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I was seriously worried. My first fear had been that Humpty died jumping out the second-story window. But there was no sign of him outside. I hoped cats really had nine lives, and hopefully, he had eight lives left.
I immediately called Wes. “Can a cat survive a jump from a second-story window?”
“Probably,” Wes replied, sounding way too calm. “Did he jump out a window?”
“I think so,” I grumbled. “There’s no sign of him on the ground outside the window.”
“Put some food outside.”
“I will. I’ll call you when I find him.” I was seriously worried because I’d only had this cat for two months. I loved the little guy.
I grabbed my jacket and my keys, along with a small bag of his favorite soft treats, before walking outside. I’d never gone looking for a runaway cat before, so I had no idea where to start. I just kept calling his name and ringing the little bell on the catnip toy that Farrah had gifted him when she took care of him.
ChapterFifteen
FARRAH
“Are we all locked up?” Alice called from the hallway.
I was literally flipping the bolt on the front door to the vet clinic when I turned around to find her standing in the doorway to the hall.
Lifting the keys, I gave them a little jingle. “All locked up.”
As I slipped into my jacket, Alice asked, “Do you want to swing by Wildlands and grab a drink?”
I glanced over. “I’m meeting my mom for dinner, so rain check?”
“Maybe tomorrow?” Tiffany prompted when she appeared behind Alice in the hallway.
“Let’s plan on it.”
We walked out together, and a few minutes later, I was driving the short distance from the vet clinic down Main Street to the Gallery Café. When I passed Willow Brook Fire & Rescue, my eyes shifted to the back parking area. I didn’t even want to admit I was searching for Cooper’s truck. I knew exactly what he drove because he usually parked his truck beside mine behind the building where we lived.
“You’re being ridiculous,” I whispered to myself.
I didn’t need to wonder where Cooper was. He wasn’t my first neighbor. I’d been living in that little apartment for over six months now. The last person had been some guy who worked in commercial fishing. He’d told me he’d be leaving when fishing season was over. He’d been friendly, even handsome, but I had never once felt my pulse race at the sound of his footsteps in the hallway or peered out my window into the parking area to see if he was home.
This crush on Cooper was getting out of control, and I needed to get over it. I told myself it was a good thing I was having dinner with my mom. I would be occupied. I wouldn’t be wondering if he would have some reason to knock on my door and kiss me and make me come all over his fingers again. Better yet, I would have no reason to wonder if maybe some kind of friends-with-benefits arrangement would be the best thing ever. I wanted more, so much more.
Ordering my brain to stop obsessing over Cooper, I turned into the parking area at the Gallery Café. This was an art gallery with an attached restaurant that showcased rotating displays of artwork. The food was excellent, and they had theme weeks for the restaurant. This week’s theme was Italian. I was a sucker for good Italian food. Load me up with carbs and sauces and cheese, and I was in heaven. I didn’t care what anyone said about carbs. I refused to start counting them. What the actual fuck?
When I walked inside, my mother was already there. The place she lived with her friend was just down the street, so she usually walked if we met here. She smiled as soon as she saw me, approaching and folding me into a quick hug. “Hi, sweetie,” she said as she stepped back.
“Hey, Mom.” My lips curled into a smile.
I liked that we were both making an effort to foster our relationship, but it was an odd feeling, like new shoes that were stiff when you hoped they’d get comfortable soon. Dinner out with just my momneverhappened when my stepfather was alive. We didn’t really have any kind of relationship independent from him. She lived under the weight of his near-constant control and disapproval, and that was the way it had been.
Before we could say anything further, the host appeared. “Right this way,” he said, gesturing with his hand. As we were walking through the gallery area, I saw another friend, Jasmine Ryan, talking with a couple looking at her pottery. She helped run the gallery and had her own pottery shown here. I waved, getting a smile and a return wave.
After we were seated and had ordered, I glanced over at my mother. I still experienced pangs of guilt when I thought about the relief I felt at her finally being free from Gerald and the life she’d been trapped in with him.
Dinner went as dinner had been going with my mother lately. We chatted about superficial things and managed to avoid the fraught topics. We were sharing a dessert, and I sensed she was nervous about something. Trepidation slipped through me.
After a bite, she took a swallow of water, studying me. “Your grandparents asked me how you’re doing.”
“Excuse me?” I prompted, legitimately confused.
My father’s parents had been barely in my life before they passed away, and my mother ended up estranged from her parents after my stepfather had a huge argument with my grandfather.
