“Exactly.” Laurel leaped to the bed without sparing her sister a glance. “And he’ll take her so much more seriously if she would only lose that chunky sweater. I mean, who doesn’t like Angora?”
“Angora?” Harriet lumbered in. “You mean that pink sweater?” She reached up to groom her wide face, revealing a few silky, pink strands stuck in her claws.
“You dragged it down from the shelf.” Clara closed her eyes, but not before she saw Harriet pull the fibers free and swallow them.
“Silly!” Laurel hissed. “I had plans for that sweater.”
“So did I.” Unruffled by either her sisters or the pink yarn, Harriet continued bathing, straining to lick what on any other cat would have been the small of her back and nearly toppling over in the process. “It was very soft.”
“You missed a spot.” Resigned, Clara reached over to hook a tuft of the super-fine wool in her claw.
“Clara! What have you gotten into?” The little calico gave a startled mew as hands reached around her middle, pulling her up in the air. “Is that from my new sweater?”
Unable to explain, Clara could only blink in silent apology. On the bed, Laurel’s blue eyes closed in a satisfied smile.
“I could let her know, you know. Point out that Harriet was the one to pull that sweater down from its shelf.” Laurel’s low feline muttering was too quiet for human ears. “I could also suggest to her that we’re more than she knows. That we are, in fact, royalty.”
“Please don’t.” Clara turned toward her sister in silent appeal. It was too late. Becca was carrying her to the bedroom doorway, and then she closed the door behind her.
With mounting frustration, she waited outside as Becca got ready for her lunchtime meet, knowing full well that Laurel, if not Harriet, would be turning the situation to their own ends. Pacing outside the shut door, and unable to pass through without alarming Becca, Clara fumed, and then began to blame herself. Of course Laurel had jumped on the romantic potential of lunch with a new man. Clara hadn’t explained the situation properly. In part, she had to admit, that was because of her own confusion over what was going on.
For starters, Becca had said that her meeting with the bike messenger wasn’t a date. But even without the astute feline hearing that picked up a quickening heartbeat and a slight shallowness in her breath, Clara knew her person well enough to sense that she was intrigued by the dark-haired man. More intrigued, the calico feared, than she had been by anyone since her longtime boyfriend had broken up with her the previous spring.
That had been touch and go for a while, too. Matt, Becca’s ex, had regretted their breakup, even though he had been the one to initiate it. The computer programmer had, in fact, tried to woo Becca back, and there had been moments when Clara had feared he would succeed. But the puppy-ish programmer had cheated on Becca, and, cute as he was, she knew he couldn’t be trusted. For a long while after that, Clara had worried that Becca would never again trust any man.
That didn’t mean she wanted her person to just jump into something with this Tiger. And despite what Laurel thought, that wasn’t simply because of his name. Clara knew she was more protective of Becca than her middle sister would like. But Laurel hadn’t been the one who had stayed by Becca’s side after Matt had broken up with her. Laurel and Harriet both knew the faithless Matt had done their person wrong, and they had taken the insult personally, as all good cats would. Still, it had been Clara the heartbroken girl had cried with, cuddling her close as if her soft fur were the only comfort she would ever find. Clara didn’t know if she could find a way to explain how sad that time had been. Laurel might be her sister, but sometimes she felt like she and her littermates were not only not a real family. They were like different species entirely.
Chapter 16
Tiger was waiting when Becca arrived at the coffeehouse forty minutes later. Clara smelled the bike messenger—that mix of sweat, gear grease, and sandalwood—even before she spotted him uncoiling a heavy chain from his bag.
“Tiger! Thanks for coming out.” Becca walked up to him as he squatted to weave the chain between the spokes of his front tire and the body of his pared-down bike. “Are you working?”
“What? Oh, the bike?” Tiger blinked up at her. “No, I ride everywhere.”
As he stood, she noticed a phone-like device attached to his belt. “Is that a pager?”
“You’ve got a good eye.” He tilted his head, looking rather like Laurel as he took her in. “Yeah, my boss is old school. But, hey,” he said, unclipping the device and tucking it into his pocket, “like I said, I’m not working.”
Becca inhaled, and Clara looked up in anticipation, not knowing if Becca had another question or was simply going to respond. But Tiger had already reached for the coffeehouse door, which he pulled open. “After you.”
“Thanks,” she said, even as Clara waited for more, and led the way to a butcher block table in the corner.
“Not a date.” Clara repeated Becca’s words, hoping to impress them back on her person.
The corner table offered a modicum of privacy, the better to discuss the case. Clara didn’t need any of Laurel’s powers to follow her person’s reasoning. But Clara had also seen her color rise as she walked by Tiger. The bike messenger was handsome in an outlaw way, with that dramatic dark hair and long, lean muscles sculpted by hours on the bike.
“Just a conversation,” the little cat murmured from the shadows as they placed their orders—a turkey sandwich for Becca, a veggie wrap for Tiger. Even as she settled in to observe while they ate, Clara found herself once again wishing that she had more of Laurel’s particular power.
“I wanted to talk because I gather you’re worried about Gaia.” Maybe it was simply that her part-Siamese sister was on her mind. Maybe it was the blue eyes, but as the bike messenger ferried their sandwiches over from the counter, it occurred to Clara that he really did look like Laurel. Maybe it was the way he tilted his head as he waited, silently, for her to continue. “Do you think she’s in danger? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry, but she and I were talking.”
A nod. “She told you what’s going on?” He raised his brows.
“She said that you two still talk…” This time, there was no mistaking the question behind Becca’s pause.
“Well, yeah.” The man sitting opposite her shrugged. “We’re friends.”
“I know how hard it is to stay friends with an ex.”
The deep sigh that followed turned into a chuckle. “Tell me about it,” he said, the relief giving his deep voice a lift. Then, seeing Becca’s wide-eyed response, he caught himself. “You don’t have to. I mean, I’m just glad you understand.”
“I do.” Becca lowered her eyes as Clara scrambled to her feet. There was nothing the little cat could do. Not here, where she was, for all intents and purposes, invisible, and suddenly appearing would only distress her person. Still, she couldn’t resist reaching up with one paw. Maybe she should touch her person. Distract her from the intense young man facing her. If she only reached out…
For a moment, Clara wondered if perhaps her ardent desire was enough. Or perhaps, she told herself, Becca had more resolve than her pet gave her credit for. Because, after taking a deep breath, Becca dove in. “Anyway, I am kind of still working with her, and I’m hoping you can share why you’re still worried about her.”
“Well, just because we broke up doesn’t mean…” He shrugged as he took a bite of his veggie wrap.
“No, I’m sorry. I meant if you had specific reasons to be concerned.” Becca leaned in, her own sandwich forgotten. “I’d like to know what they are.”