I press his hand. “He recognized you.”
“I’m so glad,” he says, and the words are gruff with emotion.
My heart squeezes. “Me too.”
And now he knows.
“Well, isn’t that just lovely.” Margaret’s eyes burrow into mine, but her tone is all politeness. “Speaking of challenges, I was so sorry about poor Garfield.” Her face drops into a sad little pout. “Bridger filled me in earlier.”
Uhhhh … Garfield?
I wish Bridger had filledmein.
“Mmhmm.” I nod. If his mom is trying to catch me out, I won’t go down without a fight. “Yes. Poor Garfield.”
She makes a sound with her perfect, capped teeth, something between a tsk and a cluck. “You must be terribly worried.”
“Who wouldn’t be?” My brow furrows. “Of course, we’re very concerned.”
“That’s because I haven’t had a chance to tell you both the good news,” Bridger chimes in, his eyes snagging mine. “Dr. Martin called from the vet’s office. She couldn’t make any promises, but she said we should be able pick Garfield up sometime this weekend.”
The vet’s office. Dr. Martin. Garfield.
My brain fizzes as I scramble to decode his message.
Get there faster, Loren.
“She just felt awful that Garfield had to stay with her longer than expected,” he adds. “But the infection got pretty serious.” He grimaces. “After the declawing.”
Declawing. Infection. Garfield. Suddenly, the lightbulb over my head clicks on. Margaret must have asked Bridger about the grumpy cat she heard hissing on the phone. The cat we don’t actually have.
Because I’m the cat.
I’m also not surprised she’d hang on to a detail like that and try to use it to trip us up. She probably had our whole conversation recorded. Luckily, my husband is brilliant, and we make kind of a great team.
Also? I guess we’re getting a cat this weekend.
“Only about three percent of cats get infections after that kind of surgery,” Bridger says, really selling it. “And Loren and I knew it was a risk, but we couldn’t let Garfield damage the furniture.”
“Because we’re just renting,” I pipe up, wanting to be a part of the cover story.
“Yes, that reminds me,” Margaret says, dryly. “Why lease this place instead of finding a home to buy? I thought most newly married couples like to set down roots.”
“We would have,” Bridger says smoothly, like he had the answer ready to go. “But Loren and I aren’t sure where we want to settle yet, long term.”
“Oh?” Margaret blinks, then her lips part, just a sliver. “I had no idea you weren’t set on staying here in North Carolina.” She draws in a breath, and her exhale is quivery. “Would you … have you ever considered … coming home?”
Bridger runs a hand over his head, and something sharp tickles my throat. This is the first and only sign of vulnerability I’ve seen from his mother, and as much as I hate to admit it, a wave of sympathy bubbles up for me.
I can’t imagine living so far from my only family for so long. And knowing Bridger as well as I do, he probably feels a bit sorry for her too. Regardless of her treatment. Despite allthe trouble she’s caused. Because he’s Bridger. The man with the kindest heart. So I jump in to help.
“That would be hard for us,” I say. “My dad needs me. So I need to be close … for now at least …” I let my voice trail off.
Margaret’s chin shifts. “Of course.”
The oven timer goes off.
“Chicken’s ready,” Bridger says. “Who’s hungry?”