Page 8 of Foxer Upper (Harmony Glen #8)

By the time we head back inside, dusk has started to fall.

I sit at her kitchen table and pull a notebook and pencil out of my pocket.

Considering everything we discussed, I make a huge list of recommendations: everything from tools to supplies to timelines.

When I’m done, I tear out the pages and hand them over.

“These are my thoughts. Of course, you can do whatever you want to. These are just suggestions, and I’m always available if you have any questions about them. I hope this helps.”

Maggie clutches the papers to her chest like they’re a treasure. “Thank you so much for this, Gabe. I sometimes have a hard time asking for help with DIY stuff, because I like to prove I can do things on my own. But the way you’ve offered your time and expertise has been so generous…”

She trails off and I resist the urge to offer even more help. Ever since I met her, I’ve had this weird desire for her to need me, and it’s gratifying to hear that she appreciates what I’ve done. Instead, I clear my throat and stand. “I guess I should get going,” I say.

“Sure, if you need to. But you’re more than welcome to stay for dinner,” she replies.

“I’m making pasta and salad, and Laney dropped off a couple of baguettes that Dorvak made.

She owns the tea shop next to the bakery, so she’s always stocked on bread,” she explains with a laugh.

“I have a nice red wine to go with it all. We could eat and watch a movie. Feeding you is the least I can do since you gave up your afternoon for me.”

I grin at her. “I’d really like that.”

MAGGIE

Gabe and I are still standing in my den, chatting, when my cat appears.

Jasper strolls in, casual as can be, until he spots Gabe. Then his tail goes up, his ears go down, and with a hiss, he puffs up to about twice his normal size. I can’t help but laugh; it’s meant to be intimidating, but he looks like a big orange cloud.

“Jasper, what the hell? Gabe is a guest. Be nice.”

He just hisses again, and it’s Gabe’s turn to chuckle. “It’s the fox thing,” he says. “Foxes—even vulpines—are technically canids, so Jasper’s reaction is perfectly normal. If I can show him we’re friends, he might calm down.”

I go and grab some of Jasper’s favorite shrimp treats out of the kitchen and hand them to Gabe. “Try these. If anything can make him like you, it’s shrimp.”

Gabe holds out the treat and Jasper stands there, staring and giving him the stink eye.

Finally, after a long minute, the cat strolls over and takes the offering, crunching loudly.

Gabe reaches out, giving Jasper the opportunity to sniff his hand, which Jasper does.

More than anything, he seems confused about the apparent dog scent.

But then, with the cat equivalent of a shrug, he hops on the couch and starts bathing his enormous, floofy tail, which we take as a good sign.

“Hey,” Gabe says, “do you know how cats mix cake batter?”

“What? Um, no idea.”

“With whiskers!” He laughs at his own joke and I can’t help joining in. It’s one of those things that’s so dumb, it’s funny, and we both know it.

“I need to start the pasta,” I say, heading back into the kitchen. He follows me, leaning on the doorframe. “I’ve got a million of them,” he says. “What do cats eat for breakfast?”

I fire up a burner and set a pot of water on it, then grab the salad ingredients out of the fridge. “What?”

He grins. “Mice Krisipies.”

“Oof,” I say, chopping a cucumber. “That’s terrible.”

“Of course. But did it make you smile?”

“You know it did. I guess I appreciate dad jokes and bad puns.”

“That’s good, because those are the basis of my sense of humor.”

“Oh, I know,” I say, chuckling. “I remember our first meeting. You know? The thing with the jig?”

“Ha, that’s right. I’m really glad you didn’t hold a bad first impression against me.”

I pause in my food prep and turn to him. “It wasn’t a bad first impression. It was funny and welcoming, if a little surprising. You put me at ease and helped me find what I needed. I liked you immediately.”

He meets my gaze, his expression intent. “It was mutual.”

A tingle zings through me and I turn back to the food. “The salad is ready, and the bread just needs to be sliced.” I put the pasta in the water, which has started to simmer. “The noodles won’t take long.”

“Is it okay if I set the table?” he asks.

“Of course.” I point to the cupboards and drawers. “There’s wine on the counter over there if you want to open it and let it breathe. The corkscrew is in the silverware drawer.”

He sets the table and opens the wine, I bring over the food, and we sit. We eat in silence for a few moments, both of us apparently starving after a long day. It’s only after several bites of pasta that he looks up and says, “This is delicious. Thank you.”

“No problem. Pasta and salad is about as easy as it gets.”

After a very satisfying meal and easy conversation, we put on an action-adventure movie that’s also a comedy. Something about two competing thieves and the bumbling agent trying to stop them. It’s fun, and I’m surprised at how at ease both Jasper and I are in Gabe’s presence.

Jasper has warmed up enough to sit on Gabe’s lap, and I’m leaning into the vulpine, his arm casually stretched along the back of the couch behind me. I could get used to this. It’s almost cuddling, and we both seem to be into it.

I’m definitely attracted to him, and I’m getting the impression it’s mutual.

It’s getting late when he finally stands and stretches, the movie long over. “I better go,” he says. He walks to the console table I keep near the front door, which is where he put his stuff earlier.

He frowns as he gathers his things. “Have you seen my other work glove? I was sure I put them both here.”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so. But we can look.” We search the living room, den, and kitchen, but the glove is nowhere to be found. “Maybe you dropped it outside?” I suggest.

“Maybe,” he says, still looking puzzled. “It’s too dark to search out there, though.”

“I’ll look around first thing in the morning.”

“Okay, thanks.”

He leans in and gives me a huge hug. “Thanks for a wonderful dinner. I had a great time tonight.”

I squeeze back. “So did I. And really, I should be thanking you. It was so kind of you to spend your Saturday inspecting my house and giving me suggestions.”

“Anytime,” he says. “Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Yes. I’ll let you know if I find the glove.”

He leaves, and I take a few minutes to load the dishwasher and get the house tidy.

Later, when I head up to my bedroom, exhausted and ready to collapse, I find the glove.

It’s sitting neatly in the center of my pillow, like a little offering.

I glance at Jasper, who’s twining around my legs and chirping, his indicators that he’s ready to go to bed and is just waiting on me.

“Did you put that there?” I ask him.

He hops onto the bed and sits next to the pillow, making biscuits and looking proud.

Obviously, this is his handiwork, but why would he do it?

What would he want with a work glove? Is this his way of giving Gabe his approval?

Does he steal other clothes and I just haven’t noticed?

Was he trying to…keep Gabe from leaving by taking his stuff?

In response, Jasper just blinks at me and curls up next to the pillow, falling asleep instantly. With a sigh, I move the glove to the nightstand and join him, wondering if there’s more to this cat than meets the eye.