She was beautiful when she laughed, thought Chad with slow amazement.
“Here,” she said, tossing him a towel. “That was quite the downpour.”
Her hair was dark and limp from the rain, but the glow on her skin and the shine in her eyes completely distracted him from anything else.
Except perhaps from the thin shirt, now semi-transparent and clearly showing the pink bra beneath. Lacy. Nice.
As were the curves they should have been hiding.
“So I guess we’ve each had a taste of the other’s family,” he said.
“A little goes a long way, doesn’t it?” she said, running her fingers through her hair. Other women would have been running for a blow dryer but Cynthia didn’t seem to care.
“Kind of like Leda, right?” he said, curious about the response he’d noticed earlier.
Cynthia turned her back. “She’s something else. Seems like she hit the jackpot.”
“Penniless single mom meets rich, hunky rodeo star?”
“You said it, not me.”
Through the damp fabric of her shirt, he thought he saw something dark on her skin. He looked again, recalling the slender white limbs he’d seen leaping around the corner that night, the delicate curve of waist and hip.
The moles winking at him as they disappeared.
No! It couldn’t be. Could it?
She took a sweater off the back of her chair and slipped it over her see-through shirt.
“Definitely a case of opposites attracting, I guess. There are probably a few women out there stabbing pins into Leda-shaped voodoo dolls,” she said.
“Not you, though, I hope,” he said, scrambling to get his thoughts under control.
“Me?” She gave a surprised laugh. “There may be a dozen cats and hallways full of paper products in my future, but that doesn’t mean I’m not happy for anyone who finds true love. I’m a hopeless romantic at heart.”
She sighed dramatically, with one hand on her forehead. A good sport, but an odd answer.
“You’re not still hung up on Eric the Champion yourself, are you?”
Her smile faded. Her jaw shifted, she took a breath and shook her head. “No, Chad, I’m certain that Eric puts his pants on one leg at a time, just like you do. And I have no problem with Leda. In fact, she’s probably far too good for him in ways that I can’t imagine and don’t want to try. I had a crush on him. When I was seventeen. It went away. Are you still in love with your teen heartthrob? Give me a buh-break.”
She sat down and opened her laptop.
“In love, no,” he said slowly. “But a man can dream. I assume women do, too.”
He stood up and went to where she sat behind her desk.
“Come here, Cynthia.”
“What? Why? Ch-Chad, what are you doing?”
He took her by the hand and lifted her to her feet. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt right. He didn’t want to talk about Eric. He didn’t want to talk about teenage heartthrobs. He didn’t want to think about lovely Cynthia in a room made of toilet paper, surrounded by cats.
And she was lovely. Even stringy-haired and damp. He tugged her closer. Nothing wrong with mixing a little pleasure with their business, was there?
“Come on, Cynthia. I’ve been thinking about this ever since last night.”
“What are you doing?” She pulled away but he had her more or less trapped between him, the desk and the wall.
He stepped back, stung. “You don’t have to sound quite so horrified.”
She pressed her hands against his chest, holding him back or maintaining the connection, he wasn’t sure which.
“I’m nuh-not.” She laughed uncomfortably, then smoothed his shirt with her hands and sidestepped him. “But it was just a little flirting. I forgot who you were for a second, that’s all.”
“Who I am? What does that mean?”
“You know.” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “A guy who dates a lot of women.”
“And what are you, a kumquat? There’s chemistry between us, Cynthia. Don’t pretend you can’t feel it.”
He took a step closer. She didn’t back away but kept her arms crossed over her chest, the sweater tucked tightly against her body. He wanted to tug that fabric aside, to look at the skin beneath, to touch it, to find out if she was as soft as he imagined she would be.
“Opposites attract, Cynthia,” he murmured. “Like you said.”
“Don’t forget about oil and water, though.” She moved closer to the door and stood there, hugging her elbows. “In what planetary realm does it make sense that someone like you and someone like me would have enough in common to consider getting intimate? Because that’s what kissing is, you know. It’s not just something you do with random women because you’re bored or...,”
He grabbed her by the shoulders and planted one on her then, firm, hard, with just enough tongue to know that oh yeah, she was kissing him back.
Then he released her and stepped back, his hands in the air. “There.”
Cynthia’s lips were parted and she stared at him blankly. Not exactly the usual response.
“Wuh-wuh-what was that for?”
Definitely not what he was expecting.
“Chad’s Kiss,” he said. “Come on, Cynthia. You started this.”
She blinked, her eyes darting about as if she wanted to bolt.
“Hey, hey,” he said, an unfamiliar uncertainty rolling over him. “Relax, it’s no big deal. I’m not about to grab you by the hair and drag you back to my cave. You were curious, I was curious. Now we can get back to business.”
He could see the soft swell of her breasts with every quick breath.
“Buh-business.” She nodded, seeming to calm down. “Yes. Right.”
He frowned. “I haven’t offended you, have I?”
She looked up at that and straightened her shoulders.
“With the kiss? You have a pretty high opinion of your charms, Chad. I’m not saying it was bad, don’t get me wrong. It was a very nice kiss. I’m sure cave women everywhere follow you willingly. It just didn’t ring my bell, one way or the other. Don’t take it personally.”
She smiled innocently then, walked past him and took her seat at her desk. “Shall we get back to work?”
Nice, thought Chad. Don’t take it personally.
The stuttering, mild-mannered graphic designer was lying through her teeth.
That kiss had been incredible. And she knew it.
Cynthia moved papers about on her desk in what she hoped looked like a purposeful manner. But inside, she was quaking, stumbling in circles like she was blind.
He’d kissed her! Chad Anders had grabbed her and laid one on her, no question, no doubt.
And it had not been one bit... slurpy.
But had it been absolutely necessary to point out that it was no big deal? He wasn’t interested in her in any real way. She’d never imagined that he might be.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she said.
“Like what?” he asked.
Like you want to do it again.
She wasn’t an idiot. She didn’t play games, didn’t flirt, wasn’t skilled at the social give-and-take that got attention and turned heads.
So why was he here, when he could be in the house, batting eyes with Maddie and cutting her meat for her?
“Like you suddenly remembered you’re behind on your shots,” she snapped.
“Is that how I look?”
She let silence fall between them. He looked perfect. Sweet, smiling, a little abashed, which was even more perfect because it showed he knew that she was right to suspect him of being... what?
What did she suspect him of?
Was he really returning Maddie’s interest? Or was she only assuming it because, well, she was Maddie and men always returned her interest?
Or was she mad because he almost seemed... sincere. And she didn’t know what to do about it.
“Chicken.” The word came out too abruptly. “I mean, chicken. For the menu. The, the dinner menu.”
“Chicken.” He lifted an eyebrow. “As in, rubber?”
“As in beer-roasted. Very moist.”
“Moist is good.” He licked his lips and she tried to remember what was supposed to go with the chicken.
“Buh-baked potatoes. Twice baked, actually.”
“Double the pleasure,” he said, with a wicked grin.
“Plus green salads, vegetable plates, rolls-”
“Cynthia, whatever you think is fine. I’m not worried about the menu.”
“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Good. Let’s talk about the slide show then.”
Quickly she pulled up the file on her laptop.
“Want me to dim the lights?” asked Chad.
“No need,” she said.
He dimmed them anyway. Then he picked up her laptop and took it to the couch.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
He patted the seat beside him. “This way we can both see. No craning of necks. Much more comfortable.”
Or much less comfortable, depending on how you looked at it. She sat beside him, leaving a safe margin between them. A margin of error, she thought, feeling slightly hysterical laughter rise up inside her.
Chad hit the button to start. As the photos went by, Cynthia sensed his mood change. He watched intently, pausing to read the notes she’d taken on each photo.
“This is amazing, Cynthia,” he said. The joking, teasing tone was gone. “I mean, really, really good.”
She squirmed. “You gave me the photos.”
“But you edited them, arranged them, put them in the order of best impact, added context.” He shook his head lightly. “This really shows what Logan’s program is accomplishing.”
She swallowed, his praise warming her more than it should have. “I’m glad you like it.”
They continued on, but when they came to the Anders Run photos, he tensed.
“We don’t need these in here.” He spoke flatly.
“Why not?” she countered, surprised. “Anders Run is the birthplace of your foundation. People should know that supporting Logan’s project isn’t just an idea to you; it’s something you and Eric have lived. How better to do that than to show the transformation of the property and the homes you’re building on it?”
“Take them out.”
“Chad-”
“At least, take out mine.” He hit the button to move forward to the photos of Eric’s barn. “You can keep these in. People will love these.”
He was uncomfortable with the comparison, she realized. The farmhouse he’d been working on for so long reflected the simplicity of the time in which it originated.
“Your place is beautiful,” she said, meaning it. “And the fact that you’ve done the work largely by yourself, over time, speaks to your commitment. Building Tomorrow is important to you, important enough to take your time with and do right. The same way you’re renovating your home.”
He sat staring at the monitor for a long moment, not speaking. Then he turned to her, brushing her thigh with his. His eyes were dark and shining in the dimly lit room.
“You got all that from photos?” he said.
“It’s true, isn’t it?”
He was so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin.
“You’re quite something, Cynthia Henley.” He lifted a hand and touched her cheek. “A visionary, you might say.”
She couldn’t speak. A voice inside whispered danger, danger but she couldn’t move, didn’t want to listen, didn’t need a warning.
Because she didn’t care about the danger. This was the real Chad. That happy-go-lucky, carefree guy with the gaggle of women in his wake was only one part of him. He was so much more. Maybe he didn’t even know it himself, but she did.
There was depth to him. She’d seen it. He’d let her see it.
“Hello!” called Joanie from just outside the door.
Cynthia leaped to her feet, nearly stumbling over the coffee table.
“Joanie, hi, I’m here.” She yanked the door open, hoping her face or her tongue wouldn’t betray her. “We’re here. Both of us. Working.”
Stop. Talking. No stutter, but verbal diarrhea was just as bad.
She shot a quick look at Chad. He was grinning again, the seriousness gone.
“Work, work, work, that’s my girl,” said Joanie, as she bustled inside. Rain dripped off the plastic insulated container that no doubt held their dinner. She set it onto Cynthia’s desk and shrugged out of her jacket. “Who’s hungry?”
Over Joanie’s head, Chad gave Cynthia a grin, waggling his eyebrows. “Me. I’m starved. I’ve got a huge... appetite.”
For heaven’s sake. Right back into playboy mode.
“I’m a little queasy, myself,” said Cynthia, glaring at him.
“Oh dear,” said Joanie, shaking open a couple of linen napkins. “I hope you’re not coming down with something. You’ve been working too hard, Cindy. Much harder than is good for you. You should slow down.”
Slow down? With Maddie gone now too?
“I’m fine, Joanie,” she said.
“This smells fantastic,” said Chad, taking the shrink-wrapped plate Joanie handed him. “Cindy, you’ve probably gone too long without eating. When was your last... meal?”
How could he make such an ordinary word sound so dirty?
“I eat all the time,” she informed him. “Constantly, in fact. I don’t even remember what it feels like to be hungry.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “It’s not the same if you eat alone.”
“Thank you, Chad.” Joanie put her hands on her hips and smiled triumphantly at Cynthia. “Isn’t that what I always tell you, honey?”
“It doesn’t have the same satisfaction value when you’re by yourself,” said Chad, innocent as the day is long.
“Exactly!” Joanie uncovered a basket of fresh, homemade buns, then launched into a comprehensive update on DeeDee’s adventures in New York and Maddie’s adventures in lala-land. Chad gave her every encouragement until finally, she seemed to notice that Cynthia wasn’t participating.
“Well, I’ll get out of your way now. I know you’ve got lots to do. Enjoy your meal together. And thanks again for helping Maddie, Chad.”
“The least I could do, ma’am,” said Chad.
Joanie braced herself, then dashed back into the rain.
“Hate to see you eat and run,” said Cynthia, the minute the door closed.
He grabbed the last forkful just as she took his plate away. “You’ve barely started.”
“Yeah, and you’re already finished.” She looked at him meaningfully. “That doesn’t bode well.”
He laughed. “Cinderella snaps. I’m impressed. Okay, okay, it’s late and I should be going.”
He stood up and for a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her, after all.
“We got some good work done here today, didn’t we?” he asked.
“We did,” she answered softly.
She stood at the window, watching the taillights of his truck disappear down the lane, wondering why she felt they were just getting started.
A week later she’d almost, almost forgotten about that kiss. And everything that came after it.
The no big deal, especially.
Chad acted as if nothing had happened, as if he kissed people like that all the time and she was silly to think it might have meant something. Of course it didn’t mean anything. It was just a kiss.
And, worse, she was left wondering if she’d imagined that moment of vulnerability when he saw the photos of his house.
The phone rang. Cynthia leaped for it, nearly knocking over her coffee mug in the process. Perhaps her caffeine intake was reaching dangerous levels. Especially since – a quick glance out the window confirmed – morning was long gone.
“DMC Solutions, Cynthia speaking.” She listened for a moment. She’d been awaiting an answer on the outstanding proofs for Chad’s stationery package. “That’s right. I haven’t placed the order yet because no one’s sent me the proofs.”
Her heart started thudding in her chest.
“That can’t be right. We’re already running behind schedule.”
It seemed that someone had dropped the ball at the printers. She’d promised Chad his material would be all ready for display at the fundraiser but at this point, she’d be paying for a rush job, which still wouldn’t guarantee it would arrive in time.
“What do you mean, you sent them last week? I’ve been waiting and they’ve most definitely not arrived.”
It wasn’t like her to bully someone who was probably only following someone else’s orders, but with Maddie out of commission, Cynthia and her patience was run ragged. There was no time for incompetence.
“We emailed them as requested, ma’am,” said the annoyingly serene customer service representative on the other end of the line. “To a Madeleine Cash.”
She dropped her head into her hand and groaned. She’d punted several desk tasks over to Maddie, so that she could do the on-foot errands herself.
Maddie had sent the files to the printers, so that’s who they’d sent the proofs to. Cynthia hadn’t given Maddie any further instructions; not only that, the girl was still somewhat medicated.
“Resend the proofs to this address,” said Cynthia. “I’ll work on them tonight and have them back to you by morning.”
Who needed sleep, anyway?
Disappointing Chad and letting down such a good cause would be bad enough. Failing at such a public event, so close on the heels of that stupid interview, would be the death knell of DMC Solutions and she refused to let that happen.
She so wanted to pay Joanie back. Adding the events planning division to DMC Solutions had been Joanie’s brainchild, a way of securing gainful employment for the daughters she’d over-pampered and under-prepared for life. Cynthia knew she could run her own company, her way, but the price of Joanie’s start-up money had been taking Maddie and DeeDee along for the ride.
But the sisters were more trouble than they were worth.
She wanted to scream. Instead, she busied herself double-checking the arrangements for the dance. She picked up the phone, bracing herself for more bad news, but over the next hour, discovered that Maddie had actually completed the rest of her tasks with remarkable competence. The DJ was booked, as was the sound system equipment. The caterer was prepared, the menu decided. The table and chair rentals were ready and waiting.
Finally, she pushed away from her desk, satisfied, relieved and exhausted. Time for a break. All work and no play makes Cynthia...
Cynthia.
She walked out of her office, into the unused barn. She hadn’t seen her little cat all day and she was starting to get worried.
“Hey little guy,” she called. “Aren’t you hungry?”
She knew she shouldn’t get attached. Half-wild ranch cats weren’t long-lived. Danger and disease were everywhere and until she could get him to trust her, she couldn’t protect him.
She set the plate down, telling herself that he’d show up once she left. Or he wouldn’t. She couldn’t force a bond that wasn’t there.
It was several days after the kiss when Chad walked into Cynthia’s office, his interest piqued by her imperious demand for his presence. Who’d have thought that the quiet little graphic designer would have such fire inside her?
“I stopped in at the chocolate shop,” he said, holding the bag. “A peace offering. I thought we could share it.”
He’d been unable to stop thinking about the kiss she’d found so unremarkable, hoping he’d get another chance to make an impression on her.
She’d gotten under his skin and he wasn’t sure why, or how. She’d managed to see a side of him he usually kept hidden and he didn’t know what to do about that. It wasn’t a big deal. None of this was a big deal.
Still, he couldn’t quite stay away.
“Thanks,” said Cynthia, setting the bag on a shelf. “Maybe later.”
She sat down behind her desk and motioned for him to take the chair opposite. “I think we need to talk. Let’s forget about that silly kiss. You’re under a lot of stress right now and I understand that. It’s my fault for crossing the line.”
She was jittering like she’d skipped the latte and had the caffeine injected directly into a vein. But she wasn’t stuttering. She was remarkably articulate. Frighteningly so, in fact.
“I’m not stressed.”
“Well then, you should be.” A tendon in her neck twitched and she was blinking too fast. “Two thirds of my partners have jumped ship. You’re stuck with me and a rapidly shortening time line.”
“I’m not worried.”
“You’re a flirty kind of guy. I get that.” She seemed desperate to explain herself and frustrated that it wasn’t working. “Maddie and DeeDee aren’t around so who else could you flirt with? I understand. It’s just that I don’t do that a lot so... it would be better for both of us if it didn’t happen again.”
She ran down like a wind-up toy that needed another twist.
“No more kissing,” he said.
“Right.” She nodded her head once, decisively.
It irritated him, that head bob. She sounded as if she was reciting something she believed necessary, rather than truly speaking her mind.
So, okay, maybe he had intended on using this opportunity to get closer to the twins, but not only had the twins gotten somewhat out of reach, he found the draw was no longer there.
Plus, he’d learned what he wanted from them anyway.
Hadn’t he?
He thought of the shadow he’d seen beneath Cynthia’s rain-dampened shirt.
“Neither of your sisters have moles on their backs, do they?” he asked suddenly. Mouth, meet brain.
She was clearly taken aback. “Wuh-wuh-what does that have to do with anything?”
She reached behind her, her hand flailing for the back of a chair, a wall, anything on which to brace herself.
Very interesting.
“I saw a girl, a long time ago.” He watched her closely, saw her face go from rosy to pale, in an instant. “It’s a long story. It has to do with your stepsisters, and a crazy party one night, when Eric and I were here for the rodeo.”
She swallowed hard and blinked several times, as if a flash had gone off in front of her.
“I didn’t see all of this girl, just her back,” he continued, aware that the story didn’t paint him in the best light. “It was dark, and she wasn’t... she wasn’t wearing clothes. I didn’t see her face.”
“Yeah, yeah, I guh-get it.” She got up and turned her back on him, rummaging through her files.
“No, you don’t.” He reached across and took her arm. She looked up and there went that little tendon in her throat again.
“I don’t wah-wah-want to hear it, Chad.”
She pulled away so hard that she staggered back a step. What was going on? Something had triggered her speech impediment, made her start shaking like a leaf.
It couldn’t really have been her.
Could it?
“I don’t know who that girl was, Cynthia,” he said. “I didn’t see her face. I didn’t touch her. But I’ve never forgotten her. She was... the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. She had... moles on her back. Four of them.”
He heard her breath catch in her throat, saw her hand move up to her mouth, saw when she tipped her head to hide her face.
“Everyone said that rumor of your sisters skinny-dipping was just that, a rumor. I’m the only one who knows that there really was a girl running naked in that hallway that night. I’m the only one who saw her. And I don’t know who she is.” He paused.
Cynthia looked at him cautiously, like he was something she’d been warned against, a monster now come out of the closet, but with uncertain intent.
“I don’t think it was either of your stepsisters,” he said. “And I have to tell you, Cynthia, I’d be disappointed now if it was-”
“Mrrt.”
Cynthia jumped.
“Thank goodness!” She ran out from behind her desk. “Where’ve you been, sweetheart?”
Maybe it was a sign that he should stop talking. Maybe it was a sign that the stupid obsession he’d had with this mystery woman, all these years, was just that. A stupid obsession that any sane man would have forgotten all about by now.
“Cynthia?” he said.
He followed her out into the empty barn beyond her office.
“My secret admirer,” said Cynthia, bending down in front of the straw bales, where he’d seen her that first day. “He doesn’t usually come out if there are people around.”
“You were trying to catch him that day we first met,” he said.
“I’m getting closer. I was worried he was gone.”
Her voice was muffled. He couldn’t see her face. He’d hijacked her meeting and now it seems they weren’t talking at all. The commanding presence she’d begun with was gone, thanks to him and he regretted it deeply.
He should have just listened. Wasn’t that what women were always saying? Men didn’t listen. Note to self.
“Cynthia, I’m sorry I upset you.”
Her body stilled, but she didn’t get up.
“I, uh, heard the same rumors,” she said. “About that night. But you’re right, it wasn’t Maddie or DeeDee.”
“Are you sure? You’ve seen them? Four moles, right down here.” He gestured to his back, beneath his ribs.
“In the shape of a diamond, I know.” She got up and walked past him, toward her office but instead of going in and taking refuge behind her desk, she stood in the doorway.
“I’ve shared a bathroom with them for years,” she continued. “I know what their backs look like. Look, Chad, if you like Maddie, ask her out. I’m sure she’ll say yes. She’s not exactly subtle.”
Why was she so stuck on him getting with her stepsister?
He felt terrible. “I should go. You’re tired. And you’re surrounded by incompetence.”
He gestured to himself.
“Yeah.” She smiled wryly. “But I will prevail. DMC Solutions satisfies their customers.”
He couldn’t help but admire her. It took a lot of courage to laugh at herself the way she did.
“I hear it’s essential in this business climax,” he said.
“You know-know-know it.” She smiled gently at him. “Sometimes, all you can do is laugh.”
“Listen, Cynthia?” He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say. “I don’t... I’m not... The Fixer-Upper Dance is so close, let’s not end on a bad note, okay? Forget about your stepsisters. I’m not interested in either of them. Forget about the stupid skinny-dipping story. I should never have mentioned it. I won’t kiss you again. Let’s just be friends again. Please.”
She stood up and faced him. Her eyes landed on his, then flitted away, like a butterfly checking out flowers. But her chin was high.
“It was a nice kiss though, wasn’t it,” he said, taking a chance. “Competent, even.”
“It was okay.” She tossed her head. “I don’t really remember.”
He laughed as he drove off the yard, feeling oddly light.
It wasn’t until he was in bed that night that it came to him.
He hadn’t mentioned that the moles formed a diamond shape.
Three days later, after a long but ultimately productive day, Cynthia walked through the empty barn, banging the can of food with a fork.
Nothing. The day of her meeting with Chad had been the last time she’d seen him.
He’d gotten exactly the message she’d intended. Boundaries were set. Limits had been outlined. Friendship had been re-established.
Except they’d never really been friends, had they? They’d gone from acquaintances to business associates to... people who kissed... and now friendship?
What was that about?
“Where are you, little buddy?”
She sniffed back the tears. This was no time for hysteria. She should go to bed. Should have been there hours ago, in fact. But a last minute typo on Chad’s brochures meant she had to redo them, immediately, or risk them not arriving on time.
She’d only just finished.
“Where are you, sweetie?” Each time she’d gotten up, expecting to see him, and he hadn’t shown up, her worry had grown. Now, she was convinced something terrible had happened.
“Kitty, kitty?”
She hadn’t even given him a name yet.
Somehow, that was the worst of all. He’d been overlooked by everyone, starving, alone, until he’d found her. And then what? She’d given him a few meals, but been unable to protect him from the world outside, unable to give him the comfort of touch, a soft bed, medical care if he was injured.
He could be injured right now, in pain, alone, with no one even knowing it.
And with no name.
This time she couldn’t hold back the tears.
“Knock, knock,” came a familiar voice at her door.
“Chad,” she said, quickly wiping her face on her sleeve. “What are you doing here?”
But she wasn’t quick enough and she’d been holding back for too long.
“I was driving past, saw the light on in your office. Hey, what’s wrong?” He strode to her side in an instant, and put his arm around her. Because he was her friend, right?
Whatever he was, it felt so good to have someone on her side that she leaned against him and indulged in the comfort he offered.
“It’s nuh-nuh-nothing,” she said.
“Come here.” He led her to a bale of straw and they sat down. He tightened his arm around her, stroked her hair. “Something’s bothering you. Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. She couldn’t tell him she was crying about a kitten, a stray, unnamed and untamed.
His arm felt so good. His warm body felt so good. His caring felt so good. Too bad guys like him only noticed girls like her stepsisters. How disappointed he’d be if he knew she was the one with the diamond pattern on her back.
“I’m tuh-tuh-tired, that’s all.”
“No wonder. It’s almost midnight.”
She sniffed. “Why are you here again?”
“Nope. Tell me what’s bothering you, first.”
Maybe, despite his denial, he’d been planning to meet Maddie. The thought brought on a fresh onslaught of tears.
“Typo,” she managed. “On your brochures.”
“Pah,” he said. “No one reads those things anyway.”
She laughed through her tears. “Then why order them in the first place?”
“Makes us look good,” he said. “Now come on, a little typo isn’t the end of the world. Surely that’s not what you’re crying about. Is it your cat?”
She stiffened. He remembered.
“I haven’t seen him in days,” she whispered, trying to get hold of herself. “I’m wuh-worried, Chad.”
“Of course you are, honey. He’s probably around somewhere though. You know cats. They’re tough.”
She nodded. But he was wrong. Cats were fragile. Everything was fragile.
“What’s his name?”
“I didn’t give him one.” She sobbed. “And now it’s too late. Why didn’t I give him a name? Maybe it would have helped him trust me.”
“He’s probably sleeping in some warm hidey-hole.” He stroked her arm. “Come on. What did you want to call him? You must have had some names in mind.”
She swallowed and lifted her head. “I don’t know.”
“He’s an orange tabby, right? How about Ginger or Tiger or Taffy?”
She gave a choking laugh.
“Your creativity scares me.”
“Okay then. Fred. Frankenstein. Frohike.”
“Frohike?”
“What? You never watched The X-Files?”
His physical presence, his big, solid nearness, the warmth and the insistent but gentle touch of his hand on her hair had the effect of softening something inside her that she hadn’t even realized was so brittle, it was hurting.
“Melvin Frohike clones a cat,” he continued. “They name it Copy Cat.”
“So why not suggest CopyCat?”
“Frohike it is.”
“Doesn’t really roll off the tongue though, does it?”
He pulled her head, ever so gently, so that their faces were nearly touching.
“Is that important?” he asked. He was looking at her lips.
No, she thought. Not again.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll call him Fred.”
He kissed her again, and for a while, Fred was forgotten.