Page 8 of Get Over It, April Evans

The room was lovely, but Daphne was having a hard time focusing on those details because both beds were covered in clothes, the bathroom light was on and the counter was already littered with toiletries, and she could barely see the pine floor because there were boots and scarves and black jeans and tees literally everywhere. It was as though someone had stuffed the entire contents of their suitcase into a T-shirt cannon and started firing at random.

Daphne stood frozen in the doorway, her own large suitcase next to her, blinking at the mess.

“Yeah, sorry,” April said, snatching a pile of shirts off one of the beds and stuffing them into the bottom dresser drawer. “I had a lot of shit to unpack, and it helps me organize it if I can see it all.”

Daphne let her shoulders relax. She wasn’t exactly a messy person—she liked things in their place, particularly after years of living with Elena—but she understood the harrowing unpacking process.

Which was exactly why she never quite made it that far at Vivan’s.

“No worries,” she said, pulling her suitcase behind her and heading for the now-cleared bed. She plopped down, exhaling as she did so, before looking around and wondering what to do first. She’d been hoping April hadn’t arrived yet so she’d have a bit of time to simply stare at the ceiling fan, but that wasn’t in the cards. The last thing she needed right now was for her grumpy roommate to develop some kind of personal issue with her.

And clearly, they were already off to a strange start.

She glanced up to find April staring at her, brows lowered in what could only be described as a glower, and a black bathing suit covered in tiny constellations in her hands.

A very,verystrange start.

Daphne cleared her throat, then turned her suitcase over on its side so she could get it unzipped.

But then she heard it again—a meow.

She straightened, her eyes wide.

“Shit,” April said. She tossed the bathing suit on her bed and headed toward not one but two pet carriers by the door. “I really need to let them out. Do you mind?”

Daphne could only blink as April—who didn’t seem to need an answer from her anyway—proceeded to unlatch the wire doors, releasing two cats, who stepped out of their cages like royalty.

“Bianca del Kitty,” April said, motioning to a regal white-and-gray cat with blue eyes, then pointing to an orange feline, green eyes glowing. “And that’s Bob the Drag Cat. I’ve got their litter box in my car. I hope you’re not allergic, because I have nowhere else for them to go right now.”

Daphne had never had house pets before. Elena hated cats, and Daphne’s family in Tennessee had raised chickens, which required too much care and maintenance to add a dog or cat to the mix.

“Well, are you?” April asked.

The orange cat, Bob, wandered over to Daphne and rubbed itself on her legs, nosing at a loose string on her cuffed jeans.

“Am I what?” Daphne asked, looking down at the feline.

“Allergic,” April said, impatience tightening her voice.

“No,” Daphne said. “No, I’m—”

Bob mewed, looking up at Daphne with liquid eyes before leaping into her lap.

“Oh,” she said, lifting her hands into the air to give the beast some room. The cat kneaded Daphne’s legs, turning in circles a few times, rubbing its face on Daphne’s belly.

April scoffed, then mumbled something that sounded liketraitorunder her breath. Daphne couldn’t be sure, and she couldn’t slow down her emotions long enough to figure it out, because Bob settled in her lap then. It tucked its paws underneath its furry body and started purring, happy as can be.

Daphne suddenly realized it had been a full month since anyone had touched her, hugged her, patted her on the shoulder, anything. Suddenly, this tiny animal’s body—its weight and its heat—was all too much, a shock of affection Daphne hadn’t even known she needed.

And then, because this day truly couldn’t get any worse, she promptly burst into tears.

Chapter

Three

Oh, fucking hell.

April watched as Daphne started crying with her precious baby Bob in her lap, for god’s sake. She had no clue what to do or say. Clearly, the woman had issues.