The same habit.
The same mistake.
“Greg.”
He stopped.
“Ask me.”
He stared at me.
Then he tried again.
“Would you mind if I kept the kittens’ setup downstairs?”
“No.”
“And would you mind if I came back upstairs between feedings?”
I pointed at the pillow tucked beneath his arm.
“That’s where that belongs.”
His mouth twitched.
“Right.”
Before dawn, his alarm vibrated.
Greg sat up.
“Four o’clock.”
I opened one eye.
He hesitated for a second.
Then he asked,
“Want to come keep me company?”
“Yeah.”
Downstairs, Greg settled into the old rocking chair.
