Hosed (Happy Cat #1)(46)
One look at Cassie’s face as she wheels her bike down her drive makes it clear she’s seen it, too.
“I shouldn’t have looked,” she says, lips turned down hard at the edges. “I can’t believe anyone thinks Savannah or I had anything to do with the fire or trashing the square or anything else. We would never put people at risk. Or intentionally damage the company she worked so hard to build.”
“I know that,” I say, without the slightest shred of doubt. Last night wasn’t just sexy as hell, it was also intimate, revealing. Cassie dropped her walls and let me in, revealing the pure sweetness at the heart of her. She isn’t capable of the kind of deception people are accusing her of, which is probably why this is so hard for her to understand. “People see the world as they are, not as you are, you know? It’s not your fault they’re so eager to see the worst in others, even when it’s not there.”
She frowns, blinking beneath her furrowed brows. “You’re right, but it still makes me sad. I didn’t realize there were this many bitter people in Happy Cat. They should change the name to Cynical Cat.”
“Pessimistic Cat, maybe?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Nah, Cranky Badger. Do away with the cat part altogether.”
I smile. “I think that’s redundant. Aren’t badgers always cranky?”
“I don’t know, I’m not on intimate terms with many badgers.” She cocks her head, shifting her attention to George, who is washing baby tomatoes he stole from the Honey Gold vine. We keep a water dish outside for just this reason. “What about you, George? Do you know many badgers?”
George pops a tomato in his mouth and chews, seeming to consider the question. Cassie smiles in response. “I wish he could talk. I have a feeling all the stuff milling around in his head would blow our minds.”
“I’m not so sure. I think he’s mostly thinking about what he just ate, what he’s currently eating, or when he’s going to eat again.”
“To be fair, that’s probably also true of half the people in this town,” she says, grinning guiltily as she props her arms on her handlebars. “Including me. I don’t care if I’m persona non grata around here. I still want cinnamon rolls. And more coffee.” She taps her new cup holder, the one I installed for her the day after our first date. “Thanks for this, by the way. You’re the best.”
“You’re welcome.” I grin. “Let’s head out. I’m done here.” I shut off the hose and turn to her, wiping my damp hands on my jeans. “But I think we should make a promise to each other—no checking InstaChat or email until tomorrow morning.”
She stands up straight, pressing her lips together in a determined line. “You’re right. No need to let gossip spoil the day. And who knows, maybe by then they will have moved on to something else.”
Not likely, I think, but I keep the pessimistic thought to myself. Today isn’t a day for dwelling on small-minded people or law-enforcement officials more concerned with making convenient connections than the right ones. Today is for enjoying the company of a woman who is quickly becoming one of my favorite people.
By the time we get back from our bike ride and coffee treat, we’re feeling no pain, too high on sugar, caffeine, and last night’s orgasm hangover to give negative things an ounce of our attention. And then Cassie suggests a swim and a picnic down by the creek and the day gets even better.
I have the pleasure of rubbing sunscreen on her fine back and watching her stretch out on a towel wearing nothing but a red, 1940s pin-up style one piece that is by far the sexiest piece of swimwear I’ve ever seen. We jot down notes for her app design in her notebook over chicken salad sandwiches and exchange war stories about our worst jobs ever—mine, cleaning the fry cooker at The Little Chicken; hers, fetching coffee for a gaming designer who left water bottles full of urine all over his office for her to dispose of.
“And he made me recycle them,” she says, gagging softly as we wander down to the water’s edge. “So gross.”
I wince in sympathy, but can’t help but laugh. “I’m sorry. That’s awful. Why are guys so gross?”
She squeezes my hand. “Not all guys. You’re not gross. Not even a little bit.”
I cut a glance her way. “You haven’t seen the inside of my garage.”
“I don’t care about the inside of your garage,” she says. “Just the inside of you. The heart and all that.”
“All that is in fine working shape. Especially when you’re around.” I draw her close in the chilly spring-fed creek, warm her up with a kiss, and drift off for a nap an hour later with her lying on my chest in the summer sun, certain life doesn’t get much better than this.
It’s an idle thought, but when I wake up, it’s still drumming softly inside my head.
Life doesn’t get much better than this…
Much better than someone who makes you laugh and makes you think and makes you feel like everything is right with the world because she’s there beside you.
The suspicion that I’m in deeper than I would have imagined possible after a few dates teases at the back of my mind, becoming something close to a certainty. And then Cassie and I take George for his tricycle ride and she laughs all the way down to the end of our road and back, that gorgeous, free and easy laugh only the people she trusts get to hear, and I’m going, going…