Total pages in book: 199
Estimated words: 192134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 640(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 192134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 640(@300wpm)
I clap my hands. “I’ll buy plane tickets for Harrison and Gram tomorrow. And Ruby and Jesse too, if they can get away.”
He nods, grinning. “Abby’s already going home for the holiday, so she’ll be there. And the rest of my family lives in or near London, so they should be able to make it on short notice.”
I brush invisible dirt from my hands. “Done. How easy was that?”
He pulls me close and kisses me deep and sweet. “So easy. Almost as easy as getting you into the sack.”
I laugh against his lips. “What can I say? When it comes to you, I just can’t say no, mister.”
“A fact I am grateful for every day,” he murmurs.
And then he proves it, confirming he’s the best boyfriend—and soon to be husband—ever.
Really. Ever.
I’m not competitive about many things these days, but of this I’m quite certain. West is the very best, and I can’t wait to promise him my always and forever.
EPILOGUE
Later
Joan the cat
Cats are good at a great many things— Looking fantastic literally all the time. Lazing in the sun. And sussing out people’s true natures.
I excel at all of the above. I take impeccable care of my coat, I bask in the windows on bright, clear days, and I know exactly who is worthy of my love.
The woman who cares for me, of course.
Her devotion is unparalleled, and I make it my business to purr for her at least once a day. Twice, if she’s exceptionally attentive.
I confess, however, that I have a suspicious heart. I tend to think the worst of humans until they prove themselves.
Lately, however…
Well, the red-haired woman who also likes to be petted by my person is growing on me. She and her mate with the funny accent, both. Red finally seems to have grasped that cats don’t always want to be touched.
Perhaps her mate taught her…
I brush up against him now, treating him to a rub of my haunches against his legs, which he acknowledges with a respectful, “Thank you, gorgeous,” without reaching so much as a finger in my direction.
Yes, he’s a good one.
I also rather like my person’s other friend. The young man with the finely brushed fur on his head. He looks at me with a pleasing mix of wariness and admiration that, frankly, all humans would do well to emulate.
He seems happier these days.
Like today.
As my person spreads cards on the table, her young man friend pulls out a chair for a new man. “Pierce, welcome to the James family tradition. Poker Sundays with Gram.”
The new man chuckles. “I’ve been looking forward to this, Harrison. The only thing better than meeting, dating, and falling in love with an exceptionally witty and good-looking book editor was learning he has a card shark for a gram.”
“We’ll see if you still think that way after I take all your chips,” my person teases.
The entire table laughs and sets to playing and eating obscene amounts of pie.
But, this time, Red brought me a small, chicken liver pie of my own to devour, so I’m not jealous of their treats.
I am, in fact, feeling very well-fed, pampered, and ready for a nap in the sun. I might even reward Red with a rub against her legs on my way to the window.
Then my person demands, “Since when have you refused a second cup of coffee, Gigi James? What’s up your sleeve this morning? You look like the cat who got the cream.”
I glance up at Red with a sniff. She looks nothing like a cat of any sort; her fur is far too wild and out of order. But I catch her exchanging glances with her mate.
“Tell them,” he says. “We won’t be able to keep it a secret much longer anyway. Not with two of them in there.”
“Two of them.” My person presses a hand to her chest as she gasps in delight. “You don’t mean…”
“We’re pregnant,” Red says, beaming at the humans around the table. “Twins.”
The gathering erupts into raucous cries and cheers.
I take advantage of the commotion to jump onto the china cabinet and settle in for a nap while my person is too distracted to fret that I’ll break one of her fancy vases.
As they continue to celebrate, I drift off with a satisfied sigh, knowing I’ll wake in my person’s arms—she always gathers me up for a cuddle after she finds me sleeping where she thinks I shouldn’t.
I look forward to it.
And to a few pieces of her leftover pie crust.
Yes, it’s a good day to be a cat.
Much like every other.