What did one pack for a hurricane? I wondered. I still had Daniella’s list, of course, but it no longer seemed to apply since I’d be staying in someone else’s house. The Hartwells probably had more emergency candles and batteries than they needed.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to bring my own. Everyone in a crisis needs to pull their own weight.

So in addition to the candles and batteries, I threw the chips and charcuterie I’d bought at Frank’s Food Emporium into a canvas shopping tote, as well.

Drew stood in the kitchen doorway, watching me curiously, his half-finished beer in one hand.

“What are you bringing all that for?”

“I’m not a charity case,” I said, as I added the bottle of vodka, as well. “I don’t expect your family to feed me.”

He said nothing more until I pulled something out of the vegetable crisper.

“Is that a cheese ball?”

“Yes. So what?”

He took a last swig from his beer. “So, nothing. I just haven’t seen one of those in a long time.”

“They didn’t have much left by the time I got to the store,” I said, hoping my hair hid my flaming cheeks as I slipped the cheese ball into the tote. “But who cares? People like a good cheese ball.”

“Well, some people.”

“What is that even supposed to mean?” I snapped. “Is that some sort of classist statement about cheese?”

“Whoa,” he said, backing slowly away from the kitchen. “What is your problem?”

I shook my head and stomped away from him, into my bedroom. I didn’t have time for him or his judgmental opinions about cheese. I needed to get back to my list. I couldn’t forget Gary’s antibiotics and canned food. I didn’t know how long hurricanes lasted, but I brought a ten-day supply, just in case.

But what about clothes? Packing for a hurricane evacuation wasn’t like packing for a weekend in the Hamptons. Even though I was going to be staying in the home of an excellent hostess (who was also my boss), I doubted there were going to be any dinner parties, so no need for sundresses. I distractedly threw some shorts, T-shirts, lounge pants, underwear, toiletries, a rain jacket, and a pair of running shoes into an overnight bag.

Then, grabbing Gary’s cat carrier, I went out into the living room and pronounced myself ready to go.

Drew eyed the flashlight sticking out of the tote bag. “You don’t need that.”

“I intend to pull my own weight,” I said, stubbornly.

But he’d already taken the bag from me and was going through it, looking in disbelief at the lavender-scented candle I’d bought.

“My aunt and uncle have a whole-house generator powered by a thousand-gallon propane tank that’s buried under their front yard. That’s enough for them to run every electric device in their home for a week, if they needed to.” He held up the candle. “So what good is this thing going to do?”

I snatched the candle out of his hand and stuffed it back into the tote. “Lavender is a little-known mosquito repellant,” I said. “Everyone is going to want my candle when mosquitoes start bothering us.”

“You’re not going to be bothered by a lot of mosquitoes when you’re sitting inside in the air-conditioning, thanks to the generator, Fresh Water. How about instead of that,” he said, pointing at the candle, “you bring those.” He pointed at my paintings. “If it floods in here, you’re going to lose them.”

I looked at my cloud paintings, still sitting on the coffee table. It pained me to admit he was right about something.

“Fine,” I said with reluctance. “I’ll bring both.”

“That’s not what I—”

But it was too late. I was already stacking the paintings in another tote bag I’d grabbed from the kitchen, along with my painting supplies (I kept them in a small tackle box I’d bought at the marine hardware store).

It was only then that I felt ready to face the daunting task of getting Gary into his carrier.

Gary was, truly, the sweetest and most affectionate of cats, which was why I’d felt so lucky as opposed to aggrieved that the animal shelter had allowed me to adopt him, despite his costing me a small fortune in medical bills.

But the one area in which he could have used some improvement was his attitude toward his carrier. He hated it.

So the minute he laid eyes on it, Gary turned tail and tried to run out the open front door for the relative safety of the courtyard, despite the rising wind and increasingly loud thunder.

Drew, however, caught him and swung him into the air.

“Hey, there,” he said, cradling Gary in his arms like he was a large, furry baby. “Where do you think you’re going, buddy? You’re coming with us. That’s the only place you’re going.”

Gary didn’t exactly purr, but he didn’t try to flay Drew alive with his claws, either (Gary had learned over the past week and a half that biting didn’t work anymore, since he had no teeth). He seemed to accept his fate, lying limply in Drew’s arms, giving me a reproachful look that seemed to ask, Really? You’re letting this happen? Fine.

It took me a second or two to open the door to the carrier. That’s because, upon seeing Drew Hartwell standing there with my cat in his arms, my heart had stuttered.

But whose heart wouldn’t have skipped a beat at the sight of a big, handsome man holding a cute, furry cat in his arms—even if that cat happened to have no teeth?

Gary had begun vocalizing in an irritable way—his claws still sheathed—to show he was unhappy with the situation when Drew looked up and caught me staring at him.

“What?” he asked, still cradling the cat. “Am I doing this wrong? Should I put him down? I’m more of a dog than a cat person, but I like cats, too.”

“No,” I said, glad for the excuse to look away. I did not need my heartstrings pulled in his direction right now. I stepped forward and took Gary from his arms, taking care to pay no attention to the way he smelled—deliciously, of clean, male sweat and frangipani—or his body heat, which was tantalizingly warm. “It’s all good.”

Gary put up only a token fight as I stuffed him into the carrier. It was as if he, like the birds, sensed something bad was coming, and he’d better not stand in its way. Or more likely he sensed that I was in no mood for his nonsense.

“There,” I said, when I’d latched the cat in safely. “All set.”

As if on cue, a car horn sounded outside. Ed was back with Drew’s pickup.

Drew took a last look around the living room. “You sure you have everything?”

I glanced around, then remembered. “The starter!”

I scampered to grab it from the fridge. Thank God I’d remembered or Daniella would have been crushed. That sourdough starter had been in her family for years. Every holiday, she made tons of loaves, which she shipped off to various members of her family, who worshipped her for making bread that tasted just like Grandma’s.

Drew eyed the clear container in my hands distrustfully. “Should I even ask?”

“It’s probably better that you don’t.”

He sighed. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Chapter Fourteen