when I told him about my feline guest. He was prepping the kitchen for the breakfast rush when I descended the steps. I was ten minutes early this time, so he didn’t give me grief. I told him the story of the kitten to fill the silence.
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t. Why would you think I hate cats?”
“Because ... well ... because you’ve never had one.”
“I’ve never had a horse either, but I don’t hate horses,” he pointed out. “I have no problem with cats, other than they’re sneaky. I just prefer dogs.”
“Are you saying I can keep him?” The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind other than in a far-off reality where I liked the idea of having something to devote my attention to.
“Why not?” Grandpa had his practical face on. “Cats are easy compared to dogs. You don’t have to walk them. Feed them. Clean their litter boxes. That’s it. Cats are easy.”
“I guess.” I remained unconvinced. “I don’t know that I want a cat, though.”
“Why?” Grandpa’s gaze was piercing. “Are you saying you can’t take care of a cat? If so, you definitely shouldn’t have one. There’s nothing worse than a person who takes on the responsibility of an animal and then refuses to follow through. If you think you can take care of the cat, what’s the problem?”
I didn’t immediately answer. I couldn’t. There was nothing I could say that wouldn’t make me look bad or launch a debate I had no intention of getting into.
“Ah.” Grandpa bobbed his head after watching me futz with the coffee filters for a few moments. “You don’t want a cat because you expect to pick up and move again the second you manage to write a book someone wants to buy.”
That was insulting — mostly because it was true. “I just don’t know where I see myself landing,” I argued. “I mean ... can you see me spending the rest of my life here?”
He shrugged. “Why not?”
“Because ... .” I didn’t want to insult Shadow Hills. He was loyal to the town and didn’t like when others weren’t. Still, he couldn’t possibly overlook the town’s deficiencies.
“Because you want to live in the city,” he surmised. “You might as well come out and say it.”
“I might want to live in the city,” I confirmed. There was no sense in lying. He knew me too well.
“Why?”
“I like the city.”
“Do you?” He looked dubious. “As far as I can tell, you’ve spent the last six years of your life living in ten cities. Ever since you left college, it’s been city after city. Have you loved any of them?”
“I loved New Orleans.” That was true. I’d found true inspiration there. I’d also found humidity headaches because I was there in summer and so many annoying tourists that I lived in a perpetual state of annoyance.
“Can’t you visit New Orleans?”
“I ... .”
When I didn’t finish my response, he barreled forward. “It seems to me that you can live almost anywhere if you get this book thing off the ground again. Why do you have to live in a city?”
I swallowed hard. “I guess I don’t. It’s just ... I can’t stay here.”
“Why?” He held up his hand before I could answer. “Let me guess. You can’t be close to Hunter.”
I wanted to strangle him. “Not every decision I make is because of Hunter,” I shot back. “You need to stop saying that.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not true.”
He folded his arms over his chest and pinned me with a pointed look. “Why really?”
“Because it bugs me,” I hissed, letting my temper get a foothold. “You have no idea how much I hate hearing his name ... and so relentlessly from practically everyone I come in contact with.”
“Then do something about it.”
“Like what?”
“Like tell him how you feel.”
“And how do I feel?”
“You know how you feel.”
Honestly, I didn’t. My heart and mind were mired in an endless tug of war where Hunter was concerned. I was over this conversation, though. “You’re right. I do know how I feel. I’m annoyed that people keep bringing up my high school boyfriend as if he’s somehow relevant in my current life.”
Instead of being impressed with my straightforward argument, Grandpa snorted. “Please. You still have feelings for him. You might’ve buried those feelings, but he’s always been at the back of your mind. Have you ever considered that you self-sabotaged as a way to get back here — to him — and that’s why your second book didn’t sell?”
That was the