Page 25 of The Troll’s Summer Flame

“Did you?”

“No. I just don’t plan to call her again.”

“Oh, God. Why? And don’t say because she’s a good cook and talented, and smart, and all of that. Those are reasons to wife a woman up!”

I couldn’t ever “wife up” a human. It’s dangerous on so many levels. If my mother ever found out... Well, that’s the least of my problems. Andrea would get smushed if I rolled over in bed. My tusks would jab her and ruin her beautiful skin. “I’m not the marrying kind.” I stalk away. “But I’ll get the cat.” Because if I don’t, you’ll keep talking.

“This is so stupid. And you’d better pray they send someone else,” I hiss at Chopin, who sits prettily, paws placed like little striped pillars on the very same branch he chose last time. He stares down at me and licks a paw.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think he likes this. Like it’s a game.

The game is Wreck Mama’s Life. Make her miss her vacation. Meet a great guy. Have two nice dates. When he bolts like she has the plague, do something so he has to come over and look at her in all of her humiliation. Again.

At least this time I’m not sobbing and panicked. I’m just pissed off at my brat of a cat and embarrassed.

“Hi.”

I jump. “Hi.” Gordon is right behind me, ladder in hand, grim lips set in a frown on his face.

“Cat?”

“Tree.” I point.

“Tuna?”

“Here.”

Oh, yes. This isn’t awkward at all. Chopin, you’re on dry kibble and no catnip for a week after this little stunt.

Gordon sets up the ladder and heads up with a sigh.

And, hand on my heart—that traitorous little furball jumps down from the branch, to the next highest, then the next, and ping-pongs all the way down with the grace of a ballerina. His last stop? Gordon’s arms, before he’s even at the top of the ladder.

“Oh. You little fluffy devil!” I hiss as I march over to retrieve my cat.

Gordon is staring at the cat in bewilderment as Chopin cuddles up to him. “That was easy.”

“For you!” I cry, laughing in exasperation. “He wouldn’t come to me for anything, not tuna, not kitty treats, not tears, threats, or bribes.”

Gordon’s face slowly creases into one of those half-smiles that makes him look way too sexy for his own good. “Huh.”

“He likes you.” I swallow hard. I liked him, too. Still do. A lot, especially when I see Chopin sitting in the crook of his arm, looking like a kitten in comparison to Gordon’s size, and Gordon’s smile widening, his finger gently stroking a soft line over Chopin’s forehead and down his spine.

“I’m surprised.”

“Why?”

“Never had pets. Just dinner,” Gordon mumbles, stroking Chopin while still trying to pass him back to me.

Chopin purrs like a baby buzzsaw, so I hold off on taking him. “Chopin knows I like you, so he knows you’re safe. And what do you mean, you never had a pet? That’s no reason someone else’s pet won’t like you. No one has a pet until they do, after all.” I skip the part about dinner, but mentally add “lived on a farm or had a hunting family” to my meager list of things I know about Gordon Rockland.

Gordon finally pries Chopin off and hands him to me. “There you go.”

“Thank you.”

He collapses the ladder, but moves slowly. Reluctantly.

I suddenly wonder if he was spooked by how much he liked me, just like I was happily surprised by how much I liked him. He ran. I couldn’t. I lived at the location of our second date.