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She’s standing there in a pair of worn-in jeans with holes at the knees and a light blue long-sleeved shirt that looks buttery soft as it hangs off one shoulder, her hair is done up in a bun and topped with a big headband, and she has no makeup on at all, and I want to tell her that she’s beyond gorgeous—a vision of perfection and a goddess of wonderment. The very best person I could have ever been cursed to know. I mean, blessed to be cursed with.
But I don’t say anything because I want this to be special for her. Her first real date. I just hope I can live up to it. My stomach clenches. No pressure or anything here. Just taking my soulmate out for our very first official date, which is her first date ever. Nope, no pressure at all.
“We have lots of time,” I say tightly, past the spinning butterflies churning all over my stomach. “Don’t worry.”
“The reservation is for eight?”
“That’s right.”
It’s just after five-thirty right now. I basically came right from work since I figured what I’m wearing would be fine. Black kind of goes with everything, and black pants and a black dress shirt are acceptable attire for most restaurants. Luna and Toren suggested a lobster place in the heart of the French Quarter. They actually had one of their first dates there after Toren found Luna again and saw Milo. Anyway, they say it’s a great place and that the lobster and other seafood are absolutely amazing. Toren loves the place, and he even broke down and practically bawled when Luna confronted him about how much of a jerkus he was in the past, and he confronted her about not telling him that he had a son. For four years after the fact. I heard it wasn’t pretty, so the place must be excellent if they’re both willing to go back there after all that went down.
Compared to how the curse has gone for Ash and Toren, I think I’ve had a pretty smooth ride so far. Not smooth, but smoothish. I, at least, didn’t break down and experience a heck of a lot of eye leakage over a lobster lunch like Toren. And I wasn’t trying to fake a fiancée like my brother, Ash was, only to have his maid, who was an undercover journalist, put on the cursed ring and not be able to get it off. Everything worked out for them, though. For Ash and Ellis, and then Toren and Luna. They’re all sickeningly happy.
“Is that okay?” I ask. Lindy’s studying me, so I pass her the bouquet of flowers.
Yes, I went for roses, but no, they’re not red. I got yellow ones because they have red veins shot through them and red edging the petals, which I thought were unique and beautiful. I pass them over, and she takes them so carefully that it’s like they’re made of some rare material that could evaporate at any minute.
“Yes, and thank you for the flowers. I’m going to put these in the bathroom, only so the cats don’t eat them. Rupus is a major flower eater. She loves them.”
“The Siamese?”
Lindy beams at me for remembering. “That’s right. I didn’t expect you to have their names memorized. I promise it won’t be a deal-breaker if it takes you more than one meeting to know them all.”
“What about getting them to love me? How many meetings does that take?”
“It depends how you view love. If you think getting climbed on, scratched, semi-attacked, farted on, sometimes pooped on, often puked on, having a dead mouse stuffed in your shoe for four days before you realize it—yeah, that wasn’t pretty—getting a butthole to the face first thing in the morning, and having your feet attacked at any hour of the day or night because they’re under blankets, which is fair game to them, is love, then you might experience it quite soon. If you think perfect purrs and gentle headbutts are love, then you might be waiting for a while. It’s much more fun for them to stare at you, make loud demands for food, or use you as a chew toy or scratching post for a good long while before they settle down and become nice.”
Jaysus, I have no experience with animals. “I’m…errr…open to different interpretations of the word.”
Lindy laughs, and I know I’ll provide myself as a human sacrifice to her cats, right here, right now, if needed. Yes, to becoming a pincushion or a scratching post, or even other outrageous feline demands. Anything just so I can hear that sound again—her laugh.
“Okay,” she says softly. “I’m going to finish doing my hair and also find something to wear. It shouldn’t take me long even though it’s not like I’m good with that stuff.”
