Never Forgive Never Forget (Celeste and Philip) novel Chapter 173

Celeste tucked her nose against his chest, breathing in the sharp scent of the cold night air. The chill in the air was undeniable, but his embrace was warm—unexpectedly so. She hadn't let herself fall into anyone's arms in a long time, so for a moment, she felt almost disoriented, adrift, until the pressure of his hand at the small of her back gently pulled her mind back to the present.

"What's wrong?"

His concerned voice snapped her out of it. Right—the cat! She hadn't closed the door when she took out the trash, and the kitten wasn't on the top floor. It must have slipped into the elevator and gone downstairs.

She slipped out of his arms, a little embarrassed, and quickly pressed the button for the ground floor.

"I left the door open when I took out the garbage. The kitten probably wandered downstairs."

"What does it look like?" Alfred asked.

"It's a white cat with a patch of warm orange over its right ear. About this big." Celeste stretched out her arm, showing a pale wrist as she gestured the size.

Alfred gave her a look. She was barely dressed for the weather, shivering in just a thin shirt. Didn't she think to grab a jacket?

As the elevator doors slid open, Celeste started to step out, but Alfred had already set down his luggage. Without a word, he slipped off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.

She frowned, noticing he was left in nothing but a thin silk shirt. "It's freezing out. You—"

"I just got home. I'm still warm," he said, already rolling up his sleeves, his gaze scanning the shadows around the entrance as he started searching through the hedges.

There was no use protesting, so Celeste let the oversized coat swallow her up, its warmth and his scent closing around her. She bent down and joined the search.

They circled the flowerbeds, peering into every dark corner. Celeste was just about to suggest asking the building manager for the security footage when a distant, plaintive meow caught her ear.

She looked up. Alfred was emerging from the depths of the shrubs, pushing aside a branch as he stepped out, holding the struggling kitten by the scruff. Its little nose was dusted with grass, and its eyes were wide and teary—clearly terrified from its adventure with the elevator and the automatic doors.

But now, as she looked up at Alfred—still brushing leaves from his hair, still silent—he finally broke the quiet. "Isn't this the one?"

And suddenly, Celeste understood. It hadn't been fate. Philip had made a choice—to do nothing. Alfred, on the other hand, had chosen to help, without a word or complaint.

If only… If only she'd met Alfred first, instead of Philip. But thoughts like that were fleeting. Life didn't deal in if onlys.

Alfred frowned, worried she might be unwell. Celeste pulled herself together, stepped closer, and rose on tiptoe to pluck the last stray leaf from his hair.

"Yes, this is the one. Thank you."

Alfred, cheeks flushed from the cold, ducked his head so she could tidy him up. Celeste did what she could, brushing off the leaves and smoothing his shirt.

Together, they made their way back upstairs.