Page 3 of Kitty Cafe & The Grump

I shut that down fast. I don’t do that. I don’t think like that. I’ve never wanted a person enough to lose sleep over, never mind mapping out an entire future with someone. Todd is the only one close enough to the consistent company I keep. Even that’s just once every few weeks, which I call enough.

Mug in hand, I stand, not breaking away from those blue eyes. I am a full head taller than her. Maybe more.

This woman isn’t a goddess. She is a woman holding too many dishes in a cat café, and I lose all the words I could speak, looking right at her. I turn, placed my mug safely on the counter, then back to her. Without waiting for permission, I carefully take the stack of plates and mugs from her hands.

“It’s okay,” she assures me, smiling with happiness. Catching her gaze as she speaks, I stare at her. Then she stops mid-sentence. Those full lips twitch as a deep red creeps up her neck. Her delicate finger pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose while I carry all her dishes around the counter and stack them neatly in the sink.

When I turn back, something is rubbing against my leg. A black cat is winding around my boot like it owns me, then...it sits on my boot.

"Oh!" She beams at me, full of genuine kindness. "He really likes you!" Baby blue eyes sparkle with excitement as they meet mine. "This little kitten has been with me for a while. Are you new in town? Looking to adopt a new friend?" Her voice fades at the end of her sentence.

A blush rises from her chest to her cheeks, coloring her face deep crimson, then settles on her ears. She waves a hand as if to clear it, but the blush stays. Her fair, freckled skin offers it nowhere to hide.

“Welcome to Toe Beans and Coffee Beans Café.” She spreads her arms. “My little slice of heaven. I’m Kitty, which, yes, is my real name. Actually, it’s Kathlene, but only my dad called me that.” She laughs at her own introduction. I almost smile at her reaction, but stop myself just short of it, flexing my jaw instead. “All of them are looking for homes. Except two.” Kitty points toward the window. “That orange one over there. That’s my baby girl, Sunny Buns. And the big gray and white guy in the corner is new. His owner passed last week.” The brightness in her eyes dims a little, then she rests her hands on her hips and looks over at the very large cat. “He’s not adjusting well yet. But he will.” Kitty says it with confidence. She looks back at me. “Are you interested in adopting?” Asking again, hopefully. “There are a few more in the cat room.” Kitty thumbs over her shoulder to a gated-off room.

I glance at the cat in the corner. Plump. Well-fed. Sad in a way that is hard to look at. His collar is red and new-looking. The orange cat in the window wears red, too. The one still camped on my boot has a blue one.

I should introduce myself. Instead, I ask, “Do the collars mean something?” I’ve always been like that. Noticing the wrong things, saying the other. Skipping the social part entirely. It makes me good at other things, the kinds of things that require you to stay detached and pay attention.

Until that time it didn’t.

Kitty blinks, then smiles. “Sharp. Red means unadoptable, or warning.” I watch her small finger tapping her lips, glancing toward the window. “Sunny Buns wears red. I keep meaning to change hers to purple. Blue means ready to adopt. Green means they’ve already found their person, just waiting on the paperwork.”

She claps once, and the orange cat meows like it’s answering her. Kitty laughs, her voice is soft, and it lands perfectly in my chest, then rolls around my tongue where it settles. I grunt. Nod.

The startled cat leaves my boot and trots to her side. Kitty crouches down without a second thought, scratches its ears, and the cat begins to purr loudly. Blue eyes stare at me. I turn away and walk through the room. In the cafe, I scan the space. No two tables match. Mahogany next to marble next to glass and bamboo. Chairs in every color, every material, nothing coordinated. It shouldn’t work.

But it does.

The walls are covered in bold and busy art, like nothing matches on purpose. Even the interior walls aren’t the same. One side is original whitewashed brick, and the old, uneven bricks look original. Common for the kinds of buildings on Maple Lane Falls main street. Fitting. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined with terracotta pots and a variety of plants. A few vintage light fixtures that need new bulbs.

Blue eyes loves this place. You can feel it.

I walk toward the cat room. The door is propped open. I touch it with just one finger, and it shudders and sticks halfway. I look over my shoulder and quirk a bow.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Kitty says, suddenly behind me. “The city approved the room. The door just sticks a little. I’ll get to it eventually.”

I look at her. Not believing her. Kitty smiles like eventually is a perfectly reasonable timeline. My fingers grip the door, wiggle it once, and find the issue. The top hinge is missing a screw, it’s too loose, and it's bent. Ten-minute fix, maybe less. I push it open and step inside.

Cat stickers. On the walls, the floor, the window. I turn and look at her again. See more stickers all over the café on random spots. Kitty is standing in the doorway with her hands folded, smiling like she is about to adopt out one of her fur-babies. I step to the window and run my finger along the edge of one sticker. Find the crack in the glass underneath. Move to the wall. Another sticker. Another dent beneath it, they all hide something.

“Oh, yeah, those. Um—so they hold two purposes,” she explains as if she figures out what I am already thinking, then clearing her throat. “Kids think it’s a game, and it keeps them busy while their parents drink their coffee. And little happy reminders for me to fix when I get around to it.” Kitty says all this as if none of it bothers her.

It bothers me.

I walk to the corner. The big cat has his paws tucked under his chin, belly flattened out, like a loaf of bread that’s melting. The large cat looks up at me with round green eyes, then looks away. I crouch down and run my hand over a gray patch between his ears. He doesn’t move.

I stand and head for the door. As I pass by Kitty, I catch her scent. It’s coffee, with something floral underneath. My stomach does something I don’t appreciate. It clenches, and then a heat fills my cock. I keep walking. Hand is on the door when she speaks.

“He’s never let anyone touch him.” A beat. “Not even me.”

I stop.

“Can I ask your name?” Kitty’s voice is quieter now. She’s looking between the cat and me, fingers twisted together.

“Rydker.”

Kitty’s lips part. She says it back, as if testing it. “Rydker.”