Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Watching Rye talk about his vision for the shelter made Charlie so proud he could burst. When excited, Rye had an energy that couldn’t be denied. He spoke passionately about finding cats homes, about gentling them, and about releasing them back into nature after spaying and neutering them, if they didn’t seem to want to stay indoors. He introduced River as the manager of the shelter to people, an arm around their shoulder the whole time, sending the clear message: You mess with this kid, you mess with me.
And no one wanted to mess with Rye.
Part of the town now or no, Rye still cut an intimidating figure. With his wild hair, his habitual scowl, his tattoos, the kohl smeared around his intense eyes, his willingness to stare you down, and his unwillingness to accept an ounce of bullshit...yeah, Rye was a force to be reckoned with.
Around one, Van and Rachel arrived. Jack and Van had been friends since high school, so Charlie’d known her forever. Van was grinning and she made a beeline for Rye.
“It’s a sign!”
“Uh, what?”
Van tugged on Rachel’s arm to reveal a very tiny, very asleep black kitten.
“Oh my god.” Rye stroked the kitten’s back worshipfully.
“She was curled up against the wheel of my car,” Van said. “No other kittens around, no mom cat. And I watched for a while. That’s why we’re late. Just this little angel. I almost didn’t see her. But here she is, just here and obviously wanting to be your first customer. Patron. Adoptee. Whatever.”
“Jeez. That’s wild. Hang on.”
Rye pulled out his battered phone and snapped a picture of the tiny kitten in the crook of Rachel’s arm. Charlie could almost imagine the Instagram caption Rye was writing. A cat visitation on opening day! or Look who wandered in? or Our first customer!
Charlie waved at Molly Simmons, who’d just arrived, and pointed at the kitten. She took it from Rachel and held it gently. A crowd was starting to form around the tiny fur ball. Charlie took a couple of pictures of the crowd, in case Rye wanted to use them later, then ushered Rye and Molly into the medical room, closing the door behind them.
“It was out by Van’s car,” Rye was telling Molly. “It’s so tiny. Is it okay?”
Molly turned the kitten onto its back, gently exploring its tiny body. As she did, it fell asleep, head lolling, mouth open, tiny paws flung above its head.
Rye was making choked noises like he was working very hard not to ooh and ah over its adorableness.
“She seems fine,” Molly said. “But she’s very young. We’ll need to dropper feed her. Do you have a box we can let her sleep in?”
Rye fetched one of the many donated shoeboxes and put a fluffy washcloth inside. He handed it to Molly and she gently lowered the sleeping kitten into it.
“Let’s let her sleep for now and we’ll feed her in an hour,” Molly said, all business.
But Rye was staring at the kitten and there might as well have been hearts coming out of his eyes. He stroked her head with one fingertip and cradled the box for the rest of the opening.
* * *
“That went okay, huh?” Rye said.
They were home, and Rye was lying on the living room floor with one hand on Jane and the other on an exhausted Marmot.
“Are you kidding? It went great.”
Charlie sat beside him on the rug and slowly reached out a hand to rest on Rye’s stomach. Now Charlie was touching Rye who was touching both cats. They were all connected. Rye’s smile was sweet and Charlie stored it away. A beautiful moment. He was trying to notice more of those.
Charlie loved Rye. Adored him. Wanted to bask in his company like a cat in a patch of warm sun. But sometimes he still got scared—so fucking scared that because he loved Rye, he would lose him.
“Since you gave River the room above the shelter, you should have a real office,” Charlie said. “We could move the bed out of your old room, and I could build a desk and shelves and stuff. Or you can find your own. Whatever you want.”
“I can’t believe we just opened the shelter in a house you basically built and you’re ready to start another construction project,” Rye said fondly.
He shook his head but sat up and put an arm around Charlie’s neck. He kissed Charlie slowly.
“Your office at the store is crap,” he mused. “Your shoulders don’t even fit. You should turn that room into an office for yourself.”
The picture of John Matheson doing the books at the kitchen table while Charlie, Jack, and their mom circled around him flashed in Charlie’s mind. It was a nice memory—if disadvantageous for the books.
“What if we share it,” he offered. “I could build us a double desk and shelves so we each have room.”