Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ROME
Leaf got into my head about the fact that I never smile, so while I’m waiting in the café parking lot, I practice in the rearview mirror.
I look slightly deranged after a while, but at least I’m trying.
Maybe my smile is more showing teeth than anything, but I think it might be the best I can do.
And hey, if doing this scores me points, I’ll take it.
I try a few more times until my face looks somewhat natural, and I’m hoping my muscles remember how to make that face instead of my unhinged grimace. I have time. Dex is taking forever, and I got here early, which means I’ve been waiting around for half an hour.
I offered to pick Dex up for this date, but he said he had a class and would meet me there. This better not cost me points, damn it.
He better not be fucking allergic either. That would put me so far down the scorecard I’d be completely off it.
Thankfully, Leaf woke me up while I napped on his porch to tell me the grand opening of Toe and Coffee Beans Cat Café was by reservation only.
Apparently, it was set up this way to not stress out the rescues with huge crowds.
I did a deep dive into the café’s Instagram and realized it was more than just some gimmick to sell coffee.
This place takes rescues off the streets and nurses them to full health before putting them up for adoption.
The idea of getting one for myself is intriguing, but I don’t think I have time in my life for a pet right now. My schedule is wild, and I’ve never done anything like that before.
Also, felines have never really liked me. I’ve had a few friends with service dogs, and they don’t seem to mind my grumpy and callous demeanor, but Quinn has a cat, and the fucker always bites me on the ankles every time I walk past her.
Which, of course, he thinks is hilarious.
But I’m hoping these cats will be kind enough to me today so Dex will have a good time. I need this to go well. More than anything.
I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, watching a handful of people go into the store and then back out again.
This is yet another date that has no real accessibility for me—at least, as far as I can tell from their poorly done website and social media feed, which had only one photo of a cappuccino with cat paw print foam art and a four-sentence About Me section.
But I’m doing this for Dex. I’m showing him that while I might not be able to do it all the time, I can meet him halfway. As often as life will allow, anyway.
Of course, that’s long-term thinking, and that’s not something we talked about. A date, sure, no problem. I can do that. It’s meant to lead to more fucking.
But what’s supposed to come after?
I jump out of my skin when a hand suddenly appears near my window, waving at me.
It takes a second for me to recognize Dex.
He’s wearing a backward cap, which makes him look annoyingly like Thom—though they have very different faces, which helps.
He’s also wearing a shirt with the sleeves cut off and basketball shorts.
I feel a little out of place in my jeans and polo.
Maybe I overdid it.
Fuck, I totally overdid it.
Opening the door, I get up and give him a slow up and down. Why does he have to look so fucking good in everything? I lick my lips, then wave my hand at his body. ‘You didn’t dress up.’
‘I didn’t even shower,’ he tells me. Fuck, why do I want to bury my face in his neck and smell his sweat? ‘It was dress nice or be late.’
‘Points off for you?’ I ask.
He throws his head back with a laugh and shakes his head, pulling out his fucking notebook. He lets me see him mark me with a +1. At least we’re off to a better start today.
‘For putting in effort,’ he says and points at my shirt and jeans. ‘Hot.’
My ears burn, and I take a breath, then take the advice I’d gotten from Leaf and hold out my hand. Touching. There needs to be more touching.
I will not stroke his arm like it’s a dick when we’re in public or in front of innocent kitten eyes, but I can hold his hand.
And I think this may even count as flirting.
A strange expression moves across his face when he stares at my extended hand, and then on an exhale, he slides his fingers between mine. It’s annoying how good it feels. How well they fit together.
I want to let go.
And I want to pull him closer.
Instead, I tug him toward the curb. He trips a little and blushes as he rights himself, so I pull him closer to me, our hips touching as I reach for the door.
‘Wait,’ I say, and he cocks his head. ‘Speak for me?’
He blinks. ‘You don’t have to keep taking me to these places. I sign,’ he replies, like I need reminding. Like I don’t see his gorgeous fingers signing me filthy-as-fuck words in my dreams.
‘This sounded cute. Leaf recommended.’
He looks a little nervous at that, which is probably fair. Leaf is probably the last person anyone should get advice from, but the idea seemed unique.
And I really need to score some points.
‘Not allergic to cats?’
‘You’re asking me now?’ he demands, a laugh playing at his lips.
I shrug. ‘I forgot. It’s a cat café.’
He bites his lip, reaches for his notepad, then seems to change his mind and takes my hand again. He gestures with the other for me to get the door, so I hold it open for him, and he winks as he brushes past me.
The entrance is a lobby, walled off with two sets of windows.
To the left, behind a glass door, is the café.
There are a few tables, a barista counter, some cat-themed decor.
To the right, past an opaque door, is the cat lounge.
There’s a sign stuck on the center and a laminated printout with warnings on what to do and not to do.
In front of us is a long counter with a register, and behind it is a man I don’t recognize from around town. Not that I know everyone, but I have keen eyes and tend to remember faces.
He’s tall, with loose brown curls and a scar along the left side of his jawline. His shoulders are also—if possible—broader than Dex’s. The man must do nothing but work out.
He gives us a look up and down, which is not usual for customer service. If anything, he seems kind of dangerous. He definitely doesn’t seem like the kind of person who takes care of fuzzy little animals for a living.
More like he moves bodies in his free time.
He opens his mouth and begins speaking, but as Dex raises his hands to interpret, the man stops immediately.
Fuck, I really hope we’re not about to have a problem. It’s been years since some hearing asshole kicked me and the person interpreting for me out of a place, but it has happened. And I don’t think my temper will hold.
That’ll definitely kill any chance I have tonight for more than a kiss. That’ll probably put me in the negative hole so deep I’ll have to dig my way out.
But then the guy lifts his hands and signs. It’s not perfect—he’s got a thick hearing accent, and it’s not exactly ASL grammar, but it’s close enough. And I can understand him just fine.
‘Welcome to the cat café. Reservation?’
Dex looks suitably impressed and offers the guy a sunny smile, which makes my insides twist. I know this man isn’t flirting. He’s barely wearing an expression at all, and he’s not making eye contact with either of us.
But the protective and possessive feeling in my bones is almost overwhelming. I slide up to Dex’s side and offer my own smile. It’s probably not as nice as Dex’s, but the man doesn’t react at all.
‘Reservation for Rome. Two people.’
The guy taps on his iPad for a moment, then pulls out little stickers. They’re nothing fancy, just a red dot with the number three in the center, probably for the reservation slot.
‘You can get coffee, then take your drink into the cat lounge. You have fifty minutes,’ he signs. His fingers are a little stiff and a little too…punctual. ‘My brother is inside. His name is Milo. He owns the café.’
Dex tilts his head to the side. ‘Your name what?’
The guy lifts his hand and spells carefully, ‘Archie.’
He looks nothing like an Archie. He looks like a Duke or Callum or Atticus. But Dex doesn’t seem bothered by his appearance, so I’m pretty sure I’m just being a judgmental asshole again.
Dex nods and says, ‘Nice to meet you.’
Archie doesn’t sign it back.
After a beat, Dex shrugs and tugs me toward the café door. ‘Thirsty?’
I’m not. My stomach is in knots trying to get this right, but I follow him in anyway and hope they have something decaf because I don’t need any more caffeine with how jumpy I’m feeling.
There are two people ahead in the queue, which gives me time to look at the menu. All the items have cat-themed names, but there are descriptions under them, which I appreciate.
‘Look-look,’ Dex signs, his tongue wagging back and forth. This shouldn’t give me any ideas, but I just can’t help myself. ‘Purrfect London Afternoon. I want that.’
It’s just a London fog, but his excitement makes my chest squeeze, so I simply smile and nod.
‘You?’ he asks.
I scan the board again, feeling panic build inside of me just as my eyes settle on the decaf Catty Chai.
I point to it, and Dex laughs. Without my hearing aids, I can only just make out the sound of it—kind of a faint rumble—but I can feel it where he’s pressed against me too, and I struggle not to lean in and make a scene in front of all these seemingly nice, innocent people.
The couple in front of us are finally done ordering and move aside. Dex doesn’t ask, just guides me to the counter, where we face another man who looks quite a lot like the guy at the front counter, only older and not scarred. At least, not on his face. His hands look like they’ve taken a beating.
I wonder if he signs too.
Dex seems to have the same idea because he raises his hands and asks for his drink in ASL.
The man’s brows go up, but he nods. ‘What you want?’ he asks me.
‘Decaf Catty Chai,’ I sign at Deaf speed, testing him.