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Not in front of her.
“I’m going to call the doctor,” Ian says, starting to stand, but I don’t release his hand.
“What is going on?” Ava shrieks again.
“I’m sure I’ll be—Oof!”
I don’t finish the sentence, because Mr. Sniggles appears out of nowhere to land on my chest. All twenty-eight pounds of him.
“Not now, big guy.” Ian scoops him up to deposit him on the floor.
Mr. Sniggles, indignant, jumps onto the coffee table. Being a cat of excellent taste, he takes an immediate dislike to Ava, and arches his back, tail in the air, and hisses at her.
“What is that thing?” She screeches in response, backing away. “Is that a raccoon?”
Ian doesn’t bother to look over his shoulder. “He’s a Maine Coon.” He says it slowly, like he’s talking to a toddler. “Not a raccoon.”
Apparently, Ian’s tone is the last straw, because Ava marches closer to the sofa and looms over Ian, where he’s still squatting by my side. “I demand an explanation. Who is this person? Why is she here? Why is this animal in your house?” She sneezes several times—a high-pitched, whole-body spasm that’s at odds with her elegant appearance. “You know I’m allergic to cats!”
Ian twists and stands in one smooth motion. “Actually,” he says cooly. “I did not know that.”
I can’t see his expression, only hers as she reacts to his words. Her eyes twitch, like she’s trying to either repress a seizure or decide exactly how to play this.
After a long moment, she tries to smile sweetly, but doesn’t quite pull it off. “Well, then, can you please put this creature outside so we can continue our conversation?”
I scramble up from the sofa, keeping close enough to Ian that it appears we’re providing a united front. “Oh, Mr. Sniggles can’t go outside. He’s an indoor cat. And there are coyotes.”
Ian glances down at me, his lips curving into the faint hint of a smile. “And possibly wolves.”
Ava huffs indignantly—or perhaps she’s genuinely having trouble breathing. Though, maybe not if her clipped tone is any sign. “I never did hear who you are.”
“I’m Savannah.” I smile beatifically and thrust out my hand. “I’m his girlfriend.”
Ava huffs indignantly. Mr. Sniggles rubs against her calf. Horrified, Ava tries to shoo Mr. Sniggles away with her shoe and all but kicks him.
At which point Ian says, “If you’re going to kick our cat, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
And just like that, he has his hand at her elbow and he’s showing her to the door over protests about her car already being gone and it being too hot outside to wait on the porch.
I don’t hear anything after that, because he follows her out onto the porch and shuts the door behind him.
I sit back down on the sofa. Then stand up again. Then pace for a moment.
Should I follow them out?
Should I let them wait for her car alone or do I need to chaperone?
It feels like I ruined the mood and that her kicking Mr. Sniggles was a deal breaker for him, but what if I’m wrong? What if she’s out there right now … casting a spell on him? Or whatever glamorous women do to lure men in.
I pace a little more, only to end up in the kitchen, in front of Ian’s open laptop. Which has the live feed from the front porch streaming to it.
There’s no audio, of course, but I can see her talking quickly. Making her case, no doubt.
I should turn away, but can’t seem to make myself. This could be it. The moment the man I really, really like—maybe more than really, really like—dives head first back into a relationship with the woman who broke his heart.
And there’s nothing I can do to stop him.
On the screen, I see him hold up a hand as if to cut her off. She snaps her mouth closed. I can’t see his face, so I don’t know if he’s talking, but I assume so, because I see her nodding as she gazes up at him.
