“Well … your Kit-Cat is probably some farm cat that snuck out through a tear in the fence. Happens all the time. My neighbor has about seven strays that regularly visit her back porch.”
Neighbor… “Do you live on a farm yourself?” I ask. That would totally fit a caring and devoted guy like him.
“Uh … well … no, I don’t.”
Hmm, okay, scratch that. “But your neighbors are farmers?”
“One of them. Far away.”
“So your neighbors are … far apart?”
“I, uh, yeah, I guess.”
For some reason, I pictured him in one of the suburbs I drove through on the outskirts of town. Now I’m envisioning open space. “Does that get lonely?”
“Uh … yeah, sometimes.” He clears his throat. “I used to wish I lived closer to town so I could walk everywhere. It’s just … my, uh, parents and their … business …” Then he clears his throat—again. “Y’know what? Let’s not talk about this. It’s boring.”
“Absolutelynothingis boring about you.”
“Nah, it really is. I’d rather talk about you.”
“Why do you always do that?” I ask him, approaching one of the vending machines.
“Do what?”
“Minimize yourself. Noticed it right away, back when we first met. In that back hallway, even while in tears, you kept … talkin’ yourself down, like you didn’t deserve to take up space.”
“It’s … I just didn’t feel like … I mean …” He sighs, frustrated.
“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” I assure him, sliding a few dollars in and tapping the keypad. “Don’t mean to judge. I sometimes talk myself down, too. It’s normal. I’m just tryin’ to tell you …” I take a breath and smile. “You don’t have to talk yourself down with me. Not even a teeny bit. Take up all the space you want.”
“Space …” he murmurs.
The machine groans. My precious package of Oreos squirms as the coil twists to free it—then sticks, half-hanging, stuck. I give the machine a polite bump of my fist. Then a less polite bump. Then a downright rude one. “You serious?”
“Are you at a snack machine or something?”
“A snackprison, apparently.” I shove my shoulder into it with force. The thing rocks. My snack does not. “Damned Oreos.”
“I wish I hadn’t scared away your cat. Might be long gone by now, halfway to Fairview. I can be pretty scary, y’know.”
I take another mental note to look up this Fairview town he’s referenced more than once before shoving my shoulder into the machine. The Oreos stay put. “Hope that Kit-Cat avoids the cars,if that’s the case.” Another shove. No luck. “It ain’t safe out there on the open road.”
“Your sweetness toward little animals is next-level adorable. Have you always been this protective?”
I smile. “Only over things I care about.” Another shove.
“Like Oreos?”
“Or you,” I say—then freeze.
Did I mean to say that?
A figure appears around the corner: the front desk clerk. “Sir, you can’t do that. If you’re having trouble with—” He freezes as recognition dawns on him. “Wait a sec. Are you Chase Holt??”
I don’t let the second syllable of that question come out of his lips before I’ve hung up on Timothy.
I grimace, clenching shut my eyes. “Yeah.”