“Whatever happened to Lasagna?” His eyes darken as he sighs deeply, turning toward a photo of an orange ball of fur on his nightstand. “Ah, pasta cat. May she rest in peace.” I don’t know why, but the sadness in those blue-green irises fucking guts me, so I lean over his knees and wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my face into his stomach. “I’m sorry, Taylor.” His breath hitches as he sets BB on the bed before lightly touching my shoulder. “Thanks. It’s okay. She was old. I gave her a good life.” Still, my hold on him tightens, silently cursing the animal gods for blessing us with pets
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