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“About… about what?”
The door to my bedroom is ajar. I know that Mittens and Outlaw are both in there, so I lead the way. It’s nice to get my first view of the bed and see the two curled up together.
Mittens has been in a funk since she returned from the vet’s. The dental procedure really took it out of her. This visit from a friend is sure to lift her spirits.
I stand there, looking at the two animals, and then feel Maddison’s presence beside me.
“This might be the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen,” she whispers.
“I told you. Calendar worthy.” Outlaw has wrapped his body around my cat’s, like he’s a donut and she’s the hole. His white-and-brown fur forms a halo around her black fur. Her little black face pokes out and rests on his paws.
As we watch, Outlaw nestles his muzzle closer to Mittens and lets out a happy sigh.
Her eyes are two slits. I can hear her purring from here.
“Even more than calendar worthy,” Maddison says. “These two could have a serious social media following, if you ever shared photos.”
“I think they want to keep their friendship out of the public eye.”
“Well, I’m glad they’re letting us witness it.” Her voice, hushed and sincere, has a little wobble to it. “They really care about each other.”
Though I’m watching the dog-and-cat show on the bed, I pick up on visuals about Maddison, too. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Glances over at me. “About… er—about my snooping. I am really sorry about that. Something came over me. I had to know how it was going.”
“Yeah, obviously. There are an infinite number of places you can be at ten a.m. on a Saturday morning, and yet you chose the Stillwell Coffee Roasters. And don’t tell me it was Outlaw, because you were across the street spying way before he pulled you over.”
“Spying? I wasn’t—ah. Okay. Fine. I was.”
“So, I want your love-doctor diagnosis. You’re the expert on all things womanly. You think she liked me?”
In a way, I want to know.
Hana’s nice looking, and definitely has her life together, and it’s flattering that she showed interest in me in the first place. It’s not like I felt the earth shift this morning, during our date, but the experience was pleasant enough.
It’d be nice to hear, from a friend, how I did.
But I have other reasons for wanting to know Maddison’s diagnosis of my date.
I picked up on something at the coffee shop.
The way Maddison blushed and was so flustered—it made me feel like something’s going on between us that goes beyond a rekindled friendship.
I know that’s dangerous territory.
We kissed once, and that ruined everything.
But still, I can’t pretend all my thoughts about her are platonic.
Would a friend really note the way the afternoon sunlight looks on her shoulders? Would a friend want to feel how soft the threadbare denim of her jeans is?
Would a friend feel this aware of the bed that’s five feet away from us?
“I’m not a love doctor,” she says. “I’m single.”
As if I needed a reminder.
“Okay, maybe ‘love doctor’ is too much. But you are the one who set up that coffee outing, and you’re also the only witness to the first date I’ve had in months. I’d like to hear your objective opinion. As you saw it, was it going well?”
“I think it’s a really good sign she bothered to wear a dress and do her makeup just right. That means she was excited, and took her sweet time getting ready. And who are we kidding? Of course she was excited. You’re a hot—uh—handsome, ya know, doctor or whatever, and that’s a swoon-worthy profession.”
