Page 51 of Hex Appeal

“You didn't even want him.”

“I didn't say that.”

I turn onto my side. “You said, and I quote, ‘We are not keeping that cat.’”

“He needed medical attention.”

“He needed a home.”

“He had a home.”

I stare at him. “Where?”

Welles finally lowers his book. “Behind the bar.”

“That is not a home.”

“It was sheltered.”

“You bought him a heated cat bed three days later.”

“It was still cold at night.”

“You installed shelves for him in the living room.”

“He likes to climb.”

“You spent forty-five minutes researching cat water fountains.”

“Cats don't drink enough water.”

I narrow my eyes. He stares back.

Clove purrs between us.

“I rest my case.”

Welles's mouth twitches. I still love that almost-smile. Almost as much as I love the real one.

A year ago, I wasn't even sure he knew how. Now I get to see it every day.

Along with a lot of other things.

The ring on his finger. His boots beside mine. His coffee mug permanently occupying the spot next to my favorite one.

His clothes mixed with mine in the closet.

The ridiculously detailed fire evacuation plan he created for the whole house. Valerie had grumbled, but I think she secretly likes that he cares.

My husband.

I still get a little thrill from that word.

We didn't wait long to tie the knot.

Once Welles Hawthorne makes up his mind about something, there isn't much point standing in his way.

He proposed just after Christmas.