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Yeah, I’d probably purr too if he used his finger on me like that when I was in his lap.
The kitten protested with a loud, disgruntled meow when Cameron lifted it to study its underbelly.
“Maybe six weeks,” he guessed.
I blew out a slow breath and glanced toward the barn. “He’ll stay out there?” I asked. “He won’t be alone, will he?”
Gawd, Ivy, I thought. Why don’t you just go ahead and project your own issues onto a kitten?
His eyes sharpened.
I glanced away because nope, we were not going there, thank you very much.
“He?” Cameron asked.
“Only a male would make such a nuisance of itself like that.”
He laughed, soft and deep, and I swear, my nipples perked up. “Those two older cats will teach him what he needs to know,” he said. “I can’t imagine they’d cause any issues.”
My heart thudded uncomfortably, and I desperately tried to ignore it.
He was just so little. There was no telling those cats would be nice to him.
“Right,” I said. My voice was reed thin, and I hated how transparent I was being. There was no dredging my mask into place right now. “But you won’t know for sure that he’ll be okay in there?”
Cameron’s study of my face was a weighted thing. “No, we won’t.”
He handed the kitten back, and it settled immediately. I swallowed, skimming my fingertips along the kitten’s back.
“We don’t have to leave him in the barn,” Cameron said slowly. My eyes met his. “He’s old enough to use a litter box,” he continued. “He could stay in the guesthouse with you.”
A sharp-edged rock was wedged in my throat, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t swallow past it.
“Why on earth would you think I want him with me?” I asked.
And I tried to sound flippant. To sound like the idea was preposterous, but failed miserably.
It came out differently than I wanted it to in my head.
Resigned.
Relieved.
“Maybe your grandparents sent him to the house so you’d have some company.”
My eyes darted to his, but any snappish reply got stuck in my throat.
The cat in question stretched again, blinking its big blue-gray eyes up in my direction. My fingers twitched on my lap, but I resisted the temptation to pet him again. To test how fluffy the hair was on the top of his tiny little head.
It would be the fluffiest thing I’d ever touched. Dammit.
It was human nature, not indicative of some underlying desire to be a cat mom. He was cute. Cuddly. Soft.
I was biologically wired to find him endearing.
In my silence, Cameron eased the truck into reverse, and my heart raced inside my chest.
But I didn’t argue.
