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The purple dye job I had a friend help me do a couple weeks ago has mostly faded. It was only semi-permanent, but I liked the look enough that I’d do it for real next time. All that’s left is a slight burgundy tint.

I throw on some denim cutoff shorts and a plain white v-neck t-shirt before traversing the route to the kitchen. As soon as I walk in, the putrid scent of wet cat food makes my nose wrinkle.

“Oh, hey,” I say when I spot the source of the smell.

Naomi is peeling the lid off a can while the cats try to climb up her legs, making desperate mewling noises like they haven’t seen food in weeks.

She glances at me with the can still in her hands, and her whole body freezes when our eyes lock. I wait a couple seconds for her to shake off the startled sensation, but if anything, her posture seems to get even tenser when I take a couple steps forward.

“Did I scare you?”

She blinks, and that seems to break her trance. She turns to hunch over the can, her hair falling over her shoulders to hide her face.

“They’re really noisy cats, aren’t they?” I ask when she still doesn’t show any signs of making a sound.

It’s possible I’m going to be carrying this entire conversation myself, but considering I did make her fear for her life last night, I probably owe her that.

“My dad’s been with Sandy for almost six years, and I still can’t get over the fact that she named her cats Bijoux and Aurora Rose.” I snort as I head over to the pantry and start scanning for breakfast options. “The first time I met her, she thought we could have some kind of daughter and step-mom bonding session by cleaning the wax out of their ears. Does that seem like a bonding activity to you? I guess maybe trauma bonding, but like seriously, who suggests that as the first thing to do with your new boyfriend’s daughter? Oh my god, wait, is she making you clean their earwax while she’s gone? Please tell me they hired a professional for that.”

I step back from scanning the shelves and look over at Naomi. The cats are now swarming their bowls on the floor, and she’s leaning against the island above them, watching me with her chin propped in her hand.

She looks cute like that, kind of like she’s waiting for someone to walk over and slide their arms around her from behind.

For a second, I can almost feel it: the warmth of her back pressed to my chest, my nose buried in her hair and my hands gripping the edge of her faded blue t-shirt. She pushes off the island and whirls around like she’s embarrassed I caught her staring. I watch her open and close what seems like a random selection of cupboards with her back to me. Then I shake my head to clear it as I turn back to the pantry.

I’m not actually into her. I’m just not sure what the hell I’m doing with my life at the moment, and checking out a random cute girl seems like the perfect way to avoid thinking about that.

Thankfully, she’s acting like she’s going to burst into flames if she speaks so much as a single syllable around me today, which is going to make it a lot easier to focus on my next move—namely, figuring out where to go from here before either of my parents discover I’m currently living out of trash bags or that I will most likely be unemployed by the end of the day.

It’s safe to say I will not be making it in for the lunch rush at my waitressing job in Montreal this afternoon.

It’s also probably safe to say I will not be returning to Montreal at all, considering my internship in Toronto starts at the end of August and I don’t even have anything left in Montreal to go back to.

A jolt of dread makes my chest tighten, but I grab a bag of bagels off the shelf in front of me and do my best to ignore it as I head for the toaster.

“I do.”

The murmur of Naomi’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. She’s facing me now, her gaze pinned to the tiles under my feet.

“Uh, clean their ears,” she adds before I can ask her what she’s talking about. “Their ears aren’t actually that bad. The grossest part is cleaning between their toes. There’s some scary stuff in there.”

I chuckle. “I can only imagine.”

“But they’re still cute,” she goes on. “Once you get used to the whole hairless thing, they start to grow on you. It’s sweet that they like to cuddle so much, which I guess is more about my body heat than me, but still, it’s cute.”

I laugh again, my eyes scanning over her face as she continues to stare at the floor. “Oh no. The Stockholm Syndrome is setting in already.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she says with a sound that can only be described as a giggle. The noise makes the corners of my mouth lift.

She lifts her head, and I get my first good look at her eyes since last night. They’re a lighter blue than I thought and streaked with sea green.

I start to wonder what they’d look like outside, where the sun is already beating down on the yard like it’s trying to dry up the whole pool. They look like the kind of eyes that are always shifting between shades, never giving you the full story but always making you want to read another page.

We both jump when the toaster pops.

I grab a plate and fish my bagel out. I can hear blood thundering in my ears, and I don’t know when my heart started beating so fast.

“I’m going to go, um, read,” Naomi says, already retreating to the other side of the kitchen. “Oh also, sorry if you already did this, but your dad told me to tell you to call your mom, if you haven’t yet.”