The What If Guy - Lauren Blakely Page 0,39

out.”

She thrust the device at his face.

Oh.

Oh, yes.

Meow indeed.

Hello, lady cat.

He flipped to his belly, stretched his arms over the edge of the cat bed, then crossed them. It was a charming pose. This lady cat would likely be quite taken with it.

Surely he looked like an elegant, modern cat.

The woman snapped another picture. “That is literally the best picture ever of you. He’ll love it. And this is what I’ll say: Logan, I’m not sure what’s come over Bruce today, but he seems to be posing. Perhaps your cat inspired him? There. I sent it.”

A few seconds later, she clutched her device with excitement. “Ooh. He wrote back. He said, What if our cats are secretly communicating with each other through some underground cat network that we know nothing about?”

With another stroke of his fur, she spoke again. “Obviously. There is no other explanation.”

15

Bryn

There is nothing wrong with texting my boss.

There is nothing wrong with sharing cat photos.

I repeat this mantra as I walk to work on Friday morning, one of those people. Yep. I’m the distracted walker. The ped-text-rian with her head bent over her phone, laughing, unable to tear her gaze away.

As I stroll down my block, Logan and I continue to chat about cats.

Bryn: This might sound crazy, but have you ever thought of entering your cat in a cat photo contest?

Logan: Is that a thing?

Bryn: IS THAT A THING?

Logan: Did you just shout at me?

Bryn: I did, and you deserve it.

Logan: Why do I deserve it?

Bryn: Because how do you not know that cat photo contests are a thing? Everything is a thing.

Logan: That is true. That is absolutely true. But should everything be a thing?

Bryn: Now you’re going all philosophical. Were you a philosophy major?

Logan: Shockingly, I was not. I studied political science.

Bryn: And you went into business?

Logan: Yes. I think it’s much better than politics.

Bryn: You’re not wrong. How did you make that transition?

Logan: I realized quickly that politics leads to misery pretty much every way you slice it. So I went to business school and earned my MBA. That’s how I eventually devised my Theory of Feline/Political Synergistic Interdependence.

Bryn: Explain, please.

Logan: My Twitter feed is the best example of the principle at work. I follow politics, which makes me angry, and cat memes, which make me happy again.

Bryn: That makes complete sense. And yet you were woefully unaware of the existence of cat photo contests.

Logan: But now I’ve been educated. And watch out, world—from paintball to cat photo contests, here I come.

Bryn: Okay. I’ll bite. You play paintball?

Logan: I do. My friends and I are in a league. It’s fun, and we have a blast.

Bryn: That’s kind of adorable. The same friends you and your sister play softball with?

Logan: Good memory! My sister won’t do paintball with us, since she says we’re too “caveman,” but she is our secret weapon on the softball team. She hits homers for days.

Bryn: Woman power! I love her already! And that’s cool that you play so many fun sports.

Logan: We’re kind of into amateur sports leagues, but we try to mix it up. Some years it’s paintball, sometimes kickball, sometimes dodgeball. We do it for fun and to raise money for charity.

Bryn: Which charities?

Logan: Usually animal rescues or pediatric cancer. My friend’s sister died of cancer when he was in high school.

Bryn: I’m so sorry to hear that. That’s great that you use your free time to try to raise money.

Logan: Thanks. We try. But back to cat photo contests. Should Queen LT enter this one? It’s to raise money for a local cat rescue.

He sends a link to pinup cats. I laugh as I cross the busy street.

Bryn: I know that one! The gal who runs that asked me for some help a year ago when she was developing the site and looking for partnerships. Yes, enter it. Also, that reminds me—I need to introduce you to Casey Sullivan about a potential partnership with Joy Delivered.

Logan: And you just segued to work.

Bryn: Impressive, isn’t it?

Logan: Indeed. Why don’t you swing by this afternoon and we can talk about it? I got the email you forwarded and would love to chat. How’s three?

Bryn: It’s a date.

Bryn: I mean, it’s an appointment.

Logan: See you at three for our “appointment.” :)

I close the phone, pop into the coffee shop for a latte, and bump into Isaac in line.

“You look happy today, Bryn,” he says.

His voice is warm, but I’m frozen. Chills wrap my body.

Stuffing my phone in my