I get a small bowl and fill it with fresh water from the tap, and I place it next to the saucer of tuna.
I leave the cat eating, and I go into my bedroom and change out of my work clothes. I put on a fresh tank top, pull a T-shirt over it, and put on some sweatpants.
I head back into the living room and glance over at the cat, who is still working its way through the tuna.
Do I take it to a shelter?
But then if no one comes to claim it, they might put it down.
I can’t let that happen.
I could put a poster up around the building. But that would mean giving out my cell phone number.
Definitely not happening.
What to do?
I guess I could try knocking on my neighbors’ doors. The cat could belong to one of them.
Getting up, I go and retrieve my sneakers from my closet and put them on.
“I’m just going to go and see if I can find your owner,” I say to the cat, like it actually knows what I’m saying or cares where I’m going.
Keys in hand, I pause at the door.
I’ve only been inside for a short period of time. But it doesn’t matter how long it’s been. I always struggle to open my front door.
Because of …
No, don’t think about it.
Don’t think about any of it.
I slide open the first dead bolt.
Then the second.
Unlatch the chain.
Turn the lock.
Hand on the door handle, I take a deep breath.
Nothing is there. Nothing is there. Nothing is there.
I let out the breath while pushing down on the handle, and I yank open the door.
The hallway floor outside my apartment is empty.
I close my eyes, momentarily relieved.
I step into the hall and shut the door behind me, locking it.
Then, I start the task of knocking on each of my neighbor’s doors and speaking to people I have spent the last six months avoiding.
I let myself back into my apartment, locking the door behind me. The cat is sitting on the sofa, looking at me.
“Well, seems no one knows who you belong to.” I shrug.
Not one of my neighbors had a clue. Except the elderly lady in apartment 212, who I learned is called Chloe, has severe arthritis, and is actually really nice. She told me that, a few days ago, a new guy had moved into apartment 209, which is down the other end of the hall from mine, so the cat could possibly be his.
But when I knocked on apartment 209’s door, there was no answer. So, I’ll try later.
I do my check of my apartment again.
Stupid, I know, because I was gone all of fifteen minutes, but I won’t settle until I’ve done it.
When I’m finished, I grab the book I started last night—about a hot-as-hell hockey player and the girl he shouldn’t be in love with but is.
I might not be able to have love in my life, but that doesn’t mean I can’t read about it.
Taking a seat on the sofa next to my new friend, I put the TV on for background noise. Total silence makes me uncomfortable.
The cat climbs into my lap and gets herself settled.
“Guess you’re sitting here then.”
I begin reading my book, and I stroke her soft fur, enjoying the sound of her sweet, little purring noise.
I have gotten only halfway through a chapter when there’s a knock at my door, and I almost jump out of my skin.
I scare the crap out of the cat as well. It skitters to the other side of the sofa.
“Sorry,” I whisper to the cat, pressing my hand to my chest against my pounding heart.
Putting my book down, I get up and walk on quiet feet to the front door.
Reaching up on my tiptoes, I peer through the peephole.
And my heart stops.
It’s the guy from the library.
He’s here at my front door.
I take a step back.
Why is he here?
How does he know I live here?
Blood starts to rush to my head.
I feel dizzy.
I reach for the wall for support.
Another knock.
“Hello?” His voice is deep and throaty, and it does a combination of things to me. Makes my stomach flip and my fear increase.
It’s confusing to me.
What should I do?
Ignore him? Pretend that I’m not here?
“Uh, my name is Jack. I live in the building. Apartment 209. I moved in a few days ago.” His voice is clear as glass through the door. “My cat got out, and our neighbor—Chloe from apartment 212—said that you found her.”
A couple of things happen in this moment.
I realize that he knows I’m in here. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have given me the whole spiel through the door. Which makes me feel stupid for acting like I wasn’t here.
This guy lives in my building?
I’ve seen him at the library but not here. But to be fair, it’s not like I see any of my neighbors. I make it my business not to.
And the cat is his. Which gives me a mixed feeling of relief and disappointment.
In this short time, I’ve really gotten to like my furry friend.
Licking my dry lips, I swallow before speaking, “Sorry. Yes. Just hold on one second.”
I work my way through the locks that keep the world out and me safely inside.
I open the door, revealing him.
He’s still wearing the clothes I saw him in earlier, sans the leather jacket. His hair is ruffled, like he just ran his fingers through it.
And close up, he is even better-looking.
Crap.
“Hi.” He has a smile on his face, but then his expression seems to click into recognition. “Oh. Hey. You work at the library, right?”
My heart thuds in my chest.
He’s seen me there.
And there I was, thinking I had been inconspicuous.
“Um … yes, I do.” My words come out croaky, like I haven’t spoken in years.
“Yeah, I thought I recognized you.” He glances over my head into my apartment. “So, you have Eleven.”
“Eleven?”
“My cat.”
“Oh. Yeah. I’ll just go get her for you.”
I turn away, and I
