Free Home Sweet Home (A Southern Comfort Novel) by Sarah Title

ear. He wrestled her off his back, but held her close behind him. She was annoying and deafening, but he was a gentleman.
    And what kind of gentleman lets a terrified woman face down a cat sitting proudly in front of a dead mouse?
    Not Jake.
    “Do you have a cat?” he asked her as soon as her screams devolved into breathy whimpers.
    “No,” she whispered.
    Jake looked at the cat. It was black and its long hair was surprisingly neat and clean. If this was a stray, it had been well-loved by the neighbors. Jake leaned down, and Grace came with him, crouching behind him crouching in front of the cat. He felt for a collar, and when the cat didn’t attack him, ran a hand down its back. It seemed too skinny under all that fur. Its yellow eyes were a little too close together, making the cat look young and innocent and pleading. Jake stood up, and so did Grace. The cat followed their movements with its eyes, then stepped over the dead mouse to wind its way between their legs, purring so hard Jake felt it through his jeans.
    “I think you have a cat now,” said Jake.
    “I can’t have a cat.” Grace leaned down and gave the cat a tentative rub. It stopped in its tracks and pushed its head against her hand. Grace scratched its ears and leaned in to touch noses.
    She didn’t look like a woman who couldn’t have a cat.
    “If I get a cat, then my spinsterhood will be complete. I’m already independent, bookish, and terrible at small talk. I can’t have a cat on top of that.”
    “But you have all those cat shirts,” he pointed out.
    “They’re supposed to be a joke,” she said. “Jane and her daughter find them at thrift stores.”
    “But you wear them anyway?”
    “They’re comfortable,” she said with a shrug. “Would you believe me if I said I was being ironic?”
    “Nope,” said Jake. He got a handful of paper towels from the kitchen and scooped up the mouse. Grace’s back stiffened, but she stayed calm—relatively. He took the unfortunate creature out to the garbage can, then went inside to wash his hands and make sure there was nothing else Grace couldn’t handle.
    He came through the kitchen door—which happily stayed on its hinges—to find Grace on the floor in front of her sofa, dangling a shoelace in front of the cat. The cat swatted and climbed on her lap and swatted more.
    “You definitely have a cat now,” he said, sitting on the couch next to her shoulder. The cat looked up at him with those wide, too-close eyes, then curled up to lick its butt.
    Grace sighed. “He’s pretty cute. And he’s too skinny. I’ll have to get some cat food and some proper toys. Oh, God, I really have a cat now.” She scooped the cat up and nuzzled its neck. “I’m going to call you Mr. Bingley.”
    The name rang a vague bell in Jake’s head. “What if it’s a girl?”
    “Hmm. If you’re a girl, I’ll still call you Mr. Bingley,” Grace said to Mr. Bingley. “Because Mr. Bingley is Mr. Darcy’s best friend and I just know that you’re going to be . . . oh God.”
    “Too late,” said Jake. “I heard it. The cat is your best friend.”
    Grace turned to him long enough to glare at Jake, then returned to Mr. Bingley’s ears.
    Jake decided he would put Grace in touch with his cousin, Keith, who was a vet over in Hollow Bend. He was the only vet nearby, and Jake knew he would have enough sense to convince Grace not to call a girl cat “Mr.” At least he hoped so. For the cat’s sake.
    Mr. Bingley seemed to have Grace’s rodent problem under control, but Jake wasn’t ready to leave yet. The room was comfortable, and he found himself appreciating the way she’d arranged the big sectional sofa, and the way the soft yellow of the walls set off the eclectic colors of the rest of the furniture. There were a few boxes around the room, and he peeked into the one closest to his elbow. Books. Of course.
    He picked up the one on top. What’s Love Got To Do With It? Beyond Romance in Jane Austen by Grace