I can’t force her to stay and talk to me. I watch as she takes the steps up to her front door and lets herself inside. The lights in her cabin glow from the windows until, one by one, she shuts the drapes, snuffing out the orange glow.

“Fuck!” I kick the post at the end of the porch railing in frustration.

The post seems to respond with a yowl and a hiss. I turn and see the white cat that appeared yesterday has reappeared.

“Don’t spit at me,” I say. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

The cat arches her back and shows me her teeth—like a snake about to bite. Last night with Rosey, the cat had been all cuddles and purring. Now it looks like she just found its prey—me.

“Go find Rosey if you want her.”

The cat turns back, almost with a shrug, and marches along the railing, hopping off at the end and heading to Rosey’s cabin like it understood just what I was telling it to do. It jumps up, leaning on its hind legs, scratching at her front door. In a few minutes, Rosey appears. She doesn’t look over to me, she just bends down to greet the cat and lets her inside.

Lucky fucking cat.

Maybe I need to try the same tactic.

I go back inside and heat up some milk on the stove. If Rosey won’t come to me, maybe I need to go to her. With a peace offering. Not that I did anything wrong. Okay, so maybe I failed to tell her I owned the place where she worked. But she can’t be mad with me forever about that. Can she?

When the hot chocolate is ready, I head over to her place with two mugs and knock on her door. I consider purring to get her to open the door, and then remember who the fuck I am.

She answers wearing pajamas. Pajamas with cats all over them wearing different kinds of hats.

“I made you some hot chocolate.”

I wait the couple of beats of silence it takes for her to respond.

“Thanks, Byron.” She takes the cup from my hand, our fingers brushing as I let go of the mug. I feel her warmth course through me. I don’t know if it’s the frigid air or the woman in front of me, but just being near her shifts every atom in my body.

I set my cup down on her porch railing. “Are you mad I didn’t tell you about the Colorado Club?”

Her gaze flashes to mine. “Oh, you mean the part where you’re my boss?” She doesn’t deliver the words with any spite or venom. It’s the resigned hopelessness in her tone that breaks me, and I feel awful.

“If it’s any comfort, I don’t even know who your boss is.”