Number Neighbors - Emma Hart

CHAPTER ONE – HANNAH

I Don’t Even Like Cats

If someone had told me that at the age of twenty-five I’d be a financially stable homeowner with an eight-week-old stray kitten living in a shoebox under my stairs, I, well.

I would have only believed the part about the kitten.

Probably. I mean, I wasn’t particularly a cat person. You know the type: the ones who get one cat then end up with ten in the next six months and lie on the sofa every night in a giant puddle of meowy floof.

No, I wasn’t one of those people.

I also wasn’t entirely one hundred percent financially stable, but I could pay my mortgage and eat relatively well. By relatively well, I mean I didn’t eat take out every single night.

Just sometimes.

Okay, four times, but I totally ordered salads, too.

A noisy meow that sounded more like a demand than anything came from the general vicinity of my feet. Glancing down, I saw a tiny black ball of fluff, one that stood out starkly against my white kitchen floor tiles. Two blue eyes looked up at me, and another large meow was accompanied by the most pathetic showing of tiny fangs I’d ever seen in my life.

“Are you hungry?” I asked. Somewhat stupidly, honestly. This kitten was almost always hungry.

Another meow.

“Fine, okay, hang on.” I reached into the cupboard and pulled out a small pouch of kitten food. More meowing accompanied as I put half of it into a stainless-steel bowl and clipped the pouch up to keep the rest of it fresh. “I’m not going to put this down if you’re going to keep yelling at me, Lucifer.”

Yes, I called the kitten Lucifer.

No, that wasn’t its name.

I had no idea what to call it. I wasn’t even sure I wanted it—and no matter what Immy and Grandma Jen said, it wasn’t mine just because I’d fed it.

I didn’t even know what gender the darn thing was.

Boy, girl… Heck, it could be a llama for all I knew.

Obviously, that was biologically impossible, but you understand where I’m coming from.

“I don’t know why you’ve called that thing Lucifer.” Immy joined me in the kitchen and put down her empty glass. “I think it’s sweet.”

“You would. You aren’t the one being meowed at ten times a day for food.”

“I’m not so sure you’re supposed to feed kittens ten times a day. That’s kids.” Fran joined us, putting down her own empty wine glass.

I peered over my shoulder at her. “You feed Maya ten times a day?”

“Have you ever lived with a four-year-old? Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are just the main meals. There are also approximately fifty requests for snacks… And that’s between breakfast and lunch.”

Immy snorted. “We thought you got lost on the way to get wine.”

“I did. I got derailed by Lucifer.” I crossed the kitchen and put the bowl on top of some newspaper. Lucifer darted across the kitchen and bumped between my ankles on the way to the food. “You’re welcome,” I said dryly before turning around and heading toward the fridge.

Immy had beaten me to it. She refilled all three glasses, draining the bottle, and winked at me.

I took the glass with pursed lips, but I was fighting a smile. Only just—I was still trying to cope with what these assholes had made me do earlier.

Sending a dirty text to my number neighbor wasn’t exactly in my plan for a Friday night.

Or any night, to be perfectly honest.

Yet they’d made me do it. They’d even done it themselves, despite being engaged and in a relationship respectively.

Which meant I so had blackmail material.

I never said I was a good friend or cousin, okay? Grandma Jen would be proud of me for that little thought train. It was the kind of crap she would pull.

Maybe if I told her this she’d let up on trying to set me up with random guys.

Hmm.

Food for thought.

“Okay,” Fran said, looking at her phone. “My number neighbor’s favorite position is sleeping because he’s eighty-two. His wife wants to know if there’s an easy way to do it lying down.”

I choked back a laugh. “There are, but it depends how wide she can open her legs.”

“I’m not sure that’s a conversation I should continue.”

Immy shrugged. “I vote continue.”

“Fine, but you’re the ones buying the bleach for our ears when this goes too far.” She tapped out the response on her phone and put it down. “Now check yours.”

Immy grabbed her phone first. “Okay, mine laughed and said cowgirl so he doesn’t have