Page 37 of Keystrokes and Kittens

He petted her head. “You’re such a good girl.”

She grinned and rubbed against him.

I handed him a plate with a bowl of soup in the middle, as well as a cut grilled cheese sandwich and vegetables around the circumference of it. “Oh, maybe wash your hands first?”

He chuckled, put the plate on the counter, and obediently washed his hands.

Truthfully, I wasn’t a stickler for stuff like that—but I wanted to make a good impression. And I worried about exposing the kittens to anything. Tibby was healthy. That said, prudence was even more important than before.

I joined Sam as we sat on opposite sides of the crate on the couch.

The lake was serene today. Crystal clear and as still as could be.

“No wind.”

Sam shook his head. “I can just imagine this place during a storm. I think I’d be scared with all those windows.”

“Well, I can say it’s the most amazing sight. Sometimes storms come in from the west—from the Pacific. The ferocity is something to behold. I love Mother Nature. I also respecther and understand her power is far beyond anything we can fathom.” I bit into the crust. Not my favorite part of the sandwich. But I was going to be good and eat most of it. I might save a small piece for Tibby.

“Storms terrify me.” Sam dipped a corner of his sandwich into his soup. “The crash—” He took a breath. “Stormy night. Things had been calm when we’d left the house, and the storm intensified when we were in the restaurant. None of that really matters because by the police accident-reconstruction team’s analysis, the driver—the drunk—crossed the center line. They said a small chance existed that it might’ve been the storm, but the balance of probabilities said he crashed because he was drunk. Three times the legal limit, three previous convictions, and driving without a license.”

I winced. “Jesus.”

“Right? The cops couldn’t figure out how I survived. Dumb luck, they said. Lucius—” He took a deep breath. “I told you that he survived. We were on a less-traveled road, and most people stayed home that night, I guess. No one found us for hours. Or at least no one called in the crash.”

“Sam.”

He blinked, then turned toward me. He shook his head. “Sorry. I need to stop obsessing about it. I thought I was doing better, but then today—” He swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Right. Okay. So, I have three streaming shows I’ve been debating watching. We can either do a marathon of eight episodes of a British mystery, we can watch three superhero movies, or we can watch a Peter Erickson movie? Oh, have you seenVigilante Justice?”

Sam grinned. “Every single episode. Cole Hamilton is so freaking sexy. Like, seriously. How is a guy allowed to be that gorgeous?”

“Right? And sweet, Canadian, and—” I frowned. “He’s in a throuple, right? With his two best friends or something like that?”

“Yeah. But like, they all dig each other now. And—” He squinted. “Like they had twins. Only the media made a big fuss about whether Cole or the other guy…what’s his name?”

“Michael.”

“Right. They kicked up a big fuss about who the father was. And I kept thinking that it doesn’t matter. The three look happy, and isn’t that what life’s all about?”

Curiosity had me pulling up a picture of Cole Hamilton with his partners Caressa and Michael. I scrolled until— “Oh.”

Sam leaned over. “Oh, what?”

I held up the photo.

He squinted and then. “Yeah, okay. So…”

I gazed at the photo again. Cole and Caressa both had black hair and blue eyes. Michael was blond with hazel eyes. Their twins? One with black curly hair and one with fair hair. I considered. “Well, they could both be Michael’s and one favors Caressa.”

Sam shrugged. “I never studied genetics. But I’d swear one looks like Cole and one looks like Michael. Not that it’s any of our business.”

“Nope.” I put my phone down. “So, what were the choices?”

“You suggested a Peter Erickson movie. Remember that gay movie he made with Cole Hamilton? I haven’t watched that in forever.”

I winced. “It’s bittersweet. I know I’m going to cry.”