Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 122216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
If someone’s after me, there’s nothing I can do about it. I just have to make it to the parade and do the handoff. And it’s not like I’m going anywhere until then. Across the street to Ariadne’s house isn’t an issue. I can keep an eye on my place from there.
All the same, I close the door to the guest room and lock it, then point at Charlie. “Eyes open, buddy.”
He jumps onto the back of the sofa and meows at me as a horn honks outside. I look out my front window to see the Pet Place delivery truck sitting out front. Ariadne bounces down her front steps, her face alight as she claps her hands over the Christmas cat house the Pet Place worker unloads.
With one more glance down the hall at my secure data, I head out the front door and lock it behind me. Everything inside is safe, so there’s nothing wrong with spending a little time with Ariadne before I make the drop at the parade.
12
ARIADNE
“Grrr.” I drop the knitting needles onto the sofa next to me. Mrs. Claws just stares at me with her big cute eyes.
“I’m trying.” I pick up the yarn to show her. “I don’t know how to knit.” I throw the ball down next to my knitting needles. This is the fifth time in my life that I’ve tried to knit. I fail every time. I’m normally really good at crafts and decorating, but for some reason knitting was never a skill I could pick up. I intended to make Mrs. Claws some booties, a sweater and a little hat to keep her warm. She’d likely hate them, but it would be adorable to see them on her, even if it was only for three seconds.
I could just buy them. But then what would I do while I wait for Brendan? What is he doing over there anyway? I know he hasn't left his house. At least I didn't see him leave. I get up and head over to the window to peek out. I don’t see anything out of the ordinary, and there’s nothing going on, but a van pulls into my driveway.
“Your house is here!” I clap excitedly to Mrs. Claws. I rush over and shove the knitting needles and yarn down into my sofa to hide them. Maybe Mrs. Claws and I will both forget about the knitting thing altogether.
Hurrying to the door, I flick the lock then freeze. The realization hits me that I’ll have to talk to them. My stomach gets knots in it, but I look over at Mrs. Claws and know I can do this for her. Every cat deserves to have their own Christmas house, after all.
I take a deep breath and open the door to find a man standing there. He looks a few years older with shaggy blond hair and bright blue eyes. He’s maybe a few inches taller than me. He’s wearing a shirt that says Pet Place on it and jeans. The muscles in his arms are trying to escape the shirt that’s too small for him. I bet Brendan’s are bigger, but he wears shirts that actually fit him. My mind starts to drift to thoughts of what Brendan looks like naked. I snap myself back before I let them go any further, but I still shiver with anticipation. Are we going all the way to me running my hands all over his naked body? I certainly hope so. And soon. Maybe that’s what I’ll ask Santa for this year.
I step back and open the door more so the delivery man can enter. “Where’s your coat? You’ll freeze to death.”
“I know ways to keep warm.” One of his eyes sort of half closes when he says it.
“You have something in your eye?” I ask. “I have eye wash in my bathroom. You want me to get it for you?”
He laughs at my question and shakes his head while mumbling that I’m cute. At least I think that’s what he said. This is why I don’t enjoy talking to people. They’re impossible to figure out.
“Sign here.” He hands me a clipboard.
I scribble my name across the bottom before handing it back to him.
“I’ll grab the boxes.” He half jogs back to the van.
I watch as he carries two big boxes into my living room. I hold the door open, but my eyes keep going back to Brendan’s place as I’m wondering what he’s doing. Why couldn't he hang out longer? Worse, why do I miss him so much? It’s put this weird feeling in my chest, and I don’t know what to do about it. I’ve gone from hating him to missing him in a short period of time. I let out a deep sigh and promise that I’m going to stop obsessing over this. I give one last look at his place before I let my door fall closed.