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“Both,” I state as she turns the cell back to me. “That fluffy orange one wears red because she is very much taken, thank you very much. She’s my Sunny Buns. And that big guy in the corner—” I point to Mr. Ned, who has his back to all of us, “—he’s not quite ready to meet people yet. He lost his owner not too long ago. He’s still grieving.”

“Oh my gosh.” Allie zooms in. “He is enormous. Maybe he’s the Great White Shark's cousin? Like a land shark?” She giggles.

“I'm sure,” I say, laughing softly because she really isn't wrong. Mr. Ned weighs at least twenty-five pounds and is currently wearing a puppy collar. “His coloring really does look like a great white shark,” I agree, still laughing. “And I’d advise your viewers to stick to the gray fur. I made the mistake of touching his white belly once, and he made his feelings about that very, very clear. I won’t be doing that again.”

Allie ends the stream and tucks her cell away. “Okay, now, I was thinking about getting a drink,” she announces, seamlessly switching from content creator to regular friend.

Now that I’m not being streamed to strangers, I can actually breathe. “Hi, Allie.” I brush my hands on my apron. “Truman, what brings you two in today?”

“Hello, Kitty,” Truman greets. “We’re setting up kennels for the Fall Festival. Hoping to get some of the shelter adopted.”

“That’s wonderful.” I smile, then hesitate, because there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask him. “Hey, while I have you. This is going to sound a little morbid, but I don’t have family here. It’s just me. So, if something ever happened to me, would you take care of Sunny Buns and the rest of my little residents?”

Truman’s brow furrows immediately, the way it does when he shifts into concerned-friend mode. “Of course. But Kitty, is something wrong? Are you okay?”

“No, no, nothing’s wrong, silly.” I wave him off. “I just like having a plan. Sunny Buns is my whole heart, and I want to know she’s taken care of. It’s never a bad idea to talk about the ‘what ifs,’ even if they never happen,” I say cheerily. I turn to look at Rydker over my shoulder. He is staring down at Mr. Ned with that unreadable expression. But then I see the smallest smile pull at his lips. “I think he likes you,” I say softly, stepping away from Truman. “Rydker, what if you adopted Mr. Ned? I think he wants to go home with you.” My voice comes out a little more hopeful than I intend.

Truman lets out a short laugh. “I wouldn’t hold your breath, Kitty. I tried to get him to adopt a dog once. That conversation lasted about thirty seconds.”

“Oh, hush.” Allie grabs his arm, already pulling out her phone. “This is the sweetest thing I have ever seen. A grumpy cat in the café has fallen head over paws for the resident grump.” She is already snapping photos of Mr. Ned’s paw on Rydker’s boot. “This is going to make the best reel. You don’t mind if I post about the café, right?”

"Weren't you already streaming live?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

She waves me off. "I'll just make another post." Click, click, click. I step back to give her room, smiling in spite of myself. Allie's enthusiasm is genuinely hard to resist.

But when she turns the camera toward Rydker, clearly angling for a picture of us together, he gives a single, quiet shake of his head. "Not me." Final. Very on par.

I press my hand lightly to his chest, mostly to calm Rydker, I tell myself, and not at all because touching his broad chest is also very fun. “Don’t take it personally,” I say, shooting Allie a wink at Rydker's rejection. “He’s kinda grumpy.” Then I pat his chest...because, why not?

Allie laughs and points at Truman, who is watching the whole scene with that same steady, serious expression. “Oh, trust me, I get it. This one’s exactly the same.” She grins, thumbs over her shoulder. “Okay, a few more photos, and then I’ll make a post. Truman, can you put in our to-go order? We need to finish setting up for the festival.”

I smile as I turn back to the counter. The café is warm, the coffee is hot, and somehow, everything feels exactly right.

Welp, I’ve unlocked a new thing on my BINGO card that I didn’t know I needed: Closing my cafe with Rydker. Whatever sadness has been weighing on me all morning gets shoved right down to my toes, and honestly, it can stay there. I move through the cozy space, wiping down tables and stacking dirty dishes, and every time we cross paths, we trade these little shy smiles that make heat rush straight to my cheeks. One look from those deep mahogany eyes and my stomach turns into a full-on butterfly sanctuary.

I am elbow-deep in sudsy dishes when I notice Rydker slip into the cat enclosure. He crouches down and gives the tall cat tree a little nudge, it wobbles, and one of the cats looks up like, ‘excuse me, I was napping here.’

"My cat sticker didn’t stick to the carpet," I call out, breaking the silence. He glances back at me with those grumpy brown eyes. "I was planning to fix it soon." I grab another plate and dunk it into the sink. "Eventually…" I add, letting the word trail off into the suds where it belongs.

Rydker gives a soft hmm and disappears into the back of the kitchen. I can hear boxes shifting, something clattering, the very specific sound of a man on a mission rummaging through a very disorganized storage area. I dry my hands on a clean hand towel and wander over to where he’s standing, being all moody. "Don’t you have any tools?" he asks, not looking up from where he is moving items around. He isn’t annoyed exactly, more like quietly brooding; that comes from staring into my dirty little secret, AKA, my junk shelf.

“Well, there’s a screwdriver in that box somewhere, and a hammer under the bathroom sink. And the flathead is...” I tap my finger against my lip. “Oh! Kitchen sink. Under it.”

“Why is it there?” he questions, looking over his shoulder in a way that makes me stifle my giggle.

"Because I dropped a ceramic mug and it completely shattered. The handle flew off and slid way under the cabinet, so I grabbed the flathead to fish it out." I laugh a little. "It didn’t work. So, then I used a dishtowel to sweep it closer, and eventually just reached in and grabbed it. Problem solved. Kind of." My lips bleed into a smile that speaks with satisfaction.

“I still don't understand why you used a flathead.” He leans against the table, arms crossed over his broad chest, studying me. “Don't you have a toolbox?” Even his judgy eyes are gorgeous. Unfair, honestly.

"A flathead is basically an extension of my arm. Go-Go-Gadget arm!" I wiggle it for effect. Rydker stares at me. Completely blank. "Inspector Gadget? The cartoon?" Nothing. Tough crowd. "Okay, forget it. I just haven’t had time to get to the hardware store," I admit, the heat of embarrassment firing on my cheeks. “Your hardware store.”

He sniffs, rubs his nose, and lets out one of those low hmms that I am already learning means he is thinking. Then he steps closer, close enough that I catch his scent, and he wraps his hand around the back of my neck. He kisses the top of my head. Then he pulls back just enough to look at me before pressing a soft kiss to my nose. “You really need a stocked toolbox. It would make your life a lot easier.”

“That wouldn’t be fun!” I counter. “Besides, you own the local hardware store; I can just ask you when I break a mug or need a doo-dad to grab something.” I am nearly in giggles. Pretty sure my eyes are also smiling back at him.

My grump doesn’t think my sunshine is as funny as I do. His eyes narrow, not in a mean way, more in a ‘what am I getting myself into kind of way.’ He turns and heads back into the cat room. I stand there for a second, smiling at absolutely nothing. All the butterflies are completely out of control in my stomach.

Hours later, the lights are dimmed. Sandwich board inside, new menu already chalked out. Closed sign flipped. I put my hands on my hips and take a slow look around my clean, quiet cafe. Yeah. This is mine. "How's it going in there?" I lean into the cat room. Mr. Ned has parked himself about a foot from Rydker, his purr machine cranked to full volume, as if he is personally supervising the repair.