“I told her to let us know when she made a decision. She doesn’t know anyone out here, and we could go help her out,” he said, throwing me the last pillow.
“Oops, don’t throw that one!” I set it delicately on top of the others. “Yes, for sure. Just let me know when she knows for sure.”
“Um, it’s a throw pillow, right?” he asked.
“Hey, mister, if you knew how much of your money I spent on that pillow, you wouldn’t be so quick to throw it.”
“So I really don’t want to know how much this set me back, do I?” he asked, nodding his head toward our new bed. A bed of our very own that had no history of past others. The California king was large enough to accommodate both his snoring and my flailing, and it was simple and elegant, with a massive, well-padded headboard.
“It’s better if you just let me do my thing and not ask questions,” I sassed, now crawling across the bed on all fours, making sure my pink nightie swished in all the right places.
“I like it when you do your own thing. Especially when you let me watch you do it,” he breathed, raising an eyebrow when I turned to show him my ruffles. He pressed his body against mine, his shower-warm skin heating me as much as his words.
“Tonight I’d much prefer you touching me. With your hands. And that mouth,” I instructed as I perched on top of him. I’d positioned the bed so that when we cuddled up, we could see the lights twinkling over the bay.
“Look at that view,” I whispered.
“I’ll say,” he muttered from below, peeking up my nightie. The next thing I knew, he’d wiggled me right out of my coordinating panties.
And with the ruffled bottoms abandoned, the pink nightie pushed up around my shin, Simon brought it on home.
And goddamn it if he still didn’t find a way to bang that headboard.
Thump.
“Be careful . . . Oh, God . . . That’s new paint . . . Oh, God.”
“You want me . . . to be . . . Christ, Caroline . . . Careful?”
Thump thump.
“Well . . . maybe . . . a little . . . Oh, God . . . Simon!”
“There’s my Nightie Girl.”
Thump thump thump.
? ? ?
“Simon?”
“Hmm?”
“You awake?”
“Huh-uh.”
“Just wanted to tell you I love you.”
“Mmm.”
? ? ?
“Caroline?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you too.”
“Mmm.”
? ? ?
“Caroline?”
“Mmm?’
“You wanna fool around?”
“If I said no, what would happen?”
“I’d lie here next to you, thinking dirty thoughts.”
“Would they be about me?”
“They’re always about you.”
“Really?”
“You’re literally my fantasy girl.”
“Okay, it’s getting a little thick in here.”
“Speaking of getting thick . . .”
“Oh, kiss me, you big Wallbanger.”
? ? ?
I sat straight up in bed, body tense and hyperaware. Why had I suddenly awakened? At . . . 2:37 a.m.?
Simon was curled up on his side of the bed and snoring.
The hair on the back of my neck prickled, my skin pebbled into gooseflesh. Something was up, but I couldn’t put my finger on . . . Wait, what was that?
I ran to the window, peering out into the darkness. Nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary. I crept back into bed, not able to shake the feeling that— Oh my God.
“Simon!” I ran out the door and down the hallway. The tiniest hint of a thought took hold on a corner of my heart as I raced downstairs, hearing Simon call out to me as his feet hit the floor. I flew down the stairs, across the living room, and into the dining room. I plastered myself against the window, searching, not wanting to let this feeling take hold, because I couldn’t bear it if it wasn’t . . .
Meow.
It can’t be. He doesn’t know where—
Meow.
“Simon!” I screeched, and he ran around the corner, brandishing a bat.
“Is someone in the house?” he asked, whirling about.
I burst through the patio doors with Simon right behind me, hope now blooming fully and out of control.
There, on the grass right below the dining room window, was Clive. Licking his paws like it was no big thing.
“No way,” Simon breathed behind me as I sank to the ground and opened my arms.
Clive washed his ears like he had all the time in the world, then slow-trotted over to me with the biggest kitty grin I’ve ever seen. He tried to play it cool, but I could hear his rusty purr from four feet away. Tears ran unabashedly down my cheeks as I sobbed on the ground, holding my cat. Who purred and purred and purred. He was skinny, he was muddy, he was cold, and he was back.
Simon crouched next to me, running his hand down Clive’s back as I held him tightly. “There’s a good boy,” he said over and over again as he stroked him and scratched between his ears. When Simon’s eyes met mine, they were shining brightly.