Page 31 of Hot Under the Collar

“It’s a Kelly day. No work for me. Not another 24-on until later this week.”

He put on his sweats as Lynne freshened up, and the two of them recorded a happy reel of Mama and the kittens in their cozy corner, Fred meowing for his breakfast already, dammit, and the two of them sharing how relieved they were. Lynne published it to O’Donnell’s feed and started dressing to go to work downstairs.

But something about the way things unfolded during her shift kept him uneasy. He couldn’t help but notice one follower kept asking Lynne if she was single. He didn’t want to judge, but the guy’s photo—if it was actually him—was handsome. Location: Eastmoor. Leo was low-key obsessed watching the comments unfold throughout the day between kitten checks:

Lynne—Single? I’m currently outnumbered by cats.

The guy—Need help? I’ll bring coffee.

Lynne—Tempting. But are you good with chaos?

The guy—Happy to prove it.

Lynne—Ask me again after I sleep.

He noticed around the kitten’s weigh-in time, Lynne stopped replying to the post altogether. The thought of them maybe taking it offline, the guy sliding into Lynne’s DMs, needled him. It was, frankly, none of his business. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t curious.

He texted The Nine’s group chat once they’d all seen the post about the kittens feeding again: Now that we’re almost out of the woods, he texted, thoughts on names?

This kept them busy and him distracted, especially as they started bickering. Minka teased that all the boys should be named Fred, Jr. and all the girls Frederica. Bastet replied with an eye roll emoji and rattled off five cool-sounding car models for their names. Freya chimed in with a bunch of cute flower-themed names, which almost had Mrs. Ellery convinced. But Cali insisted, if they were going to keep Mama named Mama, the kittens’ names should all start with “M” as well.

When Lynne didn’t reply right away, he messaged her separately: Checking in. Should I grab more formula today, just in case?

We’re good, Lynne messaged back. I reached out to Nina. She said to still weigh them but twice a day. And hold off on supplemental feeding unless their weight gain stalls. We can probably start moving them to kitten food next week.

Then Lynne texted The Nine. Twig. I want to name the runt Twig. He’s gray and brown and delicate. Pick whatever else you want. But make it pair with Twig.

Leo scooped up a sleepy Twig into his arm and snapped a photo. Twig approves, he messaged back. The kitten’s fur was impossibly soft. He nestled Twig between his hands and petted him as the chat kept vibrating his phone.

Finally, they landed on some names—Maple, Cider, Pumpkin, Harvest, and, of course, Twig. Fall-inspired for the season they were born.

He liked how Twig sounded most. Small. Precise. Something that could snap if you weren’t careful. But the list unsettled him more than he expected. Naming them made the end of his time with Lynne feel closer, heavier, more real. He wrote each name on masking tape and pressed the labels to the edge of the playpen, the corners already curling.

Then he straightened up the table where their notebooks and bottles were scattered, refilled the water dish, and checked the heating mat’s temperature. Everything finally looked … normal. Too normal. Leo thought about texting Mike just to check in, maybe brag about how Mama had decided to mother again. But the half-typed message, Guess this means I’m headed back soon, huh?, sat on the screen until he backspaced it away.

Fred twitched in his sleep, batting at the air, and Leo let the sound of tiny breaths fill the room. It should have felt like relief. Instead, it just felt quiet. So he spent the next hour making a photo-collage post of the kittens with their new names, tagging O’Donnell’s and everyone from The Nine. Then he spruced up the place in whatever small ways he could. For the first time since they’d found the litter, the apartment felt orderly.

He was still awake when Lynne returned from work—an early night for her, too. Kicking off her shoes and socks, she dropped beside him on the couch. He’d been trying to get through The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk for this month’s book-club pick. But the trashy reality show was already queued up just in case.

“You going to club next week, now that everyone’s on track again here?” she asked.

“I was hoping to,” he admitted. “You know how I jump at book club’s nonfic picks. The crew have been talking about this one for years. So I plucked this copy from the station shelves.”

“I mean, it’s insightful.” Lynne shrugged. “I’ve read it before. But it’s kind of a downer around the holidays, though, right? I still think we should’ve bumped Lessons in Chemistry up the list and saved this one for the new year.” She glanced around them. “Wow. You cleaned,” she said, inhaling the lemony scent left from mopping. She tossed her apron into the hamper and let her hair down. “Looks great.”

“Yeah,” he said, closing his book. “Want to watch another episode?”

“Hello? Is this your first day here?” She grinned. “But I’m starved. Popcorn?”

“Do cats have nine lives?” he asked. “The movie theatre butter one, please.”

“I see what you did there.” Her brow quirked. “Dad jokes. But cat dad jokes. I’ll let it slide tonight.”

Something about her seemed lighter than before. She sighed as the corn kernels started popping in the microwave. “You know, this is the first night neither of us has to set an alarm to prep to feed in two hours.”

“Right? Such a relief.”

“Yeah, I can’t even remember what I used to do on nights like this—before Fred and the kittens. Before you.”