’d offer constructive guidance.”
“That’s worse.”
He grinned and returned to his client, leaving me to say goodbye to Joann on my way out. She was still busy with the schedule, making sure the next customer was checked in and the right stylist was ready. She wished me a good day, and I returned the greeting before stepping back into the sunshine.
I stopped at the store once more to pick up a few things I’d forgotten, then headed home with the car full of groceries and cat supplies. It was a relief to have something practical to do, something I could finish without needing to know what had happened twenty years ago or why Harvey Sinclair had ended up dead.
At home, Sylvester was waiting by the back door. He wound around my ankles as I carried in the bags, then followed me to the kitchen with the determination of a cat who knew exactly what was inside them. I put the groceries away, filled his food container, and set out a fresh bowl of water. He inspected everything, ate a few bites, and then hopped onto the chair beside the window to watch the world outside.
“There,” I told him. “You’re officially supplied for the foreseeable future.”
He blinked at me.
“And before you ask, no, you can’t have another treat.”
His tail flicked once, and I had the distinct impression that he considered my position negotiable.
I sat at the table with my laptop and opened the document I’d been working on. For a while, I managed to concentrate. I wrote a paragraph, revised it, and wrote another. The words didn’t come easily, but they came, and that was enough. Every so often, I glanced toward the window, where Sylvester sat in the sunlight, or toward my phone, which remained quiet beside my coffee mug.
I knew the sheriff was working, and I knew he’d tell me what I needed to know when he could. I wasn’t going to chase him for information or turn myself into an amateur investigator just because I was curious. If I heard something relevant, I’d pass it on. The rest was his job.
For now, I had a cat to feed, a book to write, and a life to keep moving forward. It wasn’t a solution to everything, but it was a place to start.
Sylvester jumped down from the chair and padded over to me, rubbing his head against my hand until I stopped typing and scratched behind his ears. His purr vibrated against my wrist, warm and steady, and I found myself smiling at the simple certainty of it.
“Alright,” I murmured. “You can stay.”
He settled beside my chair as though there had never been any doubt. I turned back to my laptop, feeling a little more settled than I had that morning. There were still questions I couldn’t answer, and a man I loved who was slowly finding his way back into my life. I didn’t know what would happen with either of those things, and I wasn’t going to pretend I did.
But the cat was home, the coffee was hot, and the next paragraph was waiting.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
RICKY SOLVES NOTHING
MAX
