12. Lynne （Now）
Lynne (Now)
By the end of the week, her apartment started to feel like a revolving door—for kitten supplies, for friends, for Leo.
But, surprisingly, she didn’t mind it. She and Leo knew it would be all-nighters again with feeding and weighing if they didn’t enlist the help of The Nine while he had to work.
He bought a whiteboard, and she made a calendar chart for their shared schedules on it.
It really did take a village—except the village now included four a.m. alarms and tiny roommates who screamed for milk and snuggles.
There had been a time she didn’t have a blueprint for this kind of chaos.
When her dad died, the bar could easily have gone under with him.
For weeks she’d gritted her teeth and told herself she could hold everything together without any help—and then the town quietly refused to let her.
Ruby showed up with a stack of revised schedules before Lynne could protest. Minka brought over all her café tips to help her out.
Tabitha did the same. During slow times, Chief Bob sent crew members over from the station to see if she needed kegs hauled, bar stools repaired, or the windows cleaned.
Mrs. Ellery and Mayor Pennington organized a potluck schedule that kept Lynne and her staff’s freezers full for months.
Cali even offered the name and number of a grief therapist she’d used in the past when Lynne pulled her aside after book club one evening.
Letting people in was complicated. It had saved her more than once. But it also hurt like hell when they left. She’d told herself that accepting help was a weakness. Looking back now, it felt like the only reason O’Donnell’s had survived at all. Maybe it would work out the same with this litter.
And then there was Leo. She didn’t want it to mean anything extra, him being here now. Leo standing at her stove. Leo laughing with The Nine when they visited. This was just logistics. Kitten triage. Anything else felt like holding a match over everything she’d done to recover since her dad died.
But on days and nights Leo wasn’t there, she also found herself glancing at the couch between feedings before remembering it would be empty.
The apartment seemed louder without him.
Floorboards creaking. Refrigerator humming too hard.
The Nine were incredible. But Leo was the one who noticed when she’d skipped lunch.
The one who checked the heating pad without being asked.
The one who made it feel like she was part of a team instead of barely keeping up.
And realizing she missed that scared her more than the sleepless nights.
Then Minka texted them both about the socials she’d been posting—how they were going viral and it was time to take it to a livestream. Leo was game. But Lynne was skeptical, resistant to anything that would detract from the fragile balance they’d achieved with the kittens.
“But think of it this way,” Minka told her.
“You’re sharing your lived experiences so others can learn.
You may even find them homes this way. And,” she stressed, “if this level of engagement keeps up, people are going to start coming to Autumn Ridge just to visit O’Donnell’s.
You could name drinks after the kittens. Sell merch.”
“I don’t know, Minka. This is already a lot to juggle.”
“Have you checked how many followers you have? Go on. I’ll wait.”
Lynne grabbed her phone off the kitchen counter and opened the app.
She’d silenced it days ago. But now she realized she didn’t even have to do anything for Minka’s updates to explode.
O’Donnell’s followers had quadrupled in just one week.
That was more regulars than had stepped foot in the bar.
Possibly more than all the of-age drinkers in Autumn Ridge.
But they weren’t following for the specials or pictures of trivia night.
They were commenting on the kitten posts.
Lynne turned the phone over in her hands, weighing it like it might explode. She’d built her whole life around having control—over the bar, over her schedule, over who got close. Live video was the opposite of that. No edits. No take-backs. Just her face and a scrolling jury of strangers.
And Leo, right there beside her, close enough that if she turned her head she could count the gold flecks in his eyes. As if she needed another thing to overthink.
“Shit,” Lynne said, glancing over at Minka. “Guess I’m going to have to give this a try. But no merch,” she grumbled. “I can’t stand pubs that sell merch.”
“Fair. It’s easy anyway. Just sit down on the couch, and I’ll show you how to start it.” She glanced behind her. “You too, Leo. Come on.”
“Let me grab Mama for this, too. She deserves a cameo. I know some folks have asked how she’s doing.”
Surprisingly, Mama didn’t sprint from Leo’s arms when she realized where he was seated. Leo faced Mama toward Lynne, and she just sat there, content with the petting.
Well, that’s progress, Lynne thought.
Minka removed from her large bag a phone stand and two ring lights she’d brought with her. “For ambiance,” she said. “Lynne, we’re going to do this from your O’Donnell’s profile so I don’t have to tag you. Can you sign in?”
Lynne signed into the bar’s account, and Minka walked them through which buttons to press. “Now, don’t look at yourselves. Look at the phone,” she instructed.
“But what do we say?” Lynne asked. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth, every bad public-speaking memory lining up to heckle her.
“It’s just the first one,” Minka said. “Tell them how you found the kittens, how Mama freaked when you moved them upstairs, how they’ve turned your life into a fur-covered soap opera. That’s what they’re here for.”
“It’s finally your chance at fame, Mama.” Leo’s tone was excited. He seemed relaxed as his thigh brushed up against hers.
Lynne felt a lump forming in her throat.
Minka could read the expression on her face. “Just be you, Lynne. Don’t sweat it. Leo, why don’t I give a little intro and you start? Then you can chime in whenever it feels right, Lynne. Okay?”
She swallowed hard. “Okay. Let’s just get this over with. It’ll be short, right?”
“As short or long as you want it to be. Now, you might get some questions coming in during the livestream. After all, it’s the weekend, and people have time on their hands. If you get lost, don’t worry. I’ll shout out the questions off-camera.”
Minka fiddled with the ring light and phone stand, then stepped back. The glow softened the living room, smoothing out the scuffs on the coffee table and the circles under Lynne’s eyes.
“We’re live,” Minka’s voice snapped into a bright, too-smooth register.
“Hi, everyone! We’re coming to you from @ODonnellsBarAR with Lynne, the owner of O’Donnell’s, and @LeoM_27 today!
And I’m Minka, who’s been bringing you the saga of Mama Cat and her kittens—who should all get their own handles, by the way, shouldn’t they? Start ‘em young.”
Lynne watched herself in the tiny preview and instantly hated it. The way she sat too straight, the uncertain tilt of her mouth. But she forced her gaze up to the camera lens, like Minka had coached her.
Little hearts and laughing faces floated up the screen. The comments flew in so fast, Lynne could barely read them before they disappeared.
“Okay, okay,” Minka said, squinting at the phone. “We’ve got ‘How’s Mama doing?’ from @ProfessionalSide3y3, and @CntrlAltRegret wants to know if the kittens are still waking you all up at three a.m.”
Lynne realized she was frozen stiff, arms crossed, her hands clenched beneath her elbows. But Leo’s breath was steady, his body relaxed as he spoke.
“Yeah. These kittens believe sleep is a myth. We’ve come to accept our fate.” Lynne snorted, the sound escaping before she could stop it. “Mama’s good, too, as you can see.” He scratched Mama’s head.
“Okay, more questions—‘How’s Mama handling all the attention?’ and ‘Is she still mad at Lynne?’ Rude. That one’s from @NeutralatBest.”
“She’s been … tolerating me,” Lynne confessed.
“That’s generous,” Leo said, lips quirking. “But she’s coming around.”
Lynne suddenly felt a brush against her hand. When she glanced down, she saw Mama, nuzzling her clenched fist and grooming her sleeve.
“You seeing this?” Leo asked the phone, but his voice had gone soft. “Big moment here.”
He wasn’t staring at Mama anymore. He was staring at her.
Mama’s tongue rasped against her skin, rough and unexpectedly gentle, and something inside Lynne unclenched.
If even this prickly, overprotective cat could get used to her, maybe there was hope. Not with the internet—she could take or leave their opinions—but with the breathing, laughing man sitting inches away, looking at her like she was more than a good punchline and a decent pour.
The chat blurred into a stream of hearts and exclamation points, but all she could feel was the weight of Leo’s words, the warmth in his voice wrapping around her.
Minka made an exaggerated gasp. “Oh, the chat is loving this. We’ve got ‘Go, Mama!’ and ‘Kitten queen’ and …
wow, okay, rude again. I’ll have to show you guys how to block people before the next livestream.
” She paused, grin stretching slow. “We have a great question here from @DontQuoteMeOnThat46: ‘Are you two a couple?’”
Lynne’s jaw dropped. “Minka!”
“I didn’t ask. They did!”
“But you already know the answer,” Lynne hissed. Question marks filled the screen this time.
“Do I?” Minka winked at them from behind the phone.
Lynne covered her face with both hands, wishing she could disappear between the cushions.
“I can’t afford her tab, folks,” Leo deadpanned into the camera.
Laughing emojis cascaded up the screen like confetti.
Of course he turned it into a joke. It was safer that way—for both of them. She knew that. But it nicked, too, a tiny sting under her rib cage.
Lynne forced out another laugh. “Yeah, he’s already committed. To the kittens,” she said, aiming for breezy. “You can thank Fred for that.”
“Blink twice if you want to kiss him, though,” Minka cackled as she read one more comment.
The word ‘kiss’ hit her like a dropped tray, loud and messy and impossible to ignore.
For a second, all the tiny icons and comments on the screen smeared together into one long, taunting blur.
She felt the heat creep up her neck. She wasn’t a teenager, blushing because someone guessed a crush.
She blushed because it held up a mirror she couldn’t look away from.
One night with Leo had been a mistake she’d sworn she wouldn’t repeat—for his sake and for hers.
Yet her heart still lurched, stupid and hopeful, at the idea it could be different this time. But could she be different?
It wasn’t that she didn’t want him. Wanting him was the problem. Wanting him meant letting the future creep in, and she’d only just gotten good at surviving the present.
Mama licked her hand again, as if sensing Lynne’s tension. It reminded her of Mazzy’s comforting presence. She’d suddenly remembered and missed that feeling, too.
“I’m not gonna lie,” Minka said. “That one was from Chief Bob. Bob, you better watch it. Leo knows where you sleep.”
The alarm on Lynne’s watch vibrated softly. She turned to Leo. “It’s time to feed the kittens. Let’s wrap it up.”
Minka nodded. “Don’t forget to like and follow us for more Autumn Ridge kitten chaos soon. Bye for now!”
And that should’ve done it. But even as Minka dashed around the living room, gathering her things to head back to the café, neither of them moved. She felt Leo’s thigh still pressed against hers, both of their pulses racing.
He glanced at her, like he could hear every panicked, hopeful thought rattling around in her head. She wondered if he had those same thoughts, too.
Lynne swallowed. And, for the first time in a long time, she didn’t pull away from him.