Page 60 of Dark Christmas
I sit down carefully next to the little thing, reaching out to pet him—or her—gently. "Where didyoucome from?”
“Sort of invited himself in,” Melor says from behind me. I glance up at him, raising an eyebrow. “I went to check on something outside, and there he was. We had the cat food from last night, so I figured I’d feed him.”
I laugh softly, still stroking the kitten’s silky fur. “You just let a stray cat waltz in and get comfortable?”
Melor shrugs, leaning against his desk, arms crossed. “He made himself at home. What was I supposed to do?”
The kitten purrs louder under my hand and I smile, the tiny ball of fur distracting me from my nausea. “So does this mean he’s going to stay?”
Melor’s gaze softens as he looks at the kitten. “Seems like he’s already decided that.”
I giggle, the moment bringing a little lightness to the anxiety swirling in my chest.
The kitten looks up at me, his little face scrunched up in that adorably sleepy way, and I melt.
“If the cat’s going to stay,” Melor says, his tone teasing but with a serious edge, “he’s going to need two things.”
“What’s that?” I ask, still petting the tiny furball.
“A litter box, first and foremost, and a name.”
I look down at the kitten, taking in his dark fur and thinking of the way he just wandered in and made himself at home. “Duke,” I say, thinking of the character from my book. “He looks like a Duke to me.”
Melor chuckles, nodding. “Duke it is.”
But then his expression shifts back to concern. “Now, about that doctor,” he presses, his eyes locking onto mine.
I freeze for a moment, hating the lie I’m about to tell, but I don’t want to jump the gun and say anything before I know for sure. “My stomach has really been bothering me,” I say, forcing a casual shrug. “It’s probably nothing, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.”
He narrows his eyes slightly, like he’s reading between the lines, but he doesn’t push.
“It’s Saturday,” I add, trying to sound nonchalant. “We can wait until Monday to—”
But Melor’s already shaking his head, pulling out his phone. “I know a place that does Saturday appointments,” he says. He starts dialing without even giving me a chance to argue.
An hour later, we’re pulling up to a quiet little doctor’s office tucked away in Noe Valley. The building is small andunassuming, with ivy crawling up the brick walls and a wooden sign that looks like it’s been there for ages. Not the kind of place you’d expect to have a last-minute appointment on a Saturday, but Melor knows people, so here we are.
Before I can even reach for the door handle, Melor is already out of the car, scanning the street. I watch him, knowing he’s armed and that his eyes are peeled for any sign of danger.
We go inside and sit in the waiting room, the soft hum of a saltwater fish tank fills the quiet space. I glance around and notice the receptionist and another female patient sneaking glances at Melor. It makes me chuckle and also feel good.
I lean over, whispering, “Looks like you’ve got some admirers.”
He smirks. “You’re the only one I care about admiring me.”
A nurse steps out and calls my name.
“I’ll be here,” he says as I follow her to an exam room.
A few minutes after the nurse takes my vitals and asks me the basic questions, the door opens. The doctor steps in, exuding calm confidence. She’s middle-aged and sharp, with that no-nonsense vibe that tells me she’s seen it all and isn’t rattled by much.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Melanie Harris,” she says, giving me a reassuring smile as she sits down across from me.
“Amelia,” I reply, my voice a little shaky. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too, Amelia,” she says warmly, glancing at her tablet. “Let’s see what’s going on, shall we?”
Her tone is calm and professional, and it instantly puts me at ease. This might not be so bad after all.