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“Depends on his mood, but iced chai is pretty reliable.” Sam rang up the order and took my card. His memory for various details about his customers and the young workers from his teen charity was impressive. “I’ll grab Knox’s drink for you.”
“Thanks.” As soon as he prepared the drink, I headed back to my house, a brisk walk in the cool early-summer morning. June in Oregon was nothing short of spectacular, something I’d forgotten during my years away, the riot of colorful flowers and green gardens in front of the other, better-kept historic homes near downtown.
I reached Aunt Henri’s place to discover Knox already on the wide wrap-around porch.
“Hey. I was just looking for the bell.” He stepped out from behind a large overgrown planter, which served as a good reminder to add a landscaper to my to-do lists. Next to Knox was a neat stack of bags and a box.
“I’m not sure there is one.” I’d only ever noticed the old-fashioned heavy door knocker on the front door.
“No camera? How do you check for deliveries?”
“Surprisingly, we ancient folks survived long before smart houses and wired everything.” Chuckling, I held out his drink. “Brought you a chai.”
“Thank you.” Accepting the cup, he took a sip. His lips did things with the straw that made me regret the impulse to get him a drink. I had to look away before he caught me staring. My gaze landed on a bag with a big clear dome containing a very unhappy cat.
“Is that a cat backpack? Poor Wallace.” I opened the door to let us in before setting my drink on a low ledge to help with Knox’s bags.
“Yeah, I know.” Knox carefully carried the cat in like he was an alien explorer in a spacesuit. “He barely fits in it anymore.”
“You need to get him a leash.”
“Oh!” Knox made a delighted noise, and his excitement was possibly even more distracting than his lips on the straw. “That’s a great idea. Then I could take him on walks.”
He knelt to soothe the cat, who let out a plaintive whine as Knox tapped against the dome. I understood Wallace’s pain. Hard plastic was no substitute for Knox’s touch, not that I’d admit that aloud.
“How about we get him in your new room, and then he can be safe in there while I show you around?” Grabbing the box that held a jug of litter and a covered litter box, I led Knox down the long front hall. After turning into the kitchen, we passed through the breakfast nook, the sun porch, and then into a small room that might have been a canning kitchen once upon a time. At some point decades ago, the space had been fashioned into a sort of guest suite with wood paneling, shag carpet, and a narrow cabinet with a dorm-sized fridge of dubious origins and a sink. “Darn it. I aired it out all day yesterday, but it still smells stale.”
“Old pot and cigarettes.” Knox made a face as he switched the bag with the cat to his other hand. “And why do I get the feeling this is where they stashed the housekeeper back in the day? Or some much-hated mother-in-law?”
“Possibly,” I admitted. The room actually looked worse in the sunshine. The carpet was several shades of brown, none of them natural, and the grayish tinge to the paneling was more obvious in the light. At least there was a decent-enough bed. Though even that looked shabbier today. Maybe I could get Knox a mattress topper as an apology. Or would that be too much?
Gah. Only I could obsess over whether bedding was too close to a romantic gesture.
“And let me guess? It’s farthest from your room?” Knox gave me a pointed stare.
My face heated far more than I liked. That was indeed exactly why I’d picked this one for Knox. “A coincidence.”
“I bet.” He carefully set Wallace’s bag on the bed and unzipped it so Wallace could sprawl on the faded quilt.
Reaching down, I gave the cat a scratch. “Tell you what, if you see one of the other rooms you like more, you can switch. I suppose I could take this one even. Right now, I’m back in the guest room I used in high school. I haven’t tackled Aunt Henri’s room and attached bath yet.”
“Oh, that’s right. Forgot you lived here.” Knox rubbed Wallace’s furry belly, putting his hand way too close to mine.
“Year and a half.” Tone identical to the one Knox used the other day when talking about the perils of a blended family, I made a dismissive gesture. “Aunt Henri was my mom’s aunt. Mom died when I was young, then Dad remarried. He got deployed to Guam, and I wanted to finish high school in the states. I stayed with Aunt Henri while he and my stepmom were stationed overseas.”
