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“Yes, I do.” He glances away. “Be as angry with me as you want.”
I have no idea what makes me do it, but I hug him. Leaning over the bench seat, I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on, resting my head on his shoulder.
And it’s like a hit of the strongest drug.
I’ve never even done drugs, but I can imagine this is what it’s like.
Floating. Weightless. No worries.
Closing my eyes, I sigh and wait for him to return the embrace. Because if he doesn’t, it’s going to get really awkward here in a second.
But then he does.
Bringing his arms up, he snakes them around my back. I feel a slight tremble in his hands as his fingers drag over my spine.
“Are you cold?” I ask.
It’s really not that chilly. I’d say it’s the perfect temperature. The ideal autumn day.
“No.” Man of few words, this one.
That’s okay. He doesn’t need to talk. I’m totally fine with an inappropriately long hug.
After a few more seconds, he says, “Since we’re on the subject of you being mad at me, there is something I should tell you. I’ve been trying to figure out how and when… I suppose I should come right out and say it. I’m not—”
Before he can finish, we’re interrupted by a soft, high-pitched meow.
I glance down to see a few kittens have found us. There’s an orange one, a calico, and a gray tabby with stripes. From their size, I estimate they’re probably about seven or eight weeks old.
Ellister separates from me and follows another mewing sound to the ground. When he sees our visitors, he rears back like they’re cobras ready to strike. “You just let them run amuck?”
Grinning, I scrunch up my face at his overreaction. “They’re not monsters. They’re totally harmless, and like I said, by the time we discover the kittens, they’re already settled in somewhere in the barn. They’re used to roaming free.”
The calico jumps up onto the floorboard of the cart, and the others tag along after their sibling. Two of them start rubbing their heads on Ellister’s pantleg, and one plays with the laces on his boot, batting at it with its paw.
“What is happening?” He looks totally terrified at the fact that he’s surrounded, his eyes wide and darting from kitten to kitten.
“Do you have a cat allergy or something?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Then what’s the deal?”
“They’re growling at me.” His hands are up in the air like he’s being held at gunpoint.
“That’s called purring.” I’m so amused. “Haven’t you been around kittens before?”
“Not for a very long time.”
“They just really like you.”
I don’t know what it is about felines, but I swear they can tell when someone isn’t interested in their attention. And for some reason, that makes them want to climb that person like a tree.
Which they start doing next. They begin scaling Ellister’s leg, getting halfway up his calf before he tries to pry the gray tabby off his jeans.
“They have claws like knives.” His exclamation is dramatic as he continues his attempt to remove the kitten, but it’s clinging to him and mewing in protest.
I know how it feels.
