Helen was more than a little jittery on the following Monday morning.
She hadn't slept well on Saturday night, but she'd made up for it on Sunday, since Addy was back at the apartment and had stayed with Helen until she fell asleep.
Even well rested, Helen couldn't get over the bundle of nerves in her stomach as she paced in the lobby of Patchworking Lives. Although she and Pat were originally going to touch base on Sunday, he'd sent her a text that morning with the words Sorry, Helena, but the family needs me to visit and help replace Margie's kitchen sink. Will you be alright today? Miss you.
The text had warmed Helen's heart even as it sank in her chest. She couldn't lie and say that she wasn't disappointed that she didn't get to spend some of the day talking to Pat, but—at the same time—it was nice to know that he was thoughtful enough to keep her updated (and let her know that he missed her).
He'd sent her another text late Sunday night, one that read Hope you had a good day, Helena. Pick you up in the morning? and Helen had smiled like a "loved up fool, you goober," according to Addy.
After telling Pat that she planned on taking advantage of the warmer weather by walking to work, they agreed that he would pick her up on her lunch break and take her back to the shelter to pick up her new cat. Then they would go back to Helen's house and get Ginger settled in.
Helen could still picture Crosby's face when she asked to take half the day off.
"You want half the day off?" he'd asked, staring at her strangely. "Are you dying?" It would have been comical, if not for the dead seriousness with which he'd asked the question, or his following comment of, "If so, let me know ahead of time; I'll need to replace you."
She promised to keep him updated before she told Ivan to stick with Tonya for the rest of the day, and then traipsed down to the main lobby.
And now she was just waiting for Pat.
Her boyfriend.
God, she felt like an immature teenage girl just thinking the word, but it only worsened when she realized how excited the knowledge that she was dating Patterson made her.
Loved up fool, indeed.
As if he'd been summoned, her new boyfriend pulled to a stop in front of the building, his white SUV looking especially clean and sleek.
With a wide grin pulling at her lips, Helen pushed open the doors and forced herself to walk at a normal pace to the car. Once there, she tugged open the door and climbed inside, all without looking at Pat.
"Helena," came his deep timbre, colored with teasing, "are you going to look at me?"
She wasn't sure she wanted to look at him. On one hand, maybe she could sneak in another kiss; on the other, he might realize that he could do a lot better than her, and she'd like to keep that from happening for as long as she could.
"Nope," she told him, popping the word as she buckled herself in.
He chuckled, and her toes curled in her boots; he had such a beautiful laugh. "What if I sweeten the deal?"
She had a hunch as to where he was going, and she hoped she was right. "And how would you do that?"
"Like this," he murmured, before she felt his calloused fingers tapping gently at her chin. She let him turn her head, and she caught a glimpse of his smile before he bent over the console and captured her lips with his own.
Holy crap.
The man could kiss, that was for certain.
When they separated, Helen was pleased to note that Pat looked just as dazed as she felt. "Hello, Helena," he greeted her, his mouth shifting into a bright grin. He left his hand against her chin, stroking over the skin there and tracing her features with his stunning blue eyes. "It's good to see you."
She swallowed down an excited squeal and took up an unaffected façade. "I suppose the sentiment is returned."
Pat laughed, swooping in and brushing another kiss to her cheek before returning to his seat. "Ah, now my day is complete."
Helen refrained from commenting on that and instead asked, "It's barely noon; did you have a rough morning or something?"
Releasing a dramatic groan even as he flipped down his sunglasses and directed the car into traffic, Pat replied, "Something like that. I had a man who got to his destination—all the way across town, mind you—before realizing he forgot his briefcase. So, we had to go all the way back to his place and then back again. Exhausting, I tell you."
"At least you got paid." Helen supplied helpfully. She didn't quite understand all the specifics, but she was pretty sure that the ridesharing app Pat was part of was hooked up directly to his bank account, so the money he made went straight into that.
Pat shrugged, and she could feel him passing her a sideways glance behind his shades. "True. But it was more time away from you, and you know how I want to be around you all the time." His tone was entirely serious.
Helen shot up in her seat and stared at his profile for several moments; it took far too long to realize he was joking—his poker face was exceptionally good. Rolling her eyes, Helen huffed. "Yes, I'm sure you're constantly crying and writing love ballads about how much you ache for my presence."
"You caught me." He retorted easily. "I've had to buy stock in handkerchiefs because of you, Helena."
"Isn't that more of a personal problem? I don't think it involves me."
He slapped a hand to his heart, keeping the other on the steering wheel. "Oh! You hurt me so; what magic have I succumbed to, that I let you tear my heart apart?"
"Stupidity," she answered flatly, grinning when she won another chuckle out of him.
"Ah, Helena." He shook his head with clear amusement, "I do miss our scintillating conversations when we're apart."
She eyed him skeptically. "You're laying the compliments on awfully thick this morning, Patterson; should I be worried?"
He passed her a smug smirk and a nonchalant shrug that immediately set her on edge. "I'm not sure, Helena; I guess you'll find out."
"Oh, joy."
***
Helen was a bit surprised by the amount of excitement that filled her limbs when she watched Pat pull Ginger's crate out of the backseat. She'd been looking forward to having a companion, of course, but she hadn't expected such a sudden, overwhelming rush of nervous hope.
She really, really wanted this situation to end well.
By taking care of someone other than herself, she would hopefully have less time to drown in thoughts and memories; moreover, she might be able to sleep without Addy if she had Ginger at the apartment.
"Ready?" Pat's patient voice drifted into her jumbled thoughts, snapping her from them and pulling her attention back to him. He was standing by the elevator inside her building, Ginger's crate held in one hand and his other stretched out to Helen.
Ignoring the brief thought of When did we get inside and how did I not notice? Helen darted to his side and clutched his hand with both of her own.
"Ready," she confirmed, her heart swelling at his proud smile,
"That's my girl," he declared, squeezing her fingers lightly in return and leading her into the elevator.
As they waited to reach her floor, Pat asked, "Do you have space for all the things we bought?" They'd gone to the pet store before picking Ginger up and had dropped everything off at Helen's apartment, but hadn't stayed long enough to find spots for their purchases.
"I think so," Helen murmured, tapping her fingers against the back of Pat's hand thoughtfully. "Where does Gilligan sleep?" She was hoping to keep Ginger in her room by setting the cat's bed next to her own, but she wasn't sure if that was appropriate.
Pat shrugged nonchalantly. "Wherever he wants, honestly. I leave my bedroom door open—he can't fit through it well, even if it's cracked—and he often moves in the middle of the night. He starts out sleeping with me, though, and I keep a bed in my closet for him as well."
Considering the new information, Helen nodded slowly. "So, I can keep Ginger's bed in my room."
Pat's keen blue eyes shifted to hers, and he scrutinized her for several long beats before saying, "Of course you can, sweetheart. It might not work out, but it certainly doesn't hurt to try; if she's anything like Gill, then she will make it clear when she's not pleased."
Helen was far too distracted by the endearment Pat had used to even focus on his words.
Sweetheart.
She'd never been referred to by such a name, but the simple term made her heart flutter and her body fill with a comforting warmth.
I like that. I like that a lot.
Not wanting Pat to think that the term made her uncomfortable, Helen sucked back an excited, teenage-esque squeal and instead replied, "Good to know. And I can buy her a different food eventually?" It was the same brand the shelter used, but Helen wouldn't mind switching Ginger to a healthier brand once the cat was settled in.
The elevator doors slid open, and Pat led her towards her apartment. "I'd recommend it. Her health seems fine, but the shelter food is lacking in nutrients, so I don't think it's best for long-term use. I'd give you a recommendation, but her weight and metabolism are probably fine, so I don't think she needs the metabolic diet that Gill is on." He shot her a teasing grin.
Helen chuckled and shook her head, pulling one of her hands from his to fish through her bag. "I think you're right for once. Do you think she and Gill can meet someday?"
Pat tugged her to a stop in front of her apartment door, "I don't see why not." He squeezed her hand with his once more before he released her and stepped aside so she could fumble with the lock. Swinging the door open, Helen entered first and held it for Pat, though he only took two steps inside before turning to face her and asking, "Where do you want to set her up?"
The middle-aged woman at the shelter who'd been helping them—Britt was no doubt in school, carrying her excitement over to her studies, Helen was sure—had made it clear that, in order to help Ginger adjust to a new location, the cat should be set up in a small room at first.
"Addy said she didn't mind if I took over the laundry room," Helen began, biting at her lip absently. "Will that work? I don't think it's too small."
Pat cracked a grin. "I'm sure it's fine, Helena. I forgot how little space an apartment has; it's been a while since I lived in one."
Helen gestured for him to follow her, rolling her eyes as she walked down the hall and to the cramped laundry room that was nestled next to her bedroom. "Yes, yes, not all of us are so old that we're ready to settle down, Pat."
He snorted with amusement, and she was sure that he was smirking at her back as she pushed open the door and moved aside so he could set Ginger down. "'Settle down'?" he asked as he straightened, crossing his arms and eyeing with a single brow raised. "Is that what the kids are calling it?"
Helen wrinkled her nose. "I bet the kids are far more insulting than that when they refer to people of your age range."
"Shouldn't you say 'our' age range, Helena? We're not that far apart."
"I am not nearly as ancient as you, Patterson." She retorted, sticking her tongue out for good measure. "Now, help me get my new child all set up."
Pat huffed a laugh. "Of course, Helena." He bent and dropped a kiss against her cheek before pulling back.
They spent the next half hour getting the laundry room set up with towels, a bed, toys, and two dishes for food and water. When they finished, Helen watched as Pat plopped down in the far corner of the room, propping his trouble leg out in front and tucking his good one underneath himself before giving Helen a thumbs-up. "Engage," he joked.
Cracking a grin, Helen popped open the crate before moving to sit by the closed laundry room door. "You can come out now, Ginger," she murmured softly, settling her elbows on her knees and bending forward.
Pat, on the opposite side of the small room, made a sort of strange hissing sound; Helen was about to ask him what the hell he was doing, but halted when Ginger poked her head out of her crate and eyed him curiously.
With a (admittedly adorable) grin tugging at his lips, Pat whispered, "Now you try, sweetheart."
Ignoring the butterflies at the name, Helen recreated the noise and smiled brightly when Ginger spun around to look at her. Another round of strange hissing, and then Ginger was creeping up to Helen and sniffing at her knee.
Waiting patiently until Ginger seemed comfortable, Helen slowly stretched out her right hand from where it had been resting at her side, bending her fingers and keeping her palm facing downwards so as to not seem threatening. The cat stepped closer, sniffed Helen's hand for several more beats, and then rubbed her cheek against Helen's knuckles, purring with contentment.
Helen's grin widened, and she shot Pat an excited glance as Ginger continued to rub against her skin. Ginger had been friendly with both Helen and Pat at the shelter, but with the new environment, Helen hadn't been sure how the cat would behave.
So far, so good.
And, between Ginger's comforting nuzzles and Pat's small smile as he watched the two, Helen was hopeful that things would stay good.
***
A/N: I love love. Anyone else?
Thanks for reading!
A.R.