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Movement was impossible because there was a snoring black furball on my lap, and he was so stupid cute and content that I wasn’t sure that I’d ever forgive myself if I woke his ass up.
This was how it started.
One minute, you were past the childhood trauma of not getting a puppy, and the next thing you knew, you were lying on the couch with a crick in your neck because your feral kitten was asleep on top of you, and you’d rather mess up your spinal alignment than wake him up.
At least I knew he wasn’t carrying any diseases, thanks to a visit from the vet earlier. He was skinny and a little dehydrated, but all in all, a healthy, sweet kitten.
I closed my eyes and sighed.
That was when I heard the knock on the door.
“Shit,” I whispered.
The cat shifted, his little head burrowing against me where he was curled up.
Cameron’s voice came from the other side of the door. “Ivy?”
My chest warmed imperceptibly.
Dammit.
No.
Not helpful, I scolded my chest. We were supposed to be in recluse mode. Not Oh good, the hot, thoughtful man is here mode.
I snatched my phone from the couch and tapped out a text.
Me: I’m stuck underneath the cat. Door is unlocked.
Instead of answering, the door opened only a few seconds later, and he poked his head inside.
And dammit, my entire body melted. Melted more, because I was already having kitten melting.
The melting came from Cameron’s smile.
When his warm golden eyes landed on Neville and me on the couch, that smile spread over his handsome face like nothing in the universe would dare stop it.
“Looks like you’re acclimating well,” he said. In his hand was a big bag.
“What’s that?” I asked. “Holy shit, did she send more food?”
Cameron’s grin widened. “Maybe.”
My head sank back on the couch, and I sighed. “Does your mom have this obsession with feeding everyone, or am I just special?”
Cameron didn’t answer right away, and when I lifted my head, his eyes were locked on my face.
“A little bit of both, I’d say,” he answered smoothly, only looking away when he unpacked a large container and set it in the fridge. “Chicken, corn, and mashed potatoes. And some chocolate chip cookies.”
I sniffed. “Passable, I suppose.”
Yeah, right. Who was I kidding?
It sounded—and smelled—amazing, and if my sleeping beauty cat wasn’t comatose on my lap, I would’ve snatched one of those cookies out of the bag before he set it down.
Maybe the quiet was getting to me. It was the only thing I could think of.
I’d emailed my dad earlier, thinking maybe I’d have a better chance of a response that way.
