Chapter 73
Nora's POV
I looked down at the tiny creature. "Can't keep it at my place. My aunt's allergic to cats."
I wanted to ask him to take it, but the words stuck in my throat.
"Maybe an animal shelter?" I offered instead. "They'd have the equipment, the experience—"
"Or I could take it."
I looked up, startled. Julian was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "You want to keep it?"
"You think I can't handle a kitten?"
"I think your schedule probably doesn't include midnight feedings and litter box duty."
He smiled slightly. "I'll manage. Come on—my car has blankets. We'll warm it up, then hit a store for supplies."
He turned toward the Lincoln. I hesitated only a moment before following, the kitten still tucked against my chest. I told myself I was coming along to make sure he bought the right things, to give him basic care instructions. That was all.
That's all this is.
Julian opened the back door and pulled out a soft cashmere blanket, wrapping it carefully around the kitten before settling the tiny bundle on the back seat. The kitten's mewing quieted slightly in the warmth.
"There's a twenty-four-hour pet supply store three blocks from here," I said. "They'll have kitten formula. And you can't use regular milk—they can't digest lactose properly—"
"Good thing I have an expert with me." His eyes met mine over the roof of the car, something warm in them that made my face heat again. "Lead the way."
We walked side by side down the quiet residential street, the kitten safe in the car behind us. The evening had fully settled now, cool and clear, streetlights casting our shadows long across the pavement.
"If you're keeping it, it needs a name," Julian said after a moment.
I thought about it. "Pepper."
"Pepper?"
"It's tiny and black, like a peppercorn. And Pepper sounds feisty—like it matches the survivor spirit."
He was quiet for a few steps, then: "Pepper. Yeah. I like that."
The pet store was bright and almost empty, a bored teenager at the register barely looking up from his phone. I headed straight for the kitten supplies section, comparing formula brands while Julian stood close enough behind me that I could feel his presence like heat.
"This one," I decided, holding up a canister of KMR. "Best nutrition-to-price ratio, and the reviews are solid."
"Whatever you think is best."
At the register, I reached for my wallet but Julian was faster, credit card already out. "I found it. My responsibility."
"At least let me—"
"Nora." Just my name, but something in his tone made me stop arguing.
The teenager rang up the formula, bottles, and a small heating pad, barely suppressing a yawn. Julian asked for a cardboard box too, something to make a temporary nest, and the kid shuffled off to find one.
"You're really doing this," I said. "Taking in a stray."
"Can't leave something helpless to fend for itself." His eyes found mine.
I looked away first, pulse accelerating stupidly again.
We walked back toward the complex, supplies in hand, easy conversation about cat care drifting between us. I explained feeding schedules, how to stimulate elimination, warning signs of illness. Julian listened with the same focused attention he gave briefings, asking clarifying questions, clearly determined to do this right.
"You'll be fine," I told him. "Pepper's lucky you're taking her in."
"We're taking her in."
We. That simple word shouldn't have made my chest feel tight, but it did.
We turned onto the small path leading back to the parking area, still talking, and I was saying something about litter box training when—
A motorcycle roared around the blind corner, rider's attention on his phone instead of the road. I was walking backward, not watching where I was going, completely oblivious.
Julian moved.
His arm hooked around my waist and yanked me against his chest as he pivoted, putting his body between me and the bike. The rider swerved at the last second, brushing past us.
For several seconds I couldn't do anything except stand frozen in Julian's arms, trying to remember how to breathe.
His arm was locked around my waist like iron, one hand spread flat against my lower back, pressing me against him. I could feel every muscle in his chest through the thin fabric of my jacket—solid, unyielding, warm in a way that made my heart do something stupid. The safety was absolute.
The rider yanked off his helmet, face flushed with panic and embarrassment. "God, I'm so sorry! I was looking up an address on my phone, I didn't see you—"
Julian's voice cut through the night air, sharp and controlled, but carrying an edge that made the young man flinch. "Eyes on the road when you're riding. The phone can wait until you've stopped."
"Yes, sir. I'm really sorry, truly—" The rider fumbled with his phone, nearly dropped it, then grabbed his bike and pushed it away like he couldn't disappear fast enough.
"Are you okay?" Julian's voice softened, concern threading through it.
I nodded, but I still couldn't speak. My breathing was coming too fast, shallow and uneven, and the heat spreading across my face had nothing to do with the near miss. Because I was suddenly, acutely aware of exactly where I was standing. Pressed against Julian Sterling's chest, like we were slow dancing in the dark. His hand was still on my back, thumb resting just above my hip, and I could feel the warmth of it seeping through my clothes like a brand.
Oh god. Move. You need to move.