Page 22 of Full Contact

“In private.”

“Of course.”

I put the toy back in my pocket. Thirty seconds later she left the bag and walked over to where the mouse had been, looking up at me.

Everyone laughed.

“You told your bosses this would be interesting,” I said to Mark.

“It is. I didn’t know you needed her to make you look good.”

I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t think of the right words and laughed instead.

“All right,” Mark said. “Stop arranging things. Follow her with the camera, but don’t stage anything. We’ll take what Peaches gives us.”

“That was my position from the start,” I said.

“Then give her the mouse. She’s already picked the next scene.”

I pulled the mouse out of my pocket and put it back on the floor. I asked if anybody wanted water.

“Sure,” Mark said.

Sunlight reached across the kitchen tiles. I ran the tap until the water cooled against my fingers. Mark followed me in and asked where the glasses lived. I explained which cupboard, second from the left.

When we carried the glasses back, Peaches had settled against one end of the couch. I handed the crew their water and sat down beside her. Mark set his glass on a coaster and took the armchair again.

Peaches stood, turned around twice, put her front paws on my thigh, and looked at me.

I lifted her the rest of the way. She trod a small circle on my lap, her claws catching lightly through my shorts, then settled with her warm belly against my thigh. I adjusted the cushion beneath my elbow to keep my arm at the height she preferred.

“The little wooden chair by the counter,” Mark said. “That’s for her?”

“She stopped liking the jump down. She could still do it, but she just stood there thinking about it too long. So I bought the chair.”

He looked over at it. “Does she use it both ways?”

“Down, always. Up, if I’m not there to lift her. I’ve got a bench at the foot of the bed for the same reason.”

“Does she let you use that one?”

“If I need to put my socks on, we negotiate.”

Peaches pushed her head beneath my hand while I was talking. I scratched her cheek.

Mark laughed, head tipping back, the way he had in the wedding video.

I looked up at him and lost the next thing I’d meant to say. Peaches pushed against my fingers until I started scratching again.

They played the footage back on Priya’s monitor before packing it away. It was a few minutes of nothing anyone had arranged. Me pouring water. Peaches deciding, on her own authority, that my lap was available. The chair explanation and a pause.

“Keep the pause,” Mark told Priya. “Keep her interrupting, and the whole answer about the chair.”

“I’ve got a reverse angle of you laughing,” she said. “Want it?”

“We have enough with Trier and Peaches.”

“Your laugh’s already in it,” I said. “You can hear it.”