And again, where are you going? You love Sunshine. Everything you want is here and you get the wanderlust fix by the very nature of your job . . .
She sighed and gave up, kicking off the covers to pad downstairs to find something to eat. What she found was Oreo, paws up on the counter, licking the tile, snuffling as he made his way along the length of it from sink to the toaster.
“Oreo!” she said, horrified.
Not looking all that sorry, he got down and slunk to his bed. She stared at him. “The other day an entire loaf of cinnamon bread went missing. Was that you?”
Oreo crossed his paws, set his head on them, and closed his eyes.
“You’re a big faker,” she said.
He huffed out a sigh.
Zoe made herself a small plate of cheese and crackers. Relenting, she shared it with Oreo and went back upstairs.
On her nightstand, her phone buzzed an incoming text from Kel.
You up?
She stared at the phone and debated with herself. On the one hand, she’d made a promise to herself to go out and have fun dating. On the other hand, the man she wanted to date wasn’t exactly available beyond his “vacation.”
Which meant chin up, she needed to move on.
She texted back: The answer is yes.
There was a pause and then Kel’s response. Is that a blanket yes, because that could cover a lot of ground?
There in the dark, she laughed. And laughing was good, right? She thumbed her response: Just the date for now.
When her phone buzzed again she was expecting more from Kel, but it was her brother asking how she was doing. She responded that she was good because she’d long ago learned that if she said great, Wyatt would call bullshit—and in this case he’d be right. But if she said shitty, he’d come over and demand to know what was wrong.
Two seconds later he responded. Saw Parker tonight. Something going on?
Damn. She loved Wyatt more than she loved just about anyone with the exception of Oreo and—sometimes—Darcy, but her brother had a nose for sniffing out when she was troubled.
And Lord was she troubled at the moment. Not that she was ready to share that, so she thumbed in an innocent: Like what?
Wyatt’s answer was simple. Shit, Zoe.
Yep, she was in deep shit. And she had no idea how to explain. Maybe she should have Parker tell Wyatt what was going on between them.
Hell, maybe she should have Parker explain it to her.
She took a moment to imagine that. Parker seemed more like a “show, don’t tell” sort of guy, so naturally it would be a very hands-on explanation. Hands on, clothes off . . .
A moment later she had to physically shake herself out of the fantasy. A little hot and bothered, she texted Wyatt back. No worries, I’ve got this.
Wyatt’s response didn’t take long: Of course you do . . .
She closed her eyes and then woke up what seemed only moments later, discombobulated. The color of the sky outside her window suggested she’d slept for a few hours at least, since dawn was arriving. She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and then stilled at the odd noise that sounded like . . . kittens crying? Shaking her head at herself, she rolled over and smiled at Oreo. “Kittens,” she said with a laugh. “As if. You’re terrified of cats.”
She flopped back and closed her eyes again, and woke up at her usual seven o’clock. Sitting up, she looked at the other side of the bed, where Oreo usually was stretched out snoring and hogging the covers.
No Oreo.
Confused, she tossed back the covers. “Oreo?” He never got out of bed before her; the lazy lug could sleep all day. Chilly, she grabbed her blanket, wrapped it around herself, and staggered down the stairs and into the kitchen, where she stopped short.
Parker was in one of the chairs, Oreo sitting at attention at his side, the both of them staring down at what Parker held in his lap.
Two wriggling, mewling kittens.
Dog and man looked up at her in unison. Dog smiled.
So did the man. Parker’s gaze made her heat up from the inside out. She could stare at him all day, at that latent energy, the lean muscles, the smile . . . Of course he wasn’t exactly the sweet, gentle sort of man she’d dreamed about, but then again, he was holding kittens—Wait. “Why are there kittens in my kitchen?” she asked.
“Interesting hair,” Parker said.
Good. This was good because it was a sharp reminder that he was not sweet or gentle at all. Period. But she still reached up and felt her hair. Yep, definite bed head. Yikes. Possibly when he’d said “interesting hair,” he’d actually been sweet and gentle there for a second.
And had she taken the time to remove her mascara last night? She glanced at her reflection off her toaster. Nope. She had raccoon eyes. She was quite the catch. “Don’t change the subject,” she said.
“I wasn’t aware we were in the middle of a conversation.”
“You have two kittens in your lap,” she said. Except they weren’t in his lap. They were climbing up his chest. One, an adorable gray ball of fluff, had made it to his shoulder and stopped to lick his ear.
Zoe understood that. She wouldn’t mind doing the same.
The orange tabby one leapt off Parker and landed on top of Oreo.
One-hundred-plus pounds of Bernese mountain dog froze in place while the kitten nonchalantly padded along the dog’s back and sat on top of his head.
Oreo blinked, and the kitten leaned forward and batted his nose.
Parker laughed, grabbed the kitten by the scruff of its neck, and set it back in his lap. “Stop terrorizing the poor dog.”
“He doesn’t like cats,” Zoe said, and then shut up in shock when Oreo leaned in and licked the kitten’s face, leaving it drenched.
“Mew,” the kitten said, staring up at Oreo adoringly.
“Woof,” Oreo said softly. Gently. And then nosed the kitten, who fell over in Parker’s lap and exposed its belly.
Oreo licked that, too.
And then the sound of little kitty purrs filled the room.
Zoe was boggled. “Okay, someone needs to explain what’s going on here.”
Oreo looked at Parker.
Parker snorted and met Zoe’s gaze. “The cute little girl next door has big eyes and was crying over the kittens she wasn’t allowed to keep. And, apparently, I’m a sucker.”
“For big eyes or crying girls or kittens?” she asked.
“All of the above.”
Dammit. That was sweet and gentle, too. But this thought took a backseat to the realization that he hadn’t shaved and had stubble on his jaw. She wanted to feel it on her skin.
Everywhere.
And then he rubbed his hand over that jaw and the ensuing scraping sound made her good parts quiver. “So you’re just a closet softie?” she asked dubiously, and damn she sounded all breathless.
“No.” One corner of his mouth quirked as if he knew where her mind had gone. “Well, maybe a little,” he said. “Don’t tell.”
He was teasing her. Because no way was he a softie, in any sense of the world.
And yet the proof was crawling all over him.
“One of my rules was no pets,” she reminded him, having to fight the urge not to pick up the adorable gray kitty.
“Actually,” Parker said, “you said no dogs.”
Crap. He was right. Since when was everyone but her right? “What are their names?”