Chapter 2
Saturday mornings at the coffee shop are different from weekdays.
The base crowd is lighter; most soldiers have the weekend off or are sleeping in after a brutal week. Instead, I get families, couples on coffee dates, and locals who treat my shop like their second living room.
I don't mind. The slower pace gives me time to experiment with new drinks and actually have conversations that last longer than thirty seconds.
"He doesn't come in on weekends," Jess says, reading my mind as she restocks the pastry case.
"I wasn't looking for him."
"Sure you weren't. That's why you've checked the door seventeen times in the last hour."
I throw a wadded-up napkin at her. "I hate you."
"No, you don't." She grins. "But seriously, he's usually only here on weekdays. I think weekends are for his kids."
My heart squeezes. Right. His kids. The ones who live in Texas with their mom.
I wonder what kind of father he is. Probably amazing. He seems like the type who takes responsibility seriously. I imagine he’s the kind who actually shows up for them.
Stop it, Chloe. You're fantasizing about a man's parenting skills. That's a new level of pathetic.
The morning passes pleasantly enough. I make a lavender honey latte for Mrs. Chen, who comes in every Saturday to read the newspaper.
I help a young couple decide between cinnamon rolls and blueberry muffins (they end up getting one of each and splitting them).
I even manage to perfect my new brown sugar oat milk shaken espresso.
By two, it’s so quiet that I’m considering closing early when my phone buzzes.
Emily: Yoga in the park tomorrow at 8am. You coming?
Chloe: Is it the gentle flow or the one that makes me want to die?
Emily: Gentle. I promise. Plus fresh air and endorphins.
Chloe: Fine. I'll be there.
Emily: Yay! Bring water and your positive attitude.
Chloe: I can manage one of those things.
Emily: The water?
Chloe: Obviously
She sends back a string of laughing emojis, and I look around the empty shop and make a decision. There's no point staying open when no one's coming in.
I flip the sign to Closed, lock up, and head home.
My apartment complex is quiet on Saturday afternoons. Most people are out enjoying the Colorado sunshine or visiting family.
I park in my usual spot and grab my purse, but as I'm walking toward the building, I remember I haven't checked my mail in days.
Please let my new book be here.
I ordered a paperback from my favorite indie romance author two weeks ago, and the tracking said it should have arrived by now.
The mailboxes are on the far side of the parking lot, and I'm fishing my key out of my purse when I hear it.
A tiny, pitiful mewing sound.
I freeze, listening.
There it is again. Coming from... my car?
I walk back to my Subaru, tilting my head to locate the sound.
"Hello?" I call out, feeling ridiculous talking to my car.
Another mew. Louder this time. Definitely coming from underneath. I’d only been gone maybe five minutes, how could a cat be under my car already?
I crouch down, peering under the vehicle.
Two huge blue eyes stare back at me from a tiny ball of gray fluff.
"Oh no. Oh, sweetie, how did you get stuck under there?"
The kitten mews again, and I can see it's wedged between something mechanical-looking. I have no idea what. I know nothing about cars beyond where to put gas and windshield wiper fluid.
I lie flat on my back and try to reach under, but the kitten is too far back. Every time I get close, it scrambles deeper into the undercarriage.
"Come on, baby. I'm trying to help you."
"Need some assistance?"
I jolt, nearly hitting my head on the car's bumper.
Standing above me, haloed by the afternoon sun, is Tyler Reid.
He's in shorts and a moisture-wicking shirt that clings to his chest in ways that should be illegal. I can see every last one of his well-defined abs. I always imagined he had a six pack but now? This is confirmation. His hair is damp with sweat, and he's slightly out of breath.
"Tyler? What are you doing here?"
"Jogging. I live about a block over." He gestures vaguely behind him. "Normally I run the other route, but there's sidewalk construction, so I came this way today. What's going on?"
"There's a kitten stuck under my car. I can't reach it."
"A kitten?" He crouches down beside me, peering under the vehicle. "I see it. Little gray one?"
"Yes. It keeps moving away from me."
"It's scared. Can't blame it." He straightens. "Let me try. I'm going to need to get under there."
"Are you sure? You're going to get dirty—"
"I've been covered in worse." He flashes a quick smile. "Step back. Give me some room."
I scramble to my feet and watch as Tyler lies flat on his back and slides partway under my car.
"Hey there, little one," he says, his voice going soft. Gentle. "You're okay. Nobody's going to hurt you."
More mewing.
"I know. You're scared. But I'm going to help you out of there." I thought I had a crush on Tyler before… but now? Listening to him talking gently to a kitten? This man is perfect.
I hear shuffling. A grunt of effort.
"Come on, sweetheart. Work with me here."
Is he talking to the kitten or me? Because my brain has short-circuited at the sound of "sweetheart" in that deep, patient voice.
"Got you." Tyler slides back out from under the car, and cradled against his chest is the tiniest ball of fluff I've ever seen.
The kitten can't be more than six weeks old. A soft ball of gray fur and enormous blue eyes.
"Oh my God," I breathe. "She's so small."
"She is." Tyler stands, cupping the kitten carefully in his large hands. "Looks healthy though. Good weight. Eyes are clear."
"How do you know so much about kittens?"
"Had a cat growing up. Mittens. She was the best." His expression goes soft at the memory. "She lived to be nineteen. Got me through some rough years."
The kitten mews and tries to climb up his chest.
"Easy, little one. You're safe now." He looks at me. "Any idea where she came from?"
"No. But there are a few strays around the complex. Maybe she's from one of their litters?"
"Probably." He gently scratches behind the kitten's ears, and she immediately starts purring. "She needs food. Water. A litter box. Probably a vet check too."
"I don't have any of that. I've never had a pet before,” I confess. Not for lack of wanting. My parents were no pet type of people. They wanted to be able to go whenever and wherever they wanted without the added hassle of finding care for a pet. Plus, my mom’s OCD would never have allowed for pet hair or a litter box in our home.
We had to take our shoes off when we entered and put on booties.
There was no way she would have allowed anything that could be deemed to have added germs or dirt into the house.
"I'd take her, but..." He sighs, looking genuinely regretful. "My apartment has a strict no-pets policy. And with my military schedule, deployments, training exercises—it wouldn't be fair to her."
The kitten nuzzles against his hand, and my heart melts.
"She likes you."
"I like her too. But that doesn't change the logistics." He looks at me, and there's something hopeful in his expression. "What about you? Could you take her?"
"Me?"
"You work at the coffee shop, right? You have regular hours." He holds the kitten up slightly. "She needs someone. And you seem like the kind of person who'd take good care of her."
"I own the coffee shop,” I can’t help but correct him. “I don't know anything about taking care of a kitten."
"I could help you. I’ll buy the supplies. Show you what she needs." His voice goes quieter. "Please, Chloe. I can't leave her out here. It's not safe. And the shelter... they're overcrowded. And it’s a kill shelter. She's so small, she might not—"
"Okay." I’m surprised when I hear the words come out of my mouth. But, I did always want a pet and this little ball of fur… maybe she’s exactly what I need.
"Okay?"
"Okay, I'll take her." I reach out and gently touch the kitten's head. She's so soft. "But you'll really help me get supplies?"
"Absolutely. There's a pet store about ten minutes from here. We could go right now if you want."
"Don't you need to shower or something? You're all sweaty from your run."
Heat creeps up my neck the second the words leave my mouth. Why did I mention his sweat? Why am I looking at his sweat?
Tyler's mouth quirks. "I could shower first. Would you be okay with the kitten until I come back?"
"I think I can manage."
"Okay. Let me run home, clean up, and I'll come back. We'll get her everything she needs." He carefully transfers the kitten to my arms. "Support her back legs. There you go."
The kitten immediately curls into my chest, purring loudly.
"She likes you," Tyler observes.
"How can you tell?"
"She's relaxed. If she was scared, she'd be trying to escape. But she feels safe with you."
The way he says it makes something warm bloom in my chest.
"I should name her."
"What are you thinking?"
I look down at the tiny gray ball of fluff. "Mochi. She's small and squishy and sweet."
"Mochi." Tyler grins. "Perfect."
We stand there for a moment, and I'm acutely aware of how close he is. How he smells like sweat and something woodsy. How his eyes are even more intense in the sunlight.
"So," he says, breaking the spell. "I'll go shower. Be back in an hour?"
"An hour works."
"Good. And Chloe?"
"Yeah?"
"Have you eaten today? Besides coffee and pastries?"
The question catches me off guard. "I had a protein bar for breakfast."
"That's not a meal." His voice goes firmer. "When I come back, we're going to get Mochi her supplies, and then we're getting you actual food. Understood?"
My breath catches. There's something about the way he says "understood" that makes my stomach flip. I’ve been reading way too many Daddy Dom books because he sounds just like one of the characters.
"Okay."
"Good girl."
The words hit me like a physical touch.