Are there family photos or meaningless prints on the walls? What kind of food do they eat? In my apartment, there’s no hiding things in closets or behind closed doors.
“What’s with all the castles?” he asks when he sees the art gallery on the wall.
From Mont-Saint-Michel in Normandy, France, to the Neuschwanstein Castle in southwest Bavaria, Germany, I have pictures of the most famous castles in the world, hung up in a beautiful display.
“My dad used to read me fairy tales when I was a child. Most parents were telling their daughters they could be doctors or lawyers or the next president of the United States. He was firm on me having a fantasy. A little magic in my life, if you will. When I got older and became interested in the world around me, we started a yearly trip. Just the two of us. Every year, we’d visit a different castle. This one”—I point to a photo of a historic fortress set on the top of a mountain—“is from our first trip, the summer before I started college.”
Hunter tilts his head, and a soft grin crosses his face. “He’s the reason you believe in romantic love?”
“I’ve never thought of that. I think he just wanted me to know that there was something special out there, waiting for me.”
“That’s not a bad idea to give to your daughter. Unless you spend too long, waiting for a prince to rescue you when you could just climb down the tower yourself.”
I raise a brow. “What do I need a prince for when I have a huntsman?”
He runs his thumb along his lower lip as he takes in the rest of my place. Everything is out in the open to see, and when it comes to Hunter, I actually want him to see it.
I open the fridge and tap my foot. A lot of my meals are frozen dinners, bowls of cereal, or yogurt and granola. Feeding a man on the simple things I have here seems impossible.
“Well, unless you are in the mood for an Amy’s Spinach Pizza, we’re going to have to order in,” I say over my shoulder as I search the freezer.
“Do you like it?” he asks.
“Well, yeah, that’s why it’s in my freezer,” I tease as I take out two boxes. “There’s no meat or anything on them. But they’re good.”
His grin is the cutest when he says, “If you enjoy it, then it’s good for me.”
“Spinach pizza it is!” I point to him, narrowing my eyes. “No complaining if you don’t like it.”
His laugh rumbles through his chest. “I promise.”
I pour him a glass of whiskey and hand him the remote to choose whatever he wants to watch. “It’s no Bushmills, but it’s all I’ve got.”
We clink glasses while the oven heats up.
“Who’s this?” Hunter asks, drawing my attention to the hallway coming from my room.
Mittens is walking into the kitchen. His tiny paws strut in a determined manner, as he seems eager to see who the intruder of his domestic domain is.
“Hunter, this is Mittens,” I introduce the two as Hunter kneels down to the ground, where the cat stands. To my surprise, Mittens doesn’t scurry off like he usually does when someone other than me approaches him. “You probably shouldn’t do that. He doesn’t like people.”
With his eyes level with Mittens, Hunter speaks rather frankly to my cat, “Hello, Mittens. I’m Hunter. I heard you’re a rescue. Kinda like me. I was a lost cause before Katie here straightened me up. Now, I hope you don’t mind me hanging out with her, but you see, I happen to think your mom is really pretty, and I kind of got my ass kicked today. So, how about you and I have a man-to-man agreement that we’re cool with sharing her for the night? Sound good?”
With his beady eyes half-hooded, Mittens growls from in his throat and then turns his head away from Hunter, who rises to a standing position.
“I don’t think that went very well,” Hunter explains.
As if to prove his point, Mittens walks over to Hunter’s sneaker on the ground and coughs loudly, as if spitting up a hairball. Then, he saunters into my room with his tail waving in the air like he just doesn’t care.
“Yeah, your cat’s a dick.”
I can only nod. “Yeah, I’ve been told that before. He’ll come around.” I shrug so he knows there’s nothing I can do about it.
Since we just got back from the gym, I take a