She sat on the kitchen floor just inside the door, tail swishing, staring at me with eyes that were indeed golden.

And she was in full judgment.

“You’d look around too,” I defended.

She silently disagreed, expressed her disdain for my actions, her dislike of my person, and her indignation I was still there, all of this with swift, feline efficiency, then she got up and sauntered out.

I watched her go, already half in love with her.

I went back to my bag, grabbed my phone, stirred my coffee with the kick-butt spoon and texted Axl.

I’m up. Managed to figure out coffee.

Your house is rad.

And thanks for the offer, but I don’t want

to interfere with your busy day.

I’ll call a Lyft.

See you tonight.

And thanks for not minding that

I woke you up last night.

I sent that and then sent:

Oh, and your cat is gorgeous.

And after that, I sent:

And your mattress is awesome!

I was so in the zone of happiness, in Axl’s house, drinking Axl’s coffee, being judged by Axl’s cat, freely texting Axl, that it didn’t occur to me not to tell Axl his mattress was awesome.

I mean, it was.

But I didn’t have to tell him that until maybe later, if that fabulous time came when he was on it with me.

I barely got a sip of my delicious coffee (white chocolate mocha, my God, who knew?) and nowhere near enough time to freak out about my mattress text before I got a reply.

I want to take you home.

I can be there in 30. You okay

to hang until I get there?

Was I okay to hang on his deck in his awesome moon chairs staring at his two-person Jacuzzi, thinking of him kissing me in it while I felt up his chest, all of this because he wanted me to hang due to the fact he wanted to take me home?

Heck to the yes.

Can I hang on your deck?

You can do anything you

want, baby.

Upon me reading this, Dainty Cat joined me again in the kitchen in order to confirm her worst fears: I was still there.

She then left.

In that time, I hadn’t gotten over Axl’s last text.

But thirty minutes wasn’t three hours and I was still in his tee with bedhead.

I dealt with that, made his bed, found he had European pillows piled on the floor next to one of the nightstands. (A man who had European pillows? How did I get this lucky?)

And I was out on the deck with my coffee and plenty of time to text Brett.

Thank you again for not letting

me blow it.

And I know your sisters aren’t in Alaska

to put space between them and you.

I hope you feel you can tell me the

story one day.