A thumping, clunking sounded outside Cynthia’s office window, pulling her out of her work. She got to her feet, still wonderfully sore from dancing. Three days after the fact, she was still exhilarated by an evening of whirling about on the dusty dance floor in the arms of a handsome man.
“Hey,” called the voice of said handsome man.
Cynthia gulped. Chad had been mysteriously busy since that night, which was okay because she’d been swamped, too. People were calling DMC Solutions day and night, it seemed. Which was complicated because DMC Solutions was in the process of becoming CH Solutions. Maddie had gone to her mother, not on Cynthia’s behalf exactly, but Cynthia had her suspicions.
However it had come about, the company was now hers and hers alone, the debt forgiven.
And she and Chad were... something. The enchanted night was over, but something had definitely changed. She was different and so was he.
Love did that.
She tugged her shirt into place and ran to open the door.
He stood beside his truck, one cowboy boot crossed casually over the other, hat in his hand, that shiny grin set to stun and aimed at her.
“Chad.” Her face muscles defied her, answering him with her own goofy grin. Way to play it cool.
“How you feeling, Cinderella?”
He was looking at her the same way he had before the fundraiser. The perfect date, the ideal escort, the companion of her dreams.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Now, now, don’t be that way. The story ends well, as I recall.”
He pushed away from the truck and sauntered over to her, slapping his hat on his thigh. Even the way he walked, all swagger and testosterone, made her weak in the knees.
“I’m busy, cowboy. What’s up?”
He took her hand. Heat shot through her and things started to quiver.
“Not too busy for me, though,” he said with a mock frown.
Never. Any day. Day or night. Especially night...
Quivering turned to quaking.
His lovely blue eyes turned serious. “I have a problem that I believe you can help me with.”
“Me?” she squeaked.
“There’s a pesky cat hanging around, stealing Jackson’s food. I thought you might want to give him a home. His name’s Frohike.”
Her chest tightened at the thought of her scrawny little stray, gone, just as he was learning to trust her.
“You can’t just replace him, Chad.” It wasn’t any cat she wanted. It was that cat. Only that cat.
“What if he’s not gone?”
She lifted her face. “What?”
“What if he was only lost and trying to find his way back to you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Suddenly the air grew tense. He took both hands in his and walked her, backwards into her office. He kicked the door shut behind them and led her to the couch.
“What if this pathetic creature that you found, that disappeared from your life, what if he didn’t really want to be gone, but circumstances made it be that way?”
He stroked a finger up her arm, to her throat. His eyes were shining.
She couldn’t speak. If this was some kind of tease, it was the most horrible torture she could have imagined.
“You happened into my life at a time when...” He paused. “You know my reputation, Cyn. I’ve been a self-absorbed ass my entire adult life. And I would have stayed that way, if you hadn’t happened. If we hadn’t... happened.”
His breath was on her face, mint-scented and warm and then his lips were on hers, soft and sweet and searching.
She let herself dissolve into the kiss, melting against his solid maleness, letting her arms drift to his shoulders, feeling the strength of his embrace enfold her. It was like the needle had jumped on the enchanted night album, and they were back there again, swaying together on the dance floor, looking deep into each other’s eyes, only this time, they kissed. The way they were supposed to.
This, this was the ending she’d been waiting for.
But still, she had to be certain.
“I don’t do casual, Chad.”
She heard a sound in his chest, it could have been a laugh, it could have been a sob. He kissed her forehead.
“And I don’t do love, Cynthia. Ask anyone. Yet here we are.”
Yet here they were.
“Both of us, a little lost.”
“This is new for me, Cyn,” he said, his voice low, urgent. He frowned, as if trying to catch the right words, and failing. “Whatever we had, whatever we have together, it’s not like anything I’ve ever had before. I don’t know what this means for you, but for me, I don’t want it to end. I don’t want to be lost anymore.”
Breath rushed into her lungs. She laughed but she felt moisture on her cheeks. “Neither do I.”
“Good,” he said, wiping the tear away with his fingertip, “Now. There’s something in my truck I want you to see.”
He opened the passenger side door and lifted a cardboard cat carrier from the foot well. “He’s still a little sleepy. Which is probably good because he’s an escape artist extraordinaire, this one.”
He opened the top and Cynthia peered inside.
“Mrrt.”
Golden green eyes blinked blearily up at her. The little orange cat was a little bigger now, clean and sleek and narked to the gills.
Fresh tears sprang into her eyes. She whipped her head up.
“What happened? Where did you find him?”
“Near as I can figure,” said Chad with a smile, “he hitched a ride under the body of my truck. I didn’t clue in until the night of the dance. Once I realized it, I had to catch him. I was going to bring him straight over, but I figured, I might as well be the bad guy, so I took him to the vet, had him neutered, vaccinated, dewormed, the whole nine yards. That’s why he’s a little wobbly. Here. Take him into your office before he starts freaking out again.”
Cynthia lifted the carrier and took it inside, feeling the weight of her little friend in stark contrast to the lightness in her heart.
The thumping she’d heard earlier sounded again, and this time, it was followed by the creak of the truck tailgate.
“I figured you’d need a few supplies,” said Chad, as he lugged an enormous cat-tree through the door. It was carpet-covered, with areas for scratching and three hidey-holes for a skittish feline to take refuge in.
He’d brought a litter box, litter, toys, dishes, a brush, everything a new cat owner could possibly need.
“The doc said this is the best food for him right now,” he said, plunking down a small bag of kibble and a half-dozen cans. “He’ll need different stuff once he’s fully grown.”
Cynthia gave the kitten, her kitten – Frohike, apparently – one last stroke and got to her feet.
“Are you for real, Chad Anders? Because if you are, I think I might just keep you.”
“I am and you may, Cynthia Henley,” said Chad. “Just one thing.”
“Anything.”
He cast a nervous look at the little creature now licking his nether regions.
“Don’t neuter me.”
She burst out laughing. “That, I can guarantee.”