Accidentally Amy(31)

She was a big believer in the five-second rule, but in Blake’s kitchen she’d go a full thirty.
Minutes.
“So this is where you’ll find their food.” He opened his chef-quality refrigerator and pointed to the bottom shelf. “The orange containers.”
“Is the color indicative of something? Is orange cat-specific?”
“No,” he said, pulling out a container and opening it.
“I thought maybe the “O” for orange stood for something like oh-no-it’s-not-for-people. Or oops-this-is-horsemeat.”
That made his mouth kick up just a little. “Only for felines?”
“Exactly.”
He looked at her for a long second, his dark eyes all over her face, and she was about to ramble incoherently to ward off awkwardness when he said, “The boys like their food warmed up - which I know is ridiculous so spare me the mockery. I put it in this microwave for forty seconds.”
He gestured to the sink, and when she followed his finger, she saw that just to the left of it, under the counter, was a built-in microwave that looked old and crappy - it had a turn-dial, for God’s sake. He opened the door, put in the food, and started the noisy old machine.
She raised her eyes to his in disbelief. “Do you…have a separate microwave for them?”
He gave a casual shrug and looked a little uncomfortable. “It felt wrong to cook cat food where you cook human food, so I bought an old microwave at Goodwill to use for their dinner.”
She couldn’t not smile at him because he was beyond adorable. “Did you know that you’re a cat lady underneath your fancy suit?”
“I am not,” he said, flipping her off before taking the food out of the microwave.
“Oh, I think you are. This level of pet care is seriously--”
“No.” He raised his eyebrows and gave her a Stern Daddy look. “I hate these little pains in the asses, but it’s easier to just do what they want so they shut up and leave me alone.”
She tried not to smile, but it was impossible. “If you say so.”
“I do,” he said in kind of a loud, booming voice, and she coughed to cover her laugh.
He walked the food over to a mat in the corner, where he set down the bowl. Goodyear was there in an instant, and Hole – Blake’s other cat - appeared out of nowhere to join the feast.
“I think I can handle this. Doesn’t look too tough,” she said, watching them go to town on their food. Izzy glanced over at Blake as he was loosening his tie. She felt frozen for a second, immobilized by the movement that seemed intimate, like something she shouldn’t be seeing.
She said, “If you want to go change out of your work clothes, I promise not to rifle through your things. Much.”
“But can I trust you?” He teased, pulling off the tie and unbuttoning that restrictive top button. She heard his words, but her eyes were stuck on his strong neck. They didn’t want to move, for some reason, but she blinked fast and forced them up.
“Sure,” she said.
“Okay,” he said. “But if I catch you digging, there will be consequences.”
“So intimidating,” she quipped. “Byeee.”
His phone rang as she said it, and when he took it out of his pocket and looked at the display, he made a little groan noise. “I have to take this - it’s work.”
“Perfect. Go take it in your room but shut the door so I can rifle in peace.”
He gave her a look that was almost a smile before raising the phone to his ear. “This is Blake.”


    Blake
When he walked into the kitchen twenty minutes later, Blake didn’t expect to see that.
Izzy was sitting on the island, dangling her legs back and forth while eating a piece of steaming pizza and watching another old episode of Top Chef on his TV.
It wasn’t that she was doing anything unusual or wrong, it was that she looked so unbelievably at home. Like she belonged there.
Blake got that fucking buzz in his gut that he’d been interpreting as an annoying “don’t be a dipshit” alarm bell as he approached her.
“You’re lucky I saved you some, slowpoke,” she said, grabbing a half-empty bottle of Stella from the counter and lifting it to her mouth. “Want one of your beers?”
“Yes. Thank you so much.” He walked over to the fridge and grabbed one, then returned to the island. The bottle opener was beside Izzy on the counter - right beside her, and her smell came at him as he grabbed it and uncapped the beer.
What the fuck was that - shampoo? Lotion? Perfume? It was like vanilla and baby powder but somehow sexy.
“Your cats love me now, by the way,” she said, and he had no idea if she was serious or not.
But it was always that way with her.
“Do they,” he said, opening the pizza box and grabbing a slice.
“Well, no - but they will - I have a plan,” she said, picking up a crust from her plate.
“And that would be…?” he asked, raising the piece to his mouth while watching her nose crinkle as she grinned at him. He was still fucking obsessed with her nose crinkles.
She tilted her head. “That is between me and the boys.”
“Is that right?” Someone on the TV was crying because their pork belly was too dry, and Hole was weaving in-between Blake’s’ feet, but all Blake could do was stare down at her smiling face.
Dear God, she was so fucking pretty.
It wasn’t about her looks, though, as asinine as that sounded. She was pretty because she was alive and chaotic and funny and smart. Her eyes sparkled and her nose crinkled and her mouth slid into smiles as if that was its default.