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Rock Giant slung an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in close to his side, an act that warmed her right through and gave her hope.
“No point in dwelling on it, just gotta accept it’s the wheel of fate.”
“I’ve just got to believe my life is intrinsically shit, and it’s going to keep on getting shittier?”
“Ahem, what precisely is so shit about spending the evening with me?”
Good point. Still…. She turned her head to look up at him. “Like you need me to spell out everything that’s gone wrong.”
But Paul clocked her with a sultry gaze that suggested he wasn’t thinking of lost phones and sunken buses, but of river adventures, rescues, and maybe… horizontal dances beneath star-spangled skies. “Yeah, but has it?” he asked. “Maybe this was exactly what was supposed to happen. Maybe even before we were twinkles in our parents’ eyes, fate had it all mapped out.”
It seemed unlikely. “You don’t have to make me feel better about ruining your night.”
He gave her a squeeze, which warmed her through in an interesting way. “Babe, you’ve made it. There I wished for a miracle, and here you are… my very own sugar plum fairy—”
“You’re crazy—” She poked him with her elbow, but he didn’t retreat.
“—who’s brought me a wild river adventure, and adorable kitties. What’s not to love?”
“Don’t forget, I killed Bertha.”
His grin didn’t quaver. “Noble sacrifice. Besides, she was overdue a refit. Now, throw off the doldrums, the night ain’t over yet.”
Yeah. His grin might be infectious. But she was still without a decent coat and hadn’t even remembered to pick up her bag before getting off the bus. Not that it contained anything useful. Besides, you know, her house keys, and purse, and whatever else had fallen into it recently. Paul did at least have the bag he’d picked up, although he’d forgotten to wear shoes, not that he seemed in any way bothered by it. “What are we actually going to do?”
“Camp,” he said, no hesitancy in his voice whatsoever.
“You know it’s December, and we’ve no—”
“You’re good for a bit of breaking and entering, right?”
They both contemplated the boarded-up edifice before them.
“It’s probably alarmed.”
“Probably.”
“I don’t want you getting arrested.” And it went without saying he felt the same about her. That was why they were in such a mess. If he’d told his mates what had happened when they’d called, then he’d be somewhere warm and toasty by now.
“And you’d be in a cell, and Balthazar, Melchior and Caspar would be dead kitties,” he whispered into her ear, demonstrating yet again his knack for knowing what she was thinking.
“Will you quit with the psychic shit? Also, you know two of those beauties are girls?”
He flashed her his teeth. “Names don’t have genders. They’re just words. Would you be making the same remark if I’d called them Piffle, Poffle, and Flugwhump?”
“Dunno, but I think I prefer those. Less… less overtly Christian.”
“The Magi were Zoroastrians.”
Her side-eye achieved zilch. Paul ignored her in favour of raising the smallest kitty, the one they’d thought was dead, over his head, and exchanging nose kisses with it. The small flutter in her chest rather suggested she was jealous. “And how do you feel about this, huh? Do you identify more as a Caspar or a Flugwhump?” The cat batted him playfully. “Flugwhump it is then.” He turned to her. “The main building is probably alarmed, but I doubt the dining pod over there is.” He nodded to a hexagonal dome greenhouse.
It’d probably been a cool dining experience in the past, heated and draped in fairy lights. Now, the glass panes were dulled, and the paved floor within skewed by the dandelions that had made their homes between the cracks. Paul tucked Flugwhump back into his jacket and set off at his long-legged pace. “Keep up, Castle.”
“Looks chilly,” Jodi observed, trailing behind him.
“It’ll be toasty once we get a fire going,” he said over his shoulder.
Even taking two paces to each of his it was difficult to keep up. “With what?”
