“He seems to be getting bigger,” she said.
“He’s getting a belly,” he agreed. “His eyes seem clearer, but his ears are still tucked.”
“Maybe he’s a Scottish fold,” Maisy said.
“A what?”
“It’s a breed of cat whose ears stay folded down.”
“Huh, I’ve never heard of that,” he said.
“I hadn’t, either, but Perry’s been reading up on cats and educating me,” she said.
Ryder smiled. “She is a bit attached. I’d discourage it, but it gives me hope.”
“What do you mean?”
“When Dr. Phillips told us very clearly not to get attached because George likely won’t survive, I saw the look on my daughter’s face,” he said. His gaze met Maisy’s and she could see the pride shining through. “It was her ornery look, the one she gets when she digs in her heels and decides something needs to be done. An abandoned kitten, what to many would be a lost cause, a small inconsequential life of no importance, she decided was worth fighting for.”
His voice was gruff and Maisy saw a glint of deep emotion in his eyes. She felt her own eyes get damp and her throat was tight.
“And in a world that can be pretty brutal, it made me realize that we’re going to be okay.”
Maisy swallowed, forcing the lump down. Ryder gave her a small smile and then looked down at the tiny kitten. He ran his thumb gently over the black and gray stripes on George’s forehead. “You’re going to make it, buddy, I promise.”
Maisy sighed. For the first time since they’d found the kitten, her shoulders dropped from down around her ears and she felt like all of their efforts to save the little guy were going to pay off. She watched Ryder rub his eyes with the back of his hand. When he met her gaze, he looked chagrined.
“What? I’m not crying, you’re crying,” he teased.
Maisy laughed. She couldn’t argue it. She rose and took a tissue from the box on the counter and blew her nose.
“Do you really think he’ll survive?” she asked as she sat beside him.
“Yes,” he said. “I really do. I don’t know why he was on your front porch or how it was that we happened to find him, but I feel like he belongs to this house. Maisy, I think he was destined to be your bookstore cat.”
George stopped drinking and fell backward off the bottle. He was still weak in the legs but he could scuttle around a bit. He seemed to know they were talking about him and he lurched toward Maisy with a soft cry. She held out her hands and scooped him up. She rubbed his soft fur against her cheek, kissed his tiny head, and marveled that this little guy had managed to find them.
“You’re right,” she said. “He belongs here.”
“I’m glad you agree, because Seth and I were thinking we should build a cat tree for him,” he said. “And I may have already made some sketches for it.”
He gave her a wary look, but Maisy didn’t have the heart to tease him by pretending to be put out. She gave him a side eye and said, “So, you had an Idea!”
It was Ryder’s turn to laugh. “Okay, you got me there. It’s not on as grand a scale as your turret, but I am going for optimum coolness with a hammock, scratching posts, swinging toys, and plenty of levels and cubbies. It’s going to be amazing.”
“Of course it will,” she said.
They stared at each other for a second and Maisy wasn’t sure what exactly changed between them, but there was a sudden charge to the air, exactly like before when he’d kissed her. The realization that only a few inches and one tiny little puff ball of fur sat between them seemed to occur to them at the same time.
Maisy knew that this was her moment. If she wanted to kiss Ryder again, this was her chance. She leaned in close so that the particular scent that she had come to know as his, coffee blended with sawdust and an old-fashioned bar soap, filled her senses. She was just a breath away when she saw him lean forward as well. Victory was so close.
“Where is my kitty?” A voice interrupted the moment and Maisy lurched back, still holding George cupped in her hands. “Oh, there he is! Gimme kitty.”
Jeri came charging into the room with her hands outstretched and her fingers wiggling. Maisy loved Jeri like a sister, really she did, but at the moment she wasn’t sure if she wanted to hug her or strangle her.
Jeri didn’t give her a chance for either as she scooped George up and started kissing his tiny head. George let out half of a meow and then settled into Jeri’s hands as if he knew it was useless to fight the loving she was putting on him. Maisy had seen similar expressions of resignation on all of Jeri’s sons.
“You’re just in time,” she said. “He’s finished eating and needs help going to the bathroom now.”
“Ew.” Jeri curled her lip. She held out the kitten to Maisy, who crossed her arms, and then to Ryder, who did the same. “Fine.” She lifted George up so they were nose to nose. “You just let Auntie Jeri help you with your business, little man.” She walked toward the bathroom with him. “We’ve got this.”
Maisy and Ryder exchanged a grin. “Dodged a bullet there,” he said.
“Totally,” Maisy agreed.
“Well, I’d better get back,” Ryder said. “Seth will sand the new woodwork too much if I don’t keep an eye on him.”
Maisy nodded and watched him leave. It didn’t occur to her until after he left that the bullet he talked about dodging might have been their almost kiss as opposed to potty duty with George. She really hoped it was the latter.
* * *
• • •
THE next week was spent in a blur of shifting boxes as Maisy and Savannah tried to stay ahead of the restoration crew. Maisy also spent the week trying to get a read on Ryder and his feelings for her. The man gave nothing away. Maddening!
Maisy, Ryder, and Seth all agreed that the ground floor should be refurbished first, then the second floor and, lastly, the turret built, so that Maisy could open the bookshop as soon as possible and start a revenue stream, hopefully, even while the building was still under construction.
The care and feeding of King George became a refuge for Maisy. Somehow when she was tucked away in the secret room with the kitten all the problems with opening a bookstore fell away. Taking care of him and making sure he was thriving were her only purpose, plus she’d discovered he was a really good listener.
It was a particularly rough morning, after Maisy had spent another sleepless night fretting about her bottom line, the bookstore’s layout, the possibility of failure, and her terminal case of the hots for Ryder, that she spilled her guts while feeding the kitten. George, to his credit, didn’t take much notice as Maisy was feeding him a bottle full of kitten formula.
“Can you keep a secret, Little G?” Maisy asked. He kept sucking on his bottle so she took that as a yes. “I’m feeling completely overwhelmed. I mean, I knew my aunt collected romance novels, but I didn’t really appreciate how many until I started packing and moving them, trying to find some sort of order in the chaos. She had absolutely no system. I mean, the books aren’t even grouped by author. Who does that?”
George blinked at her and Maisy felt like he understood.
“It’s anarchy, I tell you. There are just too many books. I don’t think I can clear out enough to even open the store and I think I might have a nervous breakdown,” she said. She adjusted the bottle so it would flow better and George latched back on. “And then there’s the fact that every book I touch reminds me of Auntie El. It’s like she’s here with me, but she’s not and she never will be again.”
Maisy took a shaky breath. She refused to cry all over the poor kitten. It’d likely scare the wee fella.
“I wish you could have met her, Georgie,” she said. “Auntie El would have loved you. Even though her husband died young, she never stopped believing in true love. She always saw the best in people, even when
they didn’t see it themselves.”
She sniffed. “I miss her so much, Georgie.” The kitten finished his bottle and Maisy picked him up and patted his back. “She used to sing to me whenever I spent the night at her house, and it was always ‘Over the Rainbow.’ I felt so loved when she sang it to me.”
Maisy took a deep breath and began to sing, which was not her gift, but she figured George wasn’t that fussy and besides, it made her feel better, as if by sharing a piece of Auntie El she was keeping her memory alive. She sang softly and King George nestled into her palm, letting out a kitten yawn. Encouraged, she went all in, singing at top volume, drawing out every note. By the time she reached the end, the kitten was fast asleep.
“I hope you know how loved you are, Georgie,” she whispered.
Maisy kissed his head and set him gently into his box. He was getting a round little belly and he looked stronger. Maybe Ryder was right and the little guy was going to make it after all. It gave Maisy hope.
Tiptoeing up the stairs, she closed the entrance to the hidden room and went back to her pile of books in the first room on the second floor. There she sat with her laptop, trying to create an inventory. She had decided to start a one hundred club for authors such as Anne Mather, Penny Jordan, and Charlotte Lamb, who’d each written over one hundred romances. She was just thinking she needed a five hundred club for Barbara Cartland, when Jeri and Savannah entered the room. She knew from the looks on their faces that they had come for more than chitchat. She felt her heart pound hard in her chest.
“What’s wrong? Is everything all right? It’s not King George, is it? I was just with him and he seemed fine.”
“He is,” Savy said. “He’s great. Cutest cat ever and totally photogenic.”
“For a woman who says she doesn’t love animals, you’re sounding awfully attached to Little G,” Maisy said.
“That’s different,” Savy said. “Once you decided he was going to be the bookstore cat, I started to view him as a coworker and not just a needy kitten. Besides, he is social media gold. I’ve put up pics and videos of him, linking him to the Happily Ever After Bookstore, and we already have several thousand followers. Genius, I know.”
Jeri laughed. She pointed one well-manicured finger at Savannah and said, “Liar. It’s not just promotion. You love him.”
Savy tossed her hair and ignored her, most likely because they all knew what Jeri said was true.
“Okay, if you’re not here about George then what is it?” Maisy asked. “You both look like you have something on your mind. Something not awesome.”
“We were thinking,” Jeri said. She pointed to herself and then Savannah. “That you have too many books.”
Maisy nodded. This was not news, given that it was the reason for opening the bookstore, so the grand announcement left her a bit lost.
Savy jumped in, adding, “And we think you need to have a sidewalk sale to get rid of some stock, advertise the new business, and make some money.”
And there it was. Maisy looked at Jeri. “Make some money? Is it that bad?”
“It’s not bad, per se, but you know construction always costs twenty-five percent more than you think it will,” she said. “Even with Ryder and Seth being as on top of costs as they are, there were the plumbing issues that cut into the budget and then all of that drywall had to be replaced because of mildew. This turret that you want is a major expense . . . unless you’re rethinking the turret.”
“I am not rethinking the turret,” Maisy said. She narrowed her eyes. “Did Ryder send you in here to talk me out of it?”
“No,” Savy said. “We came up with this on our own. And I, for one, think if you want a turret, you should have a turret, but you are going to need more money. And selling off some books in a one-time-only event, like a massive sidewalk sale, is a brilliant way to do a soft opening, get some foot traffic to the shop, generate a bit of online buzz, and, honestly, you need to lighten the load. There are just too many books.”
Maisy glanced around the room she was in. She’d chosen to work in the most cluttered room, figuring if she could slay this beast, then the rest of the house wouldn’t seem so overwhelming. She was still undone by the number of books Auntie El had. In the process of sorting, she had come to realize that Auntie El’s love of books might have pushed her into the status of hoarder.
Maisy didn’t know if her aunt’s collection came out of trying to fill the hole in her heart caused by the death of her husband or if she would have become a collector of something else if he’d lived. Maybe it would have been cookie cutters, a yarn stash, or baby dolls. When she thought of it like that, Maisy felt better that it was books, but there were just so many. Earlier, when she’d been tending George, she’d confessed . . . wait a minute. Suddenly, it all came into focus.
“Did you hear me talking to George over the baby monitor?” she asked.
Savannah and Jeri exchanged a look. It was clear they were trying to telepathically come up with a lie.
“You did!” Maisy accused.
“Not just us,” Jeri said. She pushed her long black braids over her shoulder and gave Maisy the same look she’d given her when she was her babysitter. “Everyone heard.”
“Everyone?” Maisy felt her face get hot. “Define everyone.”
“Ryder, Seth, us, and a few of the crew,” Savannah said.
“Oh, man, isn’t there a confidentiality clause when a woman is unloading on her cat?”
“No,” Jeri said.
“Nuh-uh,” Savannah agreed.
She frantically scanned her brain, trying to remember if she’d overshared about her feelings for Ryder or, worse, how much she wanted to kiss him again. She was pretty sure she hadn’t but—“Oh, no, I sang to him.”
“Yeah, we heard,” Savy said. She looked pained.
“Scale of one to ten, how embarrassed should I be?” Maisy asked.
“With ten being a walk through the center of town with the back of your skirt tucked into your underwear,” Jeri said.
“And one being a false eyelash making a getaway down the side of your face during a hot date,” Savanah added. “I’d go with a solid six.”
“Seven,” Jeri disagreed. “Those high notes were not good, really not good.”
“That’s it,” Maisy said. “I am never leaving this room. Ever. Let’s put a hole in the door and you can slide my meals in to me, because, yeah, I’m done.”
“Now, now.” Jeri sat on the floor beside her. “It’s not that bad.”
“Hmm, it was pretty bad,” Savy said. “And I say that with love.”
“I can’t sing,” Maisy said.
“We know,” Jeri said, and patted her knee.
Maisy put her hands over her eyes and fell back among the books. It was too much. The first man she’d thought was attractive in forever and he’d heard her sing. She’d rather he heard her snore, she’d be more on pitch. Ugh. How was she going to face him? She dropped her hands and looked at her friends.
“What did he say?” she asked. She dreaded the answer but had to know.
“Ryder? Well, he didn’t vomit, if that’s what you’re asking,” Savy said.
“Oh, I didn’t make him physically ill,” Maisy said. “Yay, me.”
“Don’t overthink it,” Jeri said. “He’s a man. He probably doesn’t have ‘ability to sing’ on his list of criteria for women he’s interested in.”
“He is not interested in me,” Maisy protested.
“Sure,” Savy said. Then she rolled her eyes, letting Maisy know what she really thought about that.
“Hey, was there a meeting scheduled that I missed?” Ryder asked. He was leaning against the doorjamb, looking unreasonably handsome in jeans and a T-shirt.
His usual cowboy hat had been replaced with a hard hat, which made him even more attractive to Maisy. She liked that he
was actually working with the crew and not just sitting on the sidelines. Good grief, if the man could cook and clean, she was done for.
“Nah, we were just selling Maisy on our idea to have a sidewalk sale,” Savannah said. “And she agreed. Isn’t that great?”
She slugged Ryder on the shoulder as she walked out and Jeri followed, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll find some people to help us with the event. It could be a real community effort.”
“What? Wait!” Maisy cried, but they blew her off.
Ryder glanced at them and then at Maisy. As soon as Savannah was far enough away, he mouthed the word Ouch! and rubbed his shoulder.
“Why is she not in the women’s MMA?” he asked.
Maisy forced a laugh, relieved to have something else to think about besides her own mortification. “She didn’t hit you that hard, did she?”
“Nah,” he said. “I don’t need my left arm anyway.”
He grinned at her. Darn, it only confirmed how much she liked his face. It was a good face. Square jawed with a nose that looked like it had been broken at least once, full lips, arching eyebrows over those bright blues, and a broad forehead that she liked to think indicated a big brainpan. He’d done nothing to disprove her theory so far.
He watched her in much the same way. As if she hadn’t disproved his theory that she was an okay person so far, either, which was remarkable given that he’d heard her sing. Speaking of which, she supposed she’d better discuss the elephant in the room.
“I can’t sing,” she said. She felt her face get warm as she envisioned him listening to her butchering the classic tune with flats and sharps and cringeworthy enthusiasm. “And by ‘can’t sing,’ I mean, I should never and, oh, my God, I can’t believe you heard me. I’m dying. I’m dead.”
There, it was out. The first of her personal truths, which included her dislike of pudding of any kind, opera, and amusement park rides with height requirements.
The Good Ones Page 16