Until the World Stops - L.A. Witt Page 0,32
(not much, since he’d been smart about stocking up) and to pick up mail from our PO box. And I was glad we’d gone with a PO box, too—having delivery drivers come to the house right now just made my skin crawl.
Tristan was incredibly vigilant about masks and hand sanitizer, so I wasn’t worried about him being stupid and upping his odds of bringing home the virus, and he didn’t seem to get as stressed as I did about going out.
He’d made a post office and grocery store run yesterday, so as I pulled into our complex’s parking lot after my shift, I wasn’t at all surprised that his black pickup was in its usual spot. For months, seeing his truck had made me cringe because the less time we spent together, the better.
Lately, though, I was relieved he was home and not out somewhere he could get infected. I didn’t have to like him to hope he didn’t get sick. Plus that made it less likely I’d get sick, but I also genuinely didn’t want him getting it either. Every minute we were both home was one more minute we weren’t being exposed to COVID.
Tonight, as soon as I let myself in through the front door, Tilly jumped onto the back of the couch and meowed at me like she always did when I came home.
“Hey, kiddo.” I scooped her up and held her on her back like a baby—she loved being held that way—and toed off my shoes, something I’d long ago gotten the hang of doing while balancing a fifteen-plus-pound cat in both arms.
Tristan chuckled. “I swear, she knows what your car sounds like.”
“Of course she does.” I pulled her up and kissed her, which prompted a large paw shoving my face away. Laughing, I turned my head to sputter a few cat hairs. She scowled at me as if to say “That’s what you get, stupid human,” but she was still purring and wasn’t exactly demanding to be put down.
“So, you hungry?” Tristan twisted around to look at me over the back of the couch. “I was thinking of making some Polish sausage and rice. Do you want any?”
My stomach growled. “Sure. If you’re making enough for two, that sounds good.”
Nodding, he put aside his laptop and stood. He paused to stretch his arms over his head, and I jerked my gaze away before I spent too much time noticing the way his shirt rode up his smooth abs.
“I’ll, um…” I gestured with my chin toward the stairs. “I’m going to go change clothes.”
“Cool. It’ll probably be ready in like half an hour. Depends on how long the rice needs.”
“Sounds good.”
He continued toward the kitchen and I headed for my bedroom. As I climbed the stairs, still cradling Tilly, I exhaled. I felt a million times better than I had all day because I was home with my cat and—yeah, I had to admit it—Tristan. No more conspiracy theorists. No more paperwork or stress or bullshit. Just Tristan, our cat, dinner, and whatever we decided to put on TV so we could wind down. Less than a month ago, being stuck at home with Tristan would have been the worst thing, but these days, it was fine by me. It was still tense, and it was still stressful, but I had to admit that his calm, level-headed company was growing on me.
While I changed into a comfortable pair of sweats, Tilly rolled around on my bed. When I’d finished, I lay beside her and scratched her belly, which made her stretch out her paws in all directions and purr even louder.
I smiled. It was nice to have a pet again. I hadn’t had one the entire time I’d been in the military because I’d never known if, when, or for how long I’d be deployed. But Tristan and I had both missed having pets, so I was pretty sure we’d have gotten one eventually even if Tilly hadn’t fallen into our laps. I was glad we had her. She needed a good home, and she was like a living, breathing stress killer. I slept better with her next to me. I was more relaxed just having her around, even if she was curled up on her cat tree while I was watching television. Especially these days, I’d take every kind of stress relief I could get.
I wonder if Tristan would be down for some stress relief.
I blinked as my own thought echoed through my mind. Say