Page 41 of Most Eligible
“Or Dolly Parton.”
“—or missionary.”
We were both surprised by my boldness.
I whirl back from the memory as we round a bend on the highway and whiz past another stretch of gem-brimmed, glistening ocean.
“Six months?” he prods. “Your cat?”
I jerk myself out of my quickly deteriorating thoughts.What Happened Nextis playing on the projector of my brain, the things he said after we exhausted Johnny Cash as a topic of conversation, after we exhausted missionary as… not a topic of conversation.
“Yeah, about.”
“Baby?”
I splutter in surprise, did he just—?
“Is the cat a baby?” he clarifies.
“Oh, um, no, he’s super old. And not doing well.”
Again with the eyebrow furrowing. “You got him when he was already old?”
“Yeah…” I rest my elbow on the door and search for the right words.
“What?”
“I like things with an expiration date.” I blush, embarrassed at my own honesty.
He cuts his eyes to me. “Why?”
I shrug, my words lost in the wind. It’s not something I’ve ever admitted, not even to myself. The elderly, sick cats needed me; that’s what I told myself. But there was a relief in knowing I wouldn’t be tied down, wouldn’t have something keeping me home if I needed to hop on a plane for work. Having something—someone—that needed me for longer, that could break my heart when I wasn’t expecting it, that would be too much to bear.
“Never mind,” he says.
At the same time, I say, “It’s easier that way.”
Rhett’s jaw flexes, then he smirks. “You could go into any convenience store and pick up a gallon of milk that’ll expire pretty quick. Might be less work than an entire cat.”
My lips quirk up into a smile. It’s the most he’s spoken the entire drive—maybe ever. “An entire cat? What about half?”
He shoots me a glare. “I mean, if you like running a revolving cat hospice… I’m just saying, milk might be less depressing. And cheaper.”
A few more miles up the road, we pass a little bluff overlooking the beach. From here, there’s a stunning view of the ocean, surfers popping in and out of view like gumdrops.
Clouds pass under the sun and he flips his sunglasses up onhis head. “Should have you to America’s Most Eligible Bachelor in about ten minutes.”
“You know, when you think about it, it’s not necessarily a compliment.”
“Certainly not,” he agrees. “I told Lainey she wasn’t allowed to call me that.”
“Right, you were ‘America’s Sexiest Bachelor’ if I remember correctly.”
“You do.” He smirks, the faintest hint of a blush blooming on his cheeks. “It’s why I got divorced. Couldn’t bear to give up the title. Meanwhile Roland is the ‘most eligible,’ which means he can’t hold on to anyone no matter how hard he tries.”
I try to hide my amusement. “He’s a nice guy, Rhett.”
“Sure, but about as bland as white bread.”
