Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
I beam at him, hurrying on before he can reply, “Oh, and I think Dipsy lives in Bad Dog. One of our ‘on the street’ reporters is named Dipsy, anyway, and that isn’t a very common name. Chances are decent she’s your friend, right?”
Bear blinks, his jaw hanging open a bit.
“Sorry,” I apologize. “I’m a fast talker. I can repeat that at a slower and less crazy pace, if needed. I’m just so scare-cited about the thought of having my own pet.”
He frowns. “No, I got all of it, I just…” He pulls in a breath and frowns harder. “My Dipsy is a journalist, too. But she was leaving to go work as a junior beat reporter for a paper in Washington, D.C. I told her the distance didn’t matter to me. Luckily, I have enough money saved up from flipping houses and the Clyde stuff to fly out to see her a couple times a month.” He sighs. “She acted like that was a good idea, but when I tried to make contact, she never returned my calls or texts. Do you happen to remember your Dipsy’s last name?”
My forehead furrowing sympathetically, I shake my head. “No, I don’t. I’m sorry. I think it’s a short name like Smith or Jones or something?” I bite my lip, racking my brain. “Or Jobs? Like Steve Jobs? But that’s probably not right.”
“Dobbs?” His gaze sharpens on mine. “Dipsy Dobbs?”
I point one finger at my nose and the other at his face. “Bingo! That’s it.” I motion toward the television. “She was actually on the news earlier, reporting live from the flooding in Bad Dog. If we keep an eye on the screen, we might see her again. They always replay those segments over and over.”
“That would be…nice,” he says, sounding like he isn’t quite sure whether it would be or not. Thankfully, there isn’t a hint of doubt in his voice when he adds, “And you can absolutely have first pick of the litter. I haven’t offered a kitten to anyone else. I wanted to wait and see how many there were and if they were all healthy.”
With a quick, quiet clap of my hands, I gush, “Oh, thank you so much. I really appreciate it. And I don’t mind paying now and then waiting to pick the kitten up when he or she is ready to be weaned. I know they need to stay with their mama for a good amount of time after they’re born. I googled it.”
He smiles. “Keep your money. You reunited me with Clyde. That’s all the payment I need.”
I start to argue, but Bear curses and nods toward the TV. “You’re right. There she is. Turn it up? Can you?”
“Sure thing.” I grab the remote from the window ledge beside me and crank up the volume. It’s the same pre-filmed segment I watched earlier, so I only listen with half an ear, choosing to devote my attention to Bear, instead, as he sucks up every word Dipsy speaks like a flower desperate for rain.
The poor guy, he has it bad.
I know the feeling…
Clearly sensing my “You Should Give Up on Leaving the Country and Be my Adorable Boyfriend” vibes, Matty strides back into the room, “Okay, it looks like—”
“Hush,” I say, bringing my finger to my lips. “Bear’s watching Dipsy’s segment about the flood. He knows her.”
Matty’s brows lift. “Really? My cousin?”
“She’s your cousin?” I humph out a breath. “I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, my aunt Margie Dobbs used to be a McGuire.” He glances between Bear and the screen again. “Weird that we have a connection outside of the catnapping. That’s pretty random.”
“Not really. The cat influencer world is pretty small,” Bear murmurs, his gaze locked on Dipsy’s worried face. “But yeah, it is a coincidence. And if I hadn’t run into you two, I might never have known that she wasn’t in D.C.”
“It’s a sign,” I say softly as the segment ends and the newsroom reporter transitions to a story about the Black Friday madness at a local department store. “You should text her. Tell her she did a great job reporting on the flood.”
Bear shoots an uncertain look my way. “Yeah? That wouldn’t be creepy? Or pathetic?”
“I don’t think it would be creepy.” I shrug. “As for pathetic, who cares? I’d rather make a fool of myself in the name of love than hang on to my street cred any day. Not that I have much street cred anymore. Not since my gram told the world and a reporter for the local paper about my exceedingly lame love life.”
Bear grunts. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me, too. But it’s okay. Gram and I will move past it. I wouldn’t really care except that I’m a fashion designer and being lame is bad for my brand.”
“She’s a very successful fashion designer,” Matty pipes up, moving to stand beside the TV. “And your brand is solid. One crap article from a tiny paper isn’t going to change that.”