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Kim opens her eyes as awareness slowly returns to her body: Her head resting on the back of the sofa, an ankle hooked loosely around Jimmy’s torso, his cheek warm on her thigh. He exhales against her sensitive skin and she moves the fingers still cradling the back of his neck up to card through his hair, a gentle tug.
“We should—” Kim starts, bare skin sliding against the cushion as she shifts her hips. “We should get up.”
Neither of them make a move and she smiles up to the ceiling, releasing a heavy breath. “Don’t you plan to see clients on this couch again?”
Jimmy tilts into her hand, and she can feel his grin against her as his fingers curl around the back of her knee. Her skin erupts in goosebumps as he moves down her calf, his touch ghosting around her ankle and back up again, feather light.
When she brings her head up, the fish tank gurgles as if on cue, fat bubbles floating up and popping on the surface. Its blue glow diffuses across the room, gleaming against the wooden furniture, splashing against the tile floor towards their darkened corner.
His desk lamp burns just beyond, papers scattered across the tabletop.
Kim idly watches the goldfish flitting from side to side, the lid of a tiny treasure chest opening and closing below, fortune just out of reach. Her hand slides around to Jimmy’s ear, tracing its zigzag pattern.
“Where’d that come from?”
Jimmy’s gaze slides up to her and then around as she nods across the room, his hand still anchored around her calf.
“The pet store.” Jimmy turns back and she rolls her eyes, pushing her hips up so that she can shimmy her dress back down.
“Sure, but why?”
He shrugs, pushing himself up from the floor and nudging her over. “Always wanted one?”
She huffs out a laugh as he flops down next to her, attempting to smooth out the wrinkled dress against her legs. Her last change of clean clothes, she realizes.
“So, can I keep it?”
His face is shining in the dim light. The top buttons of his white dress shirt are undone, his head inclined toward her so that his hair tumbles over his forehead and she reaches out to push it back, watches as it slowly falls again.
“You don’t have to worry about cleaning up after it,” he says, extending a hand in emphasis. The cuff of his sleeve flops loosely around his forearm. “And I’ll walk it every day.”
She presses her lips together in a smile even as she shakes her head.
“You better.” She pulls her legs up, tucking them underneath her. “I’m busy.”
Jimmy’s palm comes to rest on her knee, lightly squeezing. “Oh, I know. I hope Mesa Verde knows you’re putting these billable hours to good use.”
Kim swats at his hand and he grins, fingers drumming against her skin.
“Actually,” Jimmy offers, picking up their previous thread of conversation. “I always used to want a dog.”
“I bet.” She leans her head into one hand. “Didn’t all the corner store boys in Cicero have their own mutts?”
His lips tug up at the corners even as his face remains solemn. “The fiercest ruffians.”
“But you never got one?”
“Mom vetoed it.” He tilts his head toward the corner by the door, as if he’s searching for something in the dark. “She was sure she’d end up being the one to walk it every day.” After a moment, he shakes his head, laughing. “She was probably right.”
Kim drops her arm against the back of the sofa and leans closer, her fingers toying with his loose sleeve. “What would you have named it?”
“Hm?” His gaze is unfocused when he turns his head, and he shakes it again. “Oh. Would you believe I never got that far?”
Kim’s heart squeezes fondly in her chest, her fingers grasping more firmly at the fabric of his dress shirt until she’s pulling him toward her, planting a kiss on the corner of his mouth.
When they break apart, his expression is blazingly open in a way she knows must’ve been reflected in her own and she leans back self-consciously, eyes sliding over to his desk.
“Find anything in your KWBV contract yet?”
“No,” Jimmy grimaces, waving his hand as if he can shoo away the thought. “But what about you? What was Kim Wexler’s dream pet?”
She considers him for a moment, then: “A cat.”
“Only the briefest of hesitations. And?”
“My mom was not an animal person.” Kim almost feels like she’s discovering this fact as the words roll off her tongue, dust blowing back to uncover a long-lost memory.
Jimmy studies her gently.
“One year, there was a litter of strays around our place—they must’ve lived in the parking lot out back, or maybe the empty field a few minutes down the road.” She’s surprised at how vividly she can suddenly see the overgrown yellow grass in her head, the sound of a dog barking in the distance, the purple-blue sky. “I put out scraps when I could, so after a while they were always hanging around, and there was one orange tabby that would follow me right to the front door.”
She remembers the way the cat had darted inside their apartment and followed Kim to her bedroom like it belonged there, the comforting rumble against her arm as it had curled up, purring, and gone right to sleep. She doesn’t quite remember what happened next, but she must have drifted off too, because the next thing she knew her mother was screaming, grabbing the kitten by the scruff of its neck and marching out of the bedroom holding it at arms length.
Kim had stumbled after her, still half-asleep, but she couldn’t get a word in edgewise over her mom shouting about how dirty and diseased cats are and do you want to get us kicked out of this place, Kim? Are you trying to ruin our lives?
She still occasionally left scraps outside over the next few months before they had to move, but Kim only saw the orange tabby once after that. It didn’t follow her home anymore.
“Did you ever let them in?” Jimmy asks, his head tipping to one side.
She purses her lips, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. “I tried.”
Jimmy nods back at her, holding eye contact for another moment before looking back toward the door and taking a deep breath, shoulders rising and falling with the effort of his exhale.
“Speaking of a warm place to sleep,” he stands, stretching his arms up as he makes his way over to the desk. “Ready to call it quits?”
She reaches down for her pile of discarded garments on the floor, gathering everything into a tight ball before hooking two fingers into the backs of her heels.
When she stands, he’s watching her, his face bathed in blue light.
“Yeah,” she says, stepping into the glow. She wraps her fingers around his wrist, squeezing gently. “Let’s go home.”