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And then there’s Cat: thick, fluffy, steely silver-gray, slightly overfed, and skittish. He has all the appearance of a pampered pet except for a few hard-to-spot scars near his left ear. The first time I’d been here, it had taken a little while to convince him to get close enough for me to pet him. The scars had been a surprise, but I’ve never had the nerve to ask Nic about them. Is he a rescue? Because every scar has a story, even cat scars.
I make cat-cooing sounds as I set my keys on the kitchen table and retrieve the tin of food from the cabinet. By the time I fill the pet food dish and refresh his water, there’s still no sign of Cat.
I frown.
Nic didn’t say check on his cat, he said feed the cat, but it doesn’t seem right to be here and not at least make sure Cat is all right.
And maybe I want to pet him, sue me. I’ve had an awesome but emotional day, and my landlord doesn’t allow animals.
Poking my head in the half bath in the hallway—no sign of Cat here—the mirror catches me off guard. You’d think after months of looking this way, I’d stop being surprised at the slimmer version of myself I see there. It took me nearly a year to get here, so it shouldn’t be startling. God knows I’ve spent enough time studying the mirror for progress in the meantime. Getting on the bathroom scale squicks me out, so every time I make another little change in my habits, diet, or workout, I stand in front of the cheap full-length mirror in my bedroom, analyzing every angle to see the effects. Taking measurements helps, especially on those days I can’t bear to see myself, and even after reaching a level of fitness I am proud of, there are still days I don’t like the way I look. One of the only downsides about losing weight, I guess… nobody tells you there will still be days you don’t like what you see in the mirror.
One definite upside, though, is there are a lot of days I don’t think about it at all anymore, and man, that feels good. After breaking up with Jeff, my body was all I could think about. Looking back, I can see just how close I’d come to taking a much less healthy path and how badly that breakup and my reaction to it could have gone. Instead, I cleaned the slate: I quit my job at Sizzle, went to work for Nic, emptied my apartment of junk, and started making small changes.
These days, I pay more attention to my hair before I leave home. My eyes sparkle when I happen to see my reflection. My skin looks vibrant, and I don’t need to wear as much makeup—another perk I hadn’t expected. That’s the gym membership fee paying for itself, again.
It’s easier to smile, too, but I’m pretty sure that has as much to do with my newfound health and fitness as it does with the absence of Jeff the jerk.
Best of all, I wake up every day knowing I’m not the doormat I used to be. I can’t tell how much of that has to do with losing weight, but I know I didn’t discover that part of myself until I started taking better care of my body.
One thing at a time, Nat. My mantra.
Right now, the thing in question is finding Nic’s cat so I can get out of his personal space. Something about being here, surrounded by his things where he might possibly walk around naked, has me feeling vulnerable.
Despite Moira’s teasing, the word “naked” should not apply to my boss, even in my head, not if I want to keep my sanity. Not to mention my job. Time to move this along.
A noise from the balcony door draws me out of the hallway. I pull aside the vertical blinds but see nothing out of the ordinary. The noise is closer, louder here, so I slide open the glass door and step outside to look around.
It’s only the second floor, but the wind is sharper up here. No sign of Cat. Surely, Nic wouldn’t have left him outside.
I hear a loud meow to my right, followed by a much deeper voice.
“You’re not Nic.”
There’s a man on the balcony next door. He’s holding Cat.
“Neither are you,” I say. “Why do you have his cat?”
The man smiles, and my brain shorts out. Just blinks twice and shuts right off. Good Lord, he’s handsome. Tall, short dark hair, eyes so blue I can see their color from here. Good Lord.
Get a grip, girl.
“I’m Finn,” he says, stretching out a hand. I shake it politely, ignoring the heat of his rough palm.
“Hi, Finn,” I say. “Why do you have Nic’s cat?”
His smile widens, and I almost whimper. He’s not that good-looking. Get a grip. It’s just that smile. He’s probably completely ordinary-looking when he’s not smiling.
“Found him meowing at my door a few minutes ago. He must have gotten out somehow.”
“Your door.”
Finn tilts his head toward the glass behind him.
“You’re Nic’s neighbor,” I say brilliantly.
“Give the pretty lady a prize,” he says, good humor in his eyes. “The real question is, who are you? Nic didn’t tell me he had a girlfriend. Though I sure can’t blame him for wanting to keep you to himself.”
My cheeks burn hot. “Not his girlfriend. Definitely not.”
