Chapter 13
I traced down to the spot under his chin, and his head tilted back, giving me better access. His eyes closed completely, whiskers
twitching with pleasure.
“You’re such a sweetheart,” I murmured, my voice thick. “You deserve someone who can give you everything.”
My hand drifted lower, hesitating over his exposed belly. Some cats hated belly rubs–it was a trap, an invitation that ended in claw
and teeth. But Milo just lay there, trusting, waiting.
I placed my palm gently on his soft stomach, feeling the warmth of him, the rapid beat of his tiny heart. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t
attack. Just purred louder, his paws stretching out in pure bliss.
God, when was the last time anything had trusted me like this?
When was the last time I’d felt this kind of uncomplicated affection?
I stroked his belly in slow, gentle motions, watching his face relax completely. He looked so peaceful, so content. Like this moment
was all that mattered.
“I really do have to go,” I told him softly, though I made no move to stop petting him. “But I’ll come back. I promise I’ll come back.”
Milo’s eyes opened briefly, meeting mine with that knowing orange gaze. Then he rolled upright, stretched once more, and touched
his nose to my hand–a gentle goodbye.
I scratched behind his ears one final time, memorizing the softness of his fur, the warmth of his small body.
Then I carefully stood, grabbing my coat and bag. Milo jumped down gracefully, circling my legs twice before wandering off to join
the other cats near the window.
Marie looked up from behind the counter, where she’d been organizing receipts.
“Heading out?”
“Yeah. Thanks for the tea.”
“Anytime, honey.” She paused, her expression softening. “And seriously–think about Milo. He’s yours if you want him.”
I forced a smile, though my chest ached. “I’ll think about it.”
The bell chimed as I pushed open the door, stepping back into the cold night air. I pulled my coat tighter and started walking, my breath forming small clouds in front of me.
14:39 Fri, Jun 12 #
Chapter 13
The street was quieter now, most shops closed, only a few restaurants still glowing with warm light. I should call a car. Get home
before Julian did, even though “home” felt like the last place I wanted to be.
I made it maybe three steps before I heard my name.
‘Elena?”
I froze. That voice–familiar, warm, tinged with surprise..
I turned slowly.
Standing in front of the café, hands in the pockets of a navy peacoat, was Ethan Blackwell.
My stomach dropped.
Ethan. My college mentor, four years older than me. The guy who’d helped me navigate Parsons, who’d introduced me to half the
contacts I had in the industry.
The guy I’d turned down because I was too busy pining after Julian fucking Sterling.
“Ethan,” I managed, my voice coming out steadier than I felt. “I… I didn’t expect to see you here.”
He smiled, that same easy, genuine smile I remembered. “Elena. Wow. It’s been, what, three years?”
“Something like that.”
He took a step closer, and I noticed the way his dark eyes softened when he looked at me. Like he was genuinely happy to see me.
Like seeing me had made his night better.
When was the last time Julian had looked at me like that?
“I didn’t know you came here,” he said, glancing at the café behind us. “This is my usual spot after work. I live just a few blocks
over.”
“I come here sometimes,” I said carefully. “When I need to think.”
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