Now she was sitting in Gabriel’s apartment with him, and he was offering up his shower for her to bathe the kitten. It seemed like it should be odd, that they were there together. That their paths in life had crossed.

And he was an alcoholic. Which meant they were potentially poison for each other. They both had addictive propensities.

But it was a working relationship, and a strange, budding friendship that she desperately needed, and she wasn’t going to walk away because of the slim, off chance that it would go too far.

“That’s a great idea, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. You can do it in the bathroom sink so it won’t be as scary for her.”

Sara smiled. “Thanks.” Any man who was considerate of a mangy kitten was a good man. She felt so damn safe with him, and normal. God, it felt normal, even as her head swam from lack of sleep when she stood up quickly. Or maybe it wasn’t that she felt normal. That wasn’t the right word. Normalcy was still elusive. Maybe it was that she felt alive.

For the first time in a year.

Gabriel watched Sara trying to soap up the squirming and desperate cat in his small bathroom. There was water all over the front of her tank top, dripping from the top of her hair, and splashing all over the mirror. Filthy or not, the cat didn’t want a bath, but Sara was determined. Kind and gentle, but determined.

After a chaotic five minutes, she had the cat bundled up in a towel and snuggled against her. She shook her damp hair out of her eyes, and laughed as she glanced over at him. “There. Not so bad.” She kissed the top of the cat’s gray and damp head. “You survived, Angel. From here on out, life will be a piece of cake, I promise.”

Surely he had heard her name for the cat wrong. Or she had just spoken it as a term of endearment. “Angel?” he asked cautiously.

“That’s her name.” Sara smiled and kissed the cat again. “It suits her.”

It took all his effort not to roll his eyes or to turn and just leave the bathroom. She wouldn’t understand that sort of reaction. She didn’t know, couldn’t know, wouldn’t know the truth. So he just said, “Nice. Why don’t you take her to the couch and try to dry her off a little better? I’ll get you a fresh T-shirt. You’re soaking wet.”

Alarm skittered across her face for a second before she masked it. “Great. Thanks.”