The maître d’ was next to them before J. T. had his hand all the way up in the air to beckon.
CHAPTER14
Britt deposited her purse and keys on the little table near the front door, and then closed it behind them.
And J. T. was officially in her house, which was probably the last thing she would ever have imagined a week ago.
“This your mountain lion?”
J. T. bent down to get a look at Phillip, who had greeted them at the door, and held out the back of his hand. It was bumped by a pink cat nose.
“Yep. Careful, he’s vicious.”
“Prrrp!” Phillip trilled and flung himself on his back beseechingly, then rolled.
“I can see that,” J. T. said.
Phillip sprang back up and flung his body at J. T.’s shins and rubbed the length of them.
“Suck-up,” she said to her cat and bent down to scratch the back of him while J. T. scratched the front of him.
And then J. T. stood and began wandering through the front room, looking like a big handsome wild animal picking his way through a new habitat.
He paused in front of a photo of Will and smiled. “This your nephew?”
“Yeah. That’s Will.”
No one could help smiling when looking at Will.
“I have a nephew, too, ’round that age. Hardly ever get to see him.”
“That’s a shame,” she said sincerely.
She imagined it would be awfully hard for ordinary humans to merge into the fast-lane life J. T. lived. Or maybe it was like a carnival ride, and he waved at them each time a rotation of his merry-go-round brought them into view again.
Next he plucked up a deep-orange silk pillow from her sofa, which was a sort of pale shade of olive with a high tufted back. Soft and velvet and unusual, and better yet, a steal from the Goodwill store. It was the one she’d been clutching when she’d watched him inAgapé.
He scanned the room, his expression gratifyingly impressed. “You have an amazing eye for color and form.”
“Don’t I know it.”
That was a little Mae West-ish of her, but she was a little tipsy from the excellent wine at the restaurant.
He grinned at that. “Did you make these, too?”
“Um... I made the pillows, from thrift-store silk. I refinished the picture frames. I refinished that trunk...”
Oh shit!
She realized too late she’d left her sketchbook on the trunk, and she watched him reach for it in what felt like slow motion.
“Oh... that’s just... you don’t want to...argh!”
But he already had it in his hands. He was staring down at it raptly.
And his face was lit with delight.
“Holy crap, this is Glenn Harwood from the Misty Cat!” he guessed. “Only he’s awalrus. That is freaking brilliant.”