Kitty Valentine Dates Santa

by Jillian Dodd

  “Stop pacing,” Matt says, handing me a glass of wine. “You’re making Phoebe nervous.”

  “I’m just so excited; I can hardly stand it.”

  “I have one more email to send. We’ll go downstairs to the bar, get some nachos, have a drink, and then we’ll come back up and get Phoebe. We’ll be there before you know it.”

  I eat my weight in nachos—part in sorrow over Hayley not being here, part in excitement to be here with Matt, part in nervousness, and part because the nachos are damn good.

  In situations like this, when I’m nervous, I normally drink. But I can’t be drunk in my new space. It would set a bad tone, and I’d have to sage it or something and start over.

  Matt checks his watch and finally says the words I’ve been waiting for, “We should probably cash out and go get our stuff.”

  “Ahhh!” I say, giving him a kiss.

  The first thing that’s very different is the fact that the door to my apartment is gone. Boarded up, drywalled, newly painted. I knew it was going to happen, but it stops me in my tracks. I touch the wall, feeling like I’m now lost.

  “Weird, isn’t it,” Matt says, “not seeing your door?”

  “Yeah, it is.” I momentarily panic. “Are you sure we did the right thing?!”

  He pushes me against the wall where my old door used to be and kisses me. Deeply.

  “Absolutely,” he says. “Just think, Kitty, we’re about to walk into our home.”

  I’m nodding at him as emotional tears threaten when he suddenly picks me up, carries me to his—make that, our—front door, and turns the knob.

  “You’re carrying me over the threshold,” I say, the tears fully flowing now.

  “Of course I am. It’s good luck. We don’t wanna jinx this whole thing from the start.”

  He twirls me around, sets me down on my feet, and says, “Wow!”

  And wow is a total understatement, yet I don’t have the words to describe how this all looks. And I’m a writer. Words are what I do.

  His kitchen and dining room look mostly the same, except there is a new dining room table and the holiday decor we had scrunched in there is spread out with more added. It looks incredible. The living room furniture is all the new stuff I picked out, but it looks better than I imagined. We chose to go with a kind of modern-loft feel but kept all the vintage charm of the apartment. Thick wood moldings surround every window and door. The baseboards, decorative crown, and coffered ceiling in the dining room used to be a medium wood tone that had a little too much yellow in it. It’s all been painted bright white, which causes you to notice every single beautiful detail. The walls in the living room are a shade softer. The built-in bookcases that surround the fireplace have been painted a dark gray, and many of our favorite books and collectibles are displayed. Together. There’s a blue silk rug with a subtle white pattern on top of the original restored herringbone wood floor. There are gold accents and rich colors, and the fireplace—oh my God, the fireplace—looks so different too. The mantel is still there, but the cracked green marble has been replaced with a gorgeous white marble with golden swirls. If I were writing a book right now, I’d have to go back and edit it because I know I’m rambling, but I can’t even.

  “We get to live here,” I finally blurt out.

  Phoebe jumps up on the new couch and rolls onto her back.

  “Phoebe!” Matt says, but I just chuckle.

  “She approves!” I say.

  The apartment door opens, and Jack and his wife, Barbara, come in. “What do you think of the place?”

  “We haven’t gotten past this spot,” Matt says. “I think we’re both in shock.”

  “And to think, I used to make fun of people on those HGTV shows who would see their new house and say the same thing for every room. Like, Ohhh myyy gosshhh. Or, Is this our house? Or, What? Or crying about how beautiful it is or all the other things they say.”

  Barbara takes over, discussing all the details I can barely focus on. It looks so different. I mean, I thought both our places were nice before. This is just beyond.

  “Now, to the new wing,” she says, turning us toward the door to Matt’s bedroom.

  But there isn’t just a door anymore. There’s an arched entry. I recall something like this from the plan, but it’s even prettier than I expected and adds more of that vintage charm.

  She leads us into what I know used to be my apartment. My kitchen is gone, and in its place is a super-cool hangout space.

  “The bar is an antique, from an old hotel in the city,” she says, gliding her hand across the wood top before pointing around the room. “Your pool table. Big screen.”

  I look at Matt, who is grinning widely.

  He’s like me, mostly mute, but he does occasionally mutter, “Wow,” or, “Cool.” But he’s excited about this room, and he and Jack are now behind the bar, talking about the built-in keg and the wine fridge. So excited that he barely gives a glance to his new, modern office space.

  Barbara grabs my hand and points to a set of tall French doors. The doors are paned, but instead of see-through glass, like is typical, this is set with old mirrors, causing light to bounce around the room. She places me in front of them and says, “Open them up.”

  “Ohhh myyy gosshhh. Is this mine?” I ask, taking in the library that is like something from my dreams.

  There are chairs for reading, blue bookshelves all the way to the top of the ceiling, and even my very own sliding ladder, so I can reach—and dust—all the books at the top.

  I move to a window and recognize the view. “This is where my window seat was.”

  “You said it was one of your favorite spots in the house, and that’s why we had to keep it. I updated the cushions with some extra fluff, new fabric, and pillows.”

  I spin in a circle. “This whole room is my favorite spot in the house!”

  She grins at me. “Yeah, but you haven’t seen the master suite yet.”

  “The master suite,” I repeat dreamily. This whole thing seems like a dream.

  Matt must have heard me speak because he’s at my side and holding my hand. “Let’s go check it out!”

  We go back down the new hall and to another set of mirrored doors. Matt dramatically swings them open, revealing a cozy bedroom with our new four-poster bed. I know this is a combination of our two bedrooms, both of which were of good size, and I’m surprised this room seems a little small. Not too small. It’s perfect, but I’m trying to figure out where all the space went. The bedroom portion is actually a little smaller than what we had before.

  “Your retreat,” she says, taking us around a corner where there are four doors. Two are his-and-hers highly organized closets.

  “I’m obsessed with my closet,” I mutter to no one in particular.

  It’s painted the same Tiffany blue as my office used to be, and it has white shelving with gold accents. Matt’s closet is painted white with masculine dark cabinets.

  Beyond that is our master bath. Although she was right when she called it a retreat. There’s a modern free-standing tub and gold-accented tiles with a Moroccan flair, highlighting the fireplace wall behind it. Coordinating tiles fill the large steam shower, and I can feel the heated marble floor under my feet. His-and-her sinks and a makeup area for me complete the gorgeousness that is this room.

  “I can’t believe this all used to be my bedroom,” I say.

  I kind of thought I’d be sad to see it go. Kind of like when you get a new car and you feel bad for ditching your old one, but then you get in the new one and forget all about it. Actually, it almost reminds me of what it was like to spin the wheel and date the guy. Each one seemed shiny and new.

  Matt puts his arm around me and kisses the side of my face, causing me to melt. Now, I know how people say they feel on their wedding day when they can’t stop smiling.

  I.

  Cannot.

  Stop.

  Smiling.

  “Last stop, your office,” Barbara says
.

  “Oh crap. My office. I literally forgot about my office. It’s where all the magic happens!”

  “I certainly hope that’s not the case, but maybe when we tire of the four-poster bed, baths in front of the fire, you spread out on the pool table, and that living room couch, we can give it a go.”

  “Matt!” My eyes get huge. “You can’t say all that!”

  “I was thinking it too,” Jack says.

  “Boys,” Barbara says, rolling her eyes. “Kitty, see what you think.”

  She swings the door open, and what I see is not only beautiful with its barely blush walls, but it’s also got a funky, creative vibe. A fabric bulletin board hangs above my desk, perfect for pinning up inspirational pictures. I didn’t do it in the trope books, but when I wrote my sweet romances, one of my favorite things to do was peruse real estate listings to find the characters the perfect homes. My character development went from simple physical characteristics to deciding on their favorite colors and foods. The cars they drove. How they kissed. My old desk is here, but it’s been paired with a chair that will be more comfortable and supportive for hours with my butt in it. New bookshelves line one wall with copies of all my books in both English and foreign language editions. There’s a daybed for naps and big gold letters that spell out Kitty.

  I rush to Barbara and throw my arms around her. “It’s so amazing. Everything is incredible. And I can’t believe you managed to do this so fast.”

  “We had a big crew, and honestly, after this experience, I think it’s going to be our thing. We realized people don’t have the time or energy to live through six months of renovations, so we’re going to start doing more of these. They’re fun and rewarding.”

  “And thank you for decorating for Christmas. It will be my first time meeting Matt’s family. And I just wanted …” Crocodile tears fill my eyes.

  “It to be perfect,” she finishes for me.

  They open a bottle of champagne, do a toast with us, and then leave us in our home. Matt walks out, and when he comes back in, he’s carrying a couple of wrapped packages.

  “What’s that?”

  He grins at me. And my gosh, does he look sexy doing it. Maybe the new place has me all hyped up on adrenaline or nesting hormones or something, but all I can think about is ripping his clothes off.

  “I have a couple surprises for you. Early presents.”

  “Early presents. But I didn’t—”

  “Okay, fine,” he says. “They aren’t presents. Call them a holiday housewarming gift.”

  I consider this. “I can agree to that.”

  He leads me over to our new couch and takes a seat. Phoebe, who got bored with the tour and took up her normal spot in her bed by the fireplace, all of a sudden is interested in the packages. Probably thinks it’s food, knowing her.

  Matt hands me a box wrapped in black paper. At first, that seems odd, but then I see the pattern on it. There are little kitties all over it, wearing Santa hats.

  I open the present, careful not to rip the cute wrapping paper. Inside is what appears to be a long-sleeved white shirt. On it is a circle of gold and the words A Very Kitty Christmas. And inside that is a picture of a cute kitten peeking out of a red package under a Christmas tree.

  “A very Kitty Christmas, huh?” I ask, loving the play on words.

  “Yep,” he says, “but don’t think it’s all about you.”

  “Well, my name is Kitty.”

  His hand moves up under my skirt, and his fingers graze my thigh before taking a swipe at my underwear. “And you have a very lovely kitty.”

  “Matt!”

  He smirks at me, but anytime he touches me, my body flushes, my heart races, and my lady bits heat up.

  He gently sets the next package on my lap. It’s wrapped in red paper with a red ribbon, much like the one on the shirt.

  I undo the ribbon, and the lid comes right off, as it was wrapped separately.

  Matt reaches into the box and pulls out something furry, and my first thought is that he bought a stuffed animal.

  But then its head moves, and the kitten looks up at me. I notice its little pink nose as it yawns. It’s a gorgeous tabby cat, multiple shades of orange, brown, and white. And there is a red bow tied around her collar.

  I look at Matt in question and then glance from the shirt to the kitten and back again.

  “I had her portrait done to put on the shirt,” he says.

  He what? How did he do that?

  “How long have you had her?”

  “Jack and Barbara have been keeping her at their house for me.” He puts the little sweet furball into my arms.

  “She’s precious.”

  Phoebe paces around me, not sure what to think, but I notice that the fur on the back of her neck isn’t standing up like it does when she hears the UPS truck. She’s more curious. She puts her nose in the kitten’s face, and the kitten playfully bats it away.

  “She needed a good home, and she was just so cute that I couldn’t say no.”

  “Did she not have a good home?” I ask, worried.

  “She was very loved by her owner. She’s a client of mine. Someone who I worked with when I was first starting out in the business. And even though I don’t do private investing anymore, I still handle her portfolio. She is getting along in age and recently took a fall.”

  “Oh no!”

  “She’s fine. Just a broken wrist, but it was a wake-up call, and she decided to move into a senior living center—partly so someone can keep an eye on her, but also because she thought the social side of it would be fun. The only thing that was stopping her was that the new place doesn’t allow pets. She asked me if Phoebe would like a cat sister. And I thought you would love her. A kitty for my Kitty.”

  We finish the champagne while I play with the kitten until she’s tired. She goes over and lies right on Phoebe’s bed with her, tucking herself under Phoebe’s chin.

  “Look at this. A dog and cat sleeping together,” I tell Matt. “We’re going to have to come up with a name for her.”

  “Well,” Matt says, “she already has a name, but we can change it if you want.”

  “What is it?”

  “Maggie,” he says.

  “Oh my God. Like my editor?”

  “Happy coincidence, I’m afraid, but it is kind of fitting, don’t you think?”

  “Maggie it is.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “Wow! Look at the snow coming down!” Matt says.

  It’s Christmas Eve. I’m dressed and ready to go to Grandmother’s house, and I’m starting to get worried that the roads might get bad.

  Matt is sitting in front of the fireplace. Kitty Maggie is playing with the ribbons on the presents under the tree, and I don’t know if dogs can actually roll their eyes, but Phoebe might be doing so right now. She likes the kitten, but I think that maybe she didn’t realize the cat would be staying.

  “This is kind of a present,” I tell him, picking up a gift and handing it to him. “It’s sort of from Hayley. Mostly Hayley. And me.”

  He raises his eyebrows at me when he opens the package to find a spinning wheel.

  “It’s what Hayley made me. What I would spin to decide who to date.”

  “You two are crazy,” he says.

  “I know, but it worked. Now, I’m done. No more spinning the wheel. No more dating different guys.”

  “Well, I would hope so since we tore down the wall and everything.”

  “No more writing the books,” I say to him seriously.

  “Wait. I don’t get to get dressed up anymore?”

  “Oh, you most certainly do. That’s why I’m giving you this. Thought you could keep it in the bedroom, spin it occasionally, and keep things fun.”

  He spins the wheel a few times and reads the tropes. “Professor. Police. Bad Boy. Lifeguard. Foreign Lover—oh, this will be fun, Kitty,” he says in a fake accent. “I’m keeping this in my nightstand. You’ll never know who you mig
ht come home to.”

  “As long as all of them are you,” I say, throwing my arms around his neck and kissing him.

  “Interesting,” Matt says, which is an odd thing to say as he hands me a gift. “This is from me, but Hayley made it.”

  I find another wheel. “What?” But then I spin it and find the words French Maid. Another spin reveals Librarian.

  He grins. “What's good for the goose is good for the gander…”

  “I love it,” I say with a laugh. But then get serious again. “But I didn’t give you the wheel for that—unless you can inspire me to write more of these.” I hand him a book. The book I wrote about him. And Phoebe. Candy-Coated Love.

  He looks at me in confusion. “I already read this.”

  “And you already know it’s based on you and Phoebe. It’s a sweet romance with a happy ending—actually, that’s not true. It ends with a sweeping big, fat happily ever after.”

  “You want one of those for yourself,” he says knowingly. Then, he turns to Phoebe and says, “Go get your present.”

  Phoebe picks up something from her basket full of toys, brings it over, and drops a squeaky toy shaped like a bottle of champagne with the words Dog Perignonn in my lap.

  “This is cute. But I don’t get it.”

  “It’s Phoebe’s way of telling you that it’s time for champagne.”

  He hops up and grabs a hidden champagne bucket with a bottle of the real stuff and two glasses.

  When he sits down, he says, “Your grandmother says flutes are uncouth and a coupe is the only proper glass to drink bubbly from. Did you know this glass was first used in the ’20s and it was modeled after the shape of a woman’s breast?”

  “I did not know that,” I say, although if anyone knew that, it would be Matt.

  “Neither did I until Peter told me,” he says, causing me to giggle as he pops the cork and pours us each a glass.

  “What shall we toast to?” I ask.

  “Shoot,” Matt says. “Phoebe, come back. You forgot something.”

  The second he says her name, she comes rushing back over, wagging her tail so hard that she almost knocks a book off the coffee table.