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“That’s amazing,” I say through my laughter.

Charli seems delighted by my reaction. Her eyes light up, losing all the panic that flooded them a minute ago.

I’m still chuckling as the voice comes on over the speaker system again.

“Alright, folks, I come bearing an update,” he quips. I hear Charli suck in a breath, her momentary joy disappearing. “It appears the elevator is jammed.”

Just as quickly, the breath whooshes from her chest. “Fuck,” she exhales.

“What does that mean?” I hurry to ask. “Someone’s coming to fix it, right?”

“Of course,” he says, and I relax slightly, if only for Charli’s sake. “They’re on their way right now. It should be an easy fix. This happens sometimes.”

“How long?” she squeaks.

“Should only be 20-25 minutes,” he answers in a chipper voice, completely oblivious to the blood draining from Charli’s face. “But don’t worry, we’ll get you out of there. Just hang tight. Should we chat about our cats? Martha May is my main girl, but then there’s⁠—”

“Yup, thanks for that,” I interrupt loudly. “Just…tell maintenance to hurry, yeah?”

His sigh is followed by, “Yes, of course. Buzz me if you need something. I’ll be right here.”

Then there’s a click as the line goes dead, and we’re left in total silence.

Unfortunately, that just makes Charli’s panic rise once more.

“Hey, hey,” I soothe, placing my hands on her shoulders and rubbing up and down her arms. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. “I’m sorry,” she gasps. “This is so stupid. I’m not even claustrophobic. I don’t know what this is.”

I continue rubbing her arms, hoping to keep her focus on my touch or my voice. I have to figure out what will calm her down.

Her cat. She calmed down when we talked about her cat.

“So, does Milton have any other endearing cat quirks?”

Her eyes open and give me a look of I know what you’re doing and it’s not going to work.

So I try talking instead. Maybe my talking will distract her.

I lean back against the wall, my hands bracing on the railing behind me. A very distant and selfish part of me feels giddy about the fact that her focus drops to my flexing hands for a split second.

“I’ve never had a cat,” I say casually. “I never really got the appeal. Aren’t they really boring pets?”

“You hush your mouth,” Charli gasps in outrage. “They are not boring. They’re precious, loyal animals.” She pauses to think, then adds, “They’re also very weird. But that’s part of their charm, I think.”

I lift an eyebrow, delighted to realize my strategy worked.

“Name one weird habit that makes Milton more lovable than a dog.”

Her brow furrows as she thinks. I try to calculate how many twenty-second musings I need to press for to pass the twenty-minute wait.

Finally, she perks up with an answer. “He sits on my shoulders,” she says excitedly. “In general, he’s a really nosy cat, so he follows me around and wants to be involved in everything. Which includes sitting on my shoulders while I’m cooking.” She gives me a triumphant look. “That’s something a dog can’t do.”

I try to act like I wouldn’t have accepted any answer she gave me. I’m not sure I succeed.

“Ratatouille does the same thing. Am I to put cats and mice on the same level now?”

She blows out an exasperated breath and lightly shoves me. “You’re impossible.”