Page 14 of A Love Like Pumpkin Spice (Wayward Hollow #1)

Nic

The thing about having a ghost cat is that you stop questioning every single sound in a house. Creaking from the upper level? I bet Chaos is chasing a shadow. A glass falling in the kitchen? God damn it, Chaos, now I have to clean up glass shards that you can’t hurt yourself on.

But the consistent sound of clanking coming from the kitchen? That doesn’t sound like a ghost cat. At all. I rise from the couch with a startle, my eyes darting around the room for a weapon.

Which I don’t have. There’s an umbrella, a lamp, and the shovel we used to dig Chaos’s grave.

Awoo-woo!

Huh? That’s new.

My eyes dart back to the couch, and all the tension immediately seeps out of my shoulders. Right. Jensen. Henry. Apparently, I did not dream those two up.

“Hey, pretty boy,” I coo with a happy sigh as I sink down next to him again, giggling when he almost climbs into my lap. “Did you keep me company?”

I run my hands over his soft fur, laughing when he tries to lick my face in return. God, he’s adorable. And soft.

When he settles down again, I let my head drop against the couch’s backrest. Maybe I should get myself a dog to heal my heart.

On the other hand, I was chosen by the cat distribution system, it appears. But cats can be … spicy. I mean, what if she hates me? She certainly likes to scream a lot, though I’m not sure all of it is in displeasure.

Then again, the same could happen with a dog.

But some unconditional love would be nice. The thought of a living, breathing being doing a happy dance when they see me when I return from a grocery trip? Riveting. I want that.

What I got is a kitten that shits in my hands and screams at me. Well, good things take time. That much even my grandma knew and ingrained in me when she was alive.

God, I miss that woman. I wish I still had her diaries, but my parents ensured none of her belongings made it to me.

My sister got all her jewelry, even the simple silver necklace I begged them for.

My grandma got it from my grandpa. I've lost count of how many times I've heard her joke that he stole it from a snooty rich woman to gift it to her.

She knew it was a bullshit story he told, because never wanted to admit how much he paid for it.

Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure that’s the reason I never received it. I never got her picture albums either. Though I believe that was out of pure spite and pettiness on my parents’ part.

“Hello there, sleeping beauty.” My eyes dart to where the voice came from.

Henry leans in the doorway with his shoulder against the frame and his arms crossed in front of his chest. He has the air of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing—and what can I say?

It’s working. That stupidly perfect smirk, the rolled-up sleeves, the arms crossed as if he’s completely unaware of how attractive he is. Please. He knows.

“Hey,” I mumble, then I glance around, confused. “Wait. How long was I out?”

“ Not that long. Two hours, maybe. I was about to wake you so that your sleep rhythm wouldn't be thrown off too much.” God, how can a man be that thoughtful and considerate?

“Where’s—”

Just then, the little nameless cat peeks over his shoulder.

“She loves my sweater’s hood,” Henry snickers and walks in.

“Be careful she doesn’t relieve herself in it,” I warn him, but he shrugs.

“Trust me, I’ve found shit in worse places.” A giggle falls from my lips when he grimaces.

“Thanks for that visual.” I giggle and watch him curiously as he sits down in one of my armchairs.

“Sorry about before,” I say, trying not to cringe. “I hate being caught mid-spiral. I swear, I’m totally normal. Just, y’know, under a very specific set of conditions involving sleep, snacks, and no screaming cats.”

“Ah, what’s normal?” He shrugs, fishes the cat out of his hoodie, and lets her climb over him instead.

“Once in college, I pulled an all-nighter to finish a paper. The next day I ended up in the wrong lecture and sleep-deprived me thought the whole world switched to Spanish and only I missed the memo.” He scratches the back of his neck and shoots me a sheepish grin.

“In comparison, ordering three espresso shots and looking a little unhinged while doing so is pretty normal.”

I tilt my head and stare at him. “No, I can’t picture it. You seem so”—I make broad gestures at him—“put together. I don’t buy it.”

“Thank you, I think?” He chuckles and catches the kitten before she walks right off the armchair.

“You can’t fly, you little idiot,” he says lovingly.

Jensen shoots him a disapproving glare and then demonstratively puts his head into my lap as if he’s saying, “if you replace me, I’m replacing you with her. ”

“I think your dog is jealous.”

“ He’s a drama queen.” The dog lets out a deep sigh. “Speaking of—” He grabs the kitten right as she is about to test her non-existent flight abilities again. “I think you should name her.”

My eyes jump from Henry to the orange kitten in his hand, and I bite my lip as thoughts and worries fly through my head quicker than hummingbirds on a mission.

Can I get attached now? But what if she dies after all? What if she runs away? What if—

“Hey.”

I look at Henry, who gets up, shooing Jensen off the couch, and takes his place next to me, then gently places the kitten in my lap.

“She’s okay. In fact, she’s doing great. There is no more chance of her …” He clears his throat. “Disappearing than there is of lightning striking your house.”

My eyes are firmly on the little creature as she turns around herself. She loses her footing on my thigh and protests with a weak meow when I pick her up.

“For all we know, she might outlive you . What if a meteor strikes you tomorrow?" My eyes narrow when he throws my words back into my face. How dare he use my logic against me? "Do you think that means she should never get attached?”

Biting my lip, I gulp past the emotions building in my throat.

“I hate that you’re making sense,” I whisper, feeling his body shake with stifled laughter. “You’re one hundred percent sure? She’s out of the woods.”

“I am,” he assures me. “Trust me.”

I hold my breath, and all of a sudden, all the racing thoughts in my mind, all the worries, the self-doubts, they go … silent.

Blissfully silent.

Because I do. I trust him. He might not be much more than a stranger, but my heart tells me it’s okay. He’s safe.

Tea rs form in my eyes as I exhale and watch the little creature still playing in my lap.

“Pumpkin,” I whisper, the word barely making it past my lips as I choke up. “I’ll call her Pumpkin.”

“That’s a good name,” he declares. Silence settles as the sun sets over the mountains on the other side of the lake, the air thick with my emotions. The heat from Henry’s arm on the backrest, his body brushing mine, surrounds me like a blanket—soft, steady, and safe. Like I can do this.

From the corner of my eye, I can see him watching me, his eyes darting over my face curiously, as if he’s trying to figure something out.

I want to turn to him. I don’t even know why. All I know is that I want to look at him, too. At his kind face, the small crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes, that strand of hair that keeps falling into his face—

Awoo-woo!

And in the blink of an eye, the tension is gone, and I burst into a giggle that I unsuccessfully try to hide behind my hand.

“Not now, Jensen—this is emotional,” Henry scolds his dog, but leans down and scratches his head.

“It’s fine,” I assure him and get up, cradling the kitten in the crook of my arm.

“Also, I’m starving. Can I buy you dinner as a thank you for saving me from total emotional collapse and also for not immediately mocking me for that whole ‘hot’ comment?

” I watch him, gauging his reaction. He glances at me quickly, almost sheepishly, his fingers drumming against the couch.

“Which, for the record, I still stand by.”

There it is. The tiniest blush creeping into his cheeks and the corners of his mouth twitching, ever so slightly. He likes that I find him hot. That’s good to know.

Before Henry can answer, Jensen butts in. Awoo-woo!

“Well, apparently it’s decided,” Henry says with a chuckle. “Jokes aside”—goosebumps rise on my skin at the way he’s lookin g at me—“I’d love that. And for the record, I’m honored by the hot comment. Truly. I might get it engraved on something.”

“Hope it’s on something dramatic. Maybe a sword or a marble bust.”

He rolls his eyes, but his smile certainly says he’s not opposed to the idea.

“I can’t believe you have emergency dog food in your car.” I shake my head in awe when he enters the kitchen with the packet in hand and the sound of Jensen wolfing down his dinner coming from the hallway.

“Sometimes I get called further out—for example, if one of my cousins has issues with his farm animals,” he explains, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Anyways, what are you making?”

“Pasta and tomato sauce—it’s quick and easy, and the only thing my kitchen’s stocked for.” I shrug as if it’s no big deal. “An Italian grandma taught me how to make it when I was shooting a movie in Rome,” I add nonchalantly, biting back a grin when I see him freeze from the corner of my eye.

“Oh, please. Don’t act as if you don’t know I used to be an actress. It was written all over Kieran’s face, and he doesn’t seem the type who would keep that kind of information to himself.”

“You’re right,” he admits sheepishly, and I pretend to pout. “Why did you keep it a secret?”

“I didn’t.” I shrug. My phone buzzes on the counter, and I subtly decline the call and push it behind some containers.

I don’t need a reminder of a certain someone complaining about my cooking.

Or memories of him ordering takeout after I spent two ho urs in the kitchen for our meal flashing through my head.

“I don’t exactly go around and advertise it. Lauren and I moved here for peace and quiet. Why would we introduce ourselves with, ‘Hi, I’m Nic, world-famous actress, please don’t call the paparazzi. And by the way, that means I’m rich, please don’t rob me either, okay?’”

He tilts his head as he thinks it over, then hides a chuckle behind his hand. “So you don’t need to hit me over the head with a shovel, hoping I’ll get just enough amnesia to forget about it?”

“Do you want me to hit you over the head with a shovel?” I raise my eyebrow at him and shake my head. “Then again, I already have a ghost cat; I don’t need a ghost human either. You’re safe from the shovel or any other sharp or hard objects.”

“Thank God.”

“Anyway—” I change the topic and point toward the little orange fluff ball trying to climb Henry’s jeans, a constant stream of meows coming from her. At least she’s using her indoor voice now. “Now that it’s been a while, do I need to change anything for her?”

“I can release you of the ‘every few hours’ feedings.”

My head whips around, and I stare at him with wide eyes. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he confirms with a nod and reaches for Pumpkin.

“That’s the best news I’ve had in”—I take a moment to think—“at least two months!”

“Three times a day should be enough. She is a good weight, meaning you can add solids to her food now. Just mix in more and more with the milk until she eats the regular cat food and burp her after eating. Like you would a human baby, with gentle pats on her back. I also saw a litter box in the hallway—you might want to put that up. She should start using it on instinct, and if she doesn’t, put her in there after she eats and reward her with treats when she uses it. ”

“Okay, that sounds doable.” I nod and add the pasta into the now-boiling water, then squish the softened tomatoes in my pan.

“Don’t get too excited too early. She’s getting into her toddler phase.

Meaning, she’ll explore and might get stuck in places you would never expect her to be.

Make sure to double-check your fridge, oven, washing machine, and microwave before using them.

She’ll also get more energy, meaning you might want to get her some toys and play with her a lot.

A bored cat might become destructive, and your couch is pretty.

” He leans closer. I freeze when his face is suddenly only a breath away from mine.

“Would be a shame if someone”—he suddenly holds the kitty in front of my face—“were to scratch it up.”

“Right.” I gulp and turn to the stove, my heart beating into my throat.

This was not part of my plan. I planned to build a life here, lick my wounds, drown in self-pity, and romanticize the hell out of my single life.

It was definitely not to fall for the hot town vet.