Page 62 of None Of Your Business

“Uh-huh,” she says proudly, looking up at me. “What do you think, Doris? Climbable?”

Doris doesn’t miss a beat. “Absolutely. Like a tree. Good for you, Rowan.”

After Doris shuffles off toward the bakery, I look down at Rowan, who is still attached to my arm.

“Like a tree?”

She pats my chest. “You are pretty climbable, Shrink Wrap.”

Then she grabs her cart and rides it straight toward the checkout lanes.

Eighteen

Rowan

Hudson is unpacking my eggs.

This is fucking weird.

I lean against the sink and watch him. He moves through my kitchen with an efficiency that’s offensive given his size, slotting the almond milk carton into the door and lining up my apples as if he’s setting up a display.

Before I can mock his unpacking skills, a chorus of screeching meows erupts outside.

I grin. “You get to meet the family.”

Ignoring the throb in my hip, I yank open the cabinet, grab two plastic bowls, and shove them into his hands.

“Water,” I command, pointing at the faucet. “Fill ‘em up. Dave gets thirsty.”

Hudson blinks down at the bowls. “Dave?”

“You’ll see.”

I haul the sack of kibble over to the back door with a grunt, ignoring the warning look he shoots me.

“Back up, freeloaders,” I tell the cats, dropping to the floor to scoop food.

Hudson crouches beside me, his long legs bent awkwardly in the tight space as he sets the water down.

“Roll call.” I point my scoop at a fat orange tabby faceplanting into the kibble. “That’s Barnaby. Union leader. The gray one with the missing ear is One-Eye. And do you see the one enthusiastically licking his balls? That’s Dave.”

Hudson makes a face. “I can see why he gets thirsty.”

“Oh, and the one scaling your leg is Toast.”

Toast—a tiny tuxedo kitten—is actively climbing his slacks like a tree trunk.

I wink at him. “See? Very climbable.”

The corner of his mouth curls into a smirk as he scoops the kitten into his palm and lifts her to eye level. Toast lets out a tiny squeak and starts purring.

Right on cue, Brenda—a massive calico—shambles over and aggressively rubs her weight against Hudson’s other ankle.

My jaw drops. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. Traitors.”

Even One-Eye leans in for a scratch behind the ear.

I wonder if Hudson could stroke my kitty like that?