Chapter 2 #2
He turns and jogs away, and I stand there in the parking lot, holding a kitten and trying to remember how to breathe.
Did Tyler Reid just call me "good girl"?
And why did I like it so much?
I carry Mochi upstairs to my apartment, setting her down gently on the couch.
She immediately explores, sniffing everything, her tiny tail straight up in the air.
I grab my phone.
Chloe: I have a cat now.
Emily: WHAT!
Chloe: Found a kitten stuck under my car. Tyler helped me rescue her.
Emily: TYLER WAS AT YOUR APARTMENT?
Chloe: He was jogging by. Lives a block away apparently.
Emily: That's very convenient.
Chloe: It was a coincidence. Sidewalk construction changed his route.
Emily: Sure it was. What happened?
Chloe: He rescued the kitten. Asked me to keep her because he can't have pets. Offered to help me get supplies.
Emily: That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard.
Chloe: He's coming back in an hour. We're going to the pet store.
Emily: That's a date, babe.
Chloe: It's not a date. It's pet supply shopping.
Emily: With the man you've been crushing on for months. Sounds like a date to me.
Chloe: I need to shower and change. Talk later.
Emily: Wear something cute!
Chloe: It's not a date!
Emily: Keep telling yourself that
I set my phone down and look at Mochi, who's now investigating my stuffed animal collection.
"What am I doing?" I ask her.
She mews in response.
"You're right. I'm overthinking this."
I shower quickly, then stand in front of my closet trying to decide what to wear.
It's not a date. It's just... helping with a kitten. Being neighborly.
I settle on jeans and a soft pink sweater. Casual but cute.
When I emerge from my bedroom, Mochi has claimed Mr. Snuggles as her napping spot.
"Good taste," I tell her.
Exactly one hour after he left, there's a knock on my door.
I open it to find Tyler freshly showered, wearing dark jeans and a charcoal henley that makes his eyes look impossibly blue.
"Hey," he says, and his smile is devastating.
"Hey. Come in."
He steps inside, and I watch him take in my apartment. The romance novels everywhere. The fairy lights. The stuffed animals. I should have hidden the stuffed animals. Why did I invite him in? What was I thinking?
His gaze lands on Mochi asleep on Mr. Snuggles, and his expression softens.
"She's already made herself at home."
"She's been exploring everything. I think she approves."
"Smart kitten." He turns to me. "Ready to go?"
"Let me just grab my purse."
We head to the pet store in Tyler's truck, and he asks questions the entire drive.
What kind of books do I read? (Romance, obviously.)
What's my favorite color? (Pink, specifically blush pink or rose gold.)
Do I have family nearby? (No, my parents have retired in Florida.)
How long have I owned the coffee shop? (Two years this November.)
It should feel like an interrogation, but it doesn't. It feels like he genuinely wants to know me.
At the pet store, Tyler takes charge immediately.
"We need kitten food, formula since she's so young, a litter box, litter, toys, a bed—"
"Tyler, that's so much,” I interrupt him.
"She needs it all. And I said I'd help." He grabs a cart. "Come on."
We spend the next forty-five minutes filling the cart with everything Mochi could possibly need.
Tyler explains each item, why it's important, how to use it. Although I’m not dumb, I let him continue to instruct me.
There’s something adorable about his golden retriever energy as he explains each thing to me and how it will benefit Mochi.
Almost as if he’s trying to justify the items to himself, too.
"You really know a lot about cats," I observe.
"Mittens taught me well." He picks up a feather toy. "She had a toy like this that was her favorite. She'd play with it for hours. I’d move it around and she’d bat at it."
"How old were you when you got her?"
"Seven. My dad brought her home from the shelter right after my mom died." His voice goes quiet. "She was there for me when I needed her most. Grief is hard for a kid. But Mittens... she made it bearable."
My chest tightens. "I'm sorry about your mom."
"Thanks. It was a long time ago, but I still miss her." He shakes off the melancholy. "Anyway, Mittens lived a good, long life. And now you have Mochi. She's going to be a great companion for you."
At the register, I pull out my wallet.
Tyler gently pushes my hand away. "I've got this."
"Tyler, you don't have to—"
"I want to. I asked you to take her. The least I can do is make sure she has what she needs."
The total is over two hundred dollars.
Tyler hands over his card without blinking.
"This is too much," I protest.
"It's necessary. And it's my privilege to help." His eyes meet mine. "Let me do this, Chloe. Please."
The way he says my name makes my knees weak.
"Okay. Thank you."
"You're welcome."
We load everything into his truck, and as he's driving back to my apartment, he says, "You mentioned you haven't eaten. There's a good Italian place nearby. Want to grab dinner?"
My heart skips. "Like... now?"
"Yeah. We can drop Mochi's stuff at your place, get her settled, then go eat. Unless you have other plans?"
"No plans."
"Then let me take you to dinner. To thank you for taking Mochi."
This is it. This is the moment where I either play it safe or take a risk. On the one hand, I have a brand new paperback sitting on my living room table waiting for me…
"Okay. Dinner sounds great."
His smile could light up the entire city. "Good. Let's get this stuff inside."
Back at my apartment, we set up Mochi's supplies. Litter box in the bathroom. Food and water bowls in the kitchen. Bed in the corner of the living room with her new toys.
Mochi inspects everything thoroughly, then promptly uses the litter box.
"She's smart," Tyler says approvingly. "Already knows what it's for."
"Is that unusual?"
"Not really. Cats are pretty instinctive about these things. But it's still a good sign."
He shows me how much to feed her, how often, what to watch for in terms of health issues.
"If she seems lethargic or stops eating, take her to a vet immediately. Kittens can go downhill fast."
"Okay. I'll keep an eye on her."
"And I'll check in tomorrow and schedule a vet appointment on Monday. Make sure she's doing okay."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." His gaze holds mine. "I care about what happens to her. And to you."
The air between us shifts.
"Tyler—"
"Come on. Let's get you fed before I say something I can't take back."
At the restaurant, we're seated at a corner booth. The lighting is soft and intimate.
This feels like a date. It absolutely feels like a date. I think it might actually be a date.
The server appears before I can respond, asking for drink orders. Tyler gets a beer. I deliberate for way too long before settling on a glass of rosé because it sounds sophisticated and I'm trying very hard to seem like a grown-up right now.
Once the server leaves, Tyler leans back, studying me. "You don't have to do that, you know."
"Do what?"
"Try to be someone you're not. I like who you are."
"You don't know who I am."
"Then tell me." He folds his arms on the table, giving me his complete attention. "Start anywhere. Favorite food besides bread?"
"Macaroni and cheese. The fancy kind with breadcrumbs on top. And chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs."
He doesn't laugh. Doesn't even smirk. "Dinosaur nuggets are superior to regular nuggets. That's just science."
Something in my chest loosens. "You think so?"
"Absolutely. Better nugget-to-breading ratio."
I giggle. Actually giggle. "That's such a specific analysis."
"I have kids, remember? We've had extensive nugget debates."
"How old are they? Your kids?"
His expression softens. "Emma's eight. Jackson's six. They live with their mom in Austin. I get them for holidays and summer when I'm not deployed."
"That must be hard."
"It is. But it's what's best for them. Stability matters more than proximity." He traces a pattern on the tablecloth. "Their mom and I divorced three years ago. Mutual decision. We wanted different things."
"What did she want?"
"Someone who wasn't gone for half the year. Someone with a safer job. Someone who could be fully present." He meets my eyes. "She wasn't wrong to want those things."
"But you love what you do."
"I did. I do. But I'm reevaluating. Thinking about what comes next."
"Like what?"
"Training, maybe. Leaving the teams and helping form the next generation. Something that keeps me stateside more. Let's me see my kids more than twice a year." He takes a drink of his beer. "I'm thirty-five. I've done my time in the field. Maybe it's time for something different."
Thirty-five. Nine years older than me.
Some people would say that's too much. That we're in different life stages.
But right now, looking at him across the table, it feels perfect.
"So, tell me about your coffee shop. How did that happen?"
"I was working at a corporate chain and hating my life. Then my grandma passed away and left me some money. I saw the space and thought... why not? Worst case, I fail and have to get another job. Best case, I build something I love."
"And you built something you love."
"Most days. Everything in my shop is sourced ethically.
I did extensive research before deciding on where my beans come from.
My breakfast burritos come from a small mom and pop restaurant; I make most of the baked goods myself…
" I pause and look away. “Sometimes, I barely make my bills on the income the shop brings in. There have been times where I’ve picked up outside work on top of the coffee shop just to get through.
Some days I wonder if I'm crazy for trying to compete with chains.”
"You're not crazy. You're brave. There's a difference."
"That's what my friend Emily says."
"Emily's right." He leans back. "What made you choose a coffee shop specifically?"
"I love coffee. It’s my favorite drink. I also love the ritual of having it in the morning, most adults like coffee, right?
And then, there’s the way people's faces light up when they get their favorite drink and take the first sip, it’s almost like a sigh of relief.
They can now take on the day. I like to read and write, and I used to do both at a coffee shop in college.
There’s something special about the community that builds around a good local shop.
It’s different than the hustle and bustle of the large corporate ones, at least I think so.
" I take a sip of wine. "Plus, I'm really good at making coffee. "
"You are. Best Americano I've ever had."
"You're biased." It’s not like an Americano is hard. A shot of espresso and some filtered hot water. It’s the espresso he likes. The one I hand-picked after sampling literally hundreds of beans.
"Maybe. But I'm also right."
The waiter returns for our order. I get mushroom ravioli. Tyler gets chicken parmesan.
"What about you?" I ask once we're alone again. "Why did you join the military?"
"My dad was Army, his dad was a Marine. I grew up on bases, moving every few years. It was the only life I knew." He pauses. "He passed away in combat when I was fourteen, leaving me an orphan living with my grandfather. After that, I knew I wanted to serve. Honor his legacy."
"That's a lot of pressure for a fourteen-year-old."
"It was. But it gave me purpose. Direction. I needed that after losing him."
"Do you regret it? The military career?"
"Sometimes. The deployments are hard. My ex couldn’t handle the separation.
Being away from my kids is brutal. But it's also given me structure, discipline, a sense of belonging.
My brothers on my team are closer to me than if we shared DNA.
" He looks at me. "Though, like I said, lately I've been thinking about what comes next. "
"But you love what you do."
"I did. I do. But I'm reevaluating. Thinking about what matters most now. I’ve been fighting it for a while."
Our food arrives, and the conversation flows naturally. He asks about my friends, my hobbies, my dreams.
I tell him about the Naughty Little Girls Book Club, carefully editing out the "naughty" and "little" parts.
"So, you just read romance novels and drink wine?" he asks, amused.
"Mostly. We also support each other. Celebrate wins and vent about frustrations. It's like therapy but with better snacks. We all started out single but several of our members have recently found their d, um, significant others." I start to say Daddies but catch myself just in time.
"That sounds nice. Having that kind of support system."
"It is. I don't know what I'd do without them."
By the time we finish eating, it's almost nine p.m.
Tyler insists on paying, and I don't fight him this time.
On the drive back to my apartment, he says, "Can I see you again? Not just to check on Mochi. Actually, see you."
My heart pounds. "Like a date?"
"Exactly like a date."
"I'd like that."
"Good. How about Tuesday? I'll pick you up at seven."
"Tuesday works."
He walks me to my door, and we stand there in the hallway, neither of us wanting the evening to end.
"Thank you," I say. "For rescuing Mochi and getting her supplies and for dinner.”
"Thank you for saying yes. To all of it." He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "I've been wanting to talk to you for months. Trying to work up the courage to say more than 'large Americano, please.'"
"Really?"
"Really. You intimidate me, Chloe Painter."
"I intimidate you? You're a Special Forces soldier."
"And you're a woman who built a business from scratch while being kind to every person who walks through your door. I’ve seen you handle some nasty customers and have had to stop myself from intervening.
You do it with grace and kindness that I wish there was more of in the world.
That's way more impressive than anything I've done. "
I don't know what to say to that.
Tyler steps back. "I should go. Let you get some rest. But I'll see you Tuesday."
"Tuesday. I'll be ready."
"Good. And Chloe?"
"Yeah?"
"Check on Mochi before bed, make sure she has water and food. And if anything seems wrong, call me. Anytime. I mean it."
"I will. Thank you, Tyler."
"You're welcome. Sleep well, sweetheart."
He leaves, and I float into my apartment.
Mochi is curled up on Mr. Snuggles again, fast asleep.
I check her water, her food, her litter box. Everything is perfect.
Then I collapse on my bed and text the group chat.
Chloe: I have a date. With Tyler. Tuesday night.
The responses are immediate and enthusiastic.
And as I fall asleep that night, with Mochi purring on my chest, I think about how much my life can change in a single afternoon.
One stuck kitten.
One jogging soldier.
One dinner that felt like fate.
Maybe Emily was right.
Maybe this is the beginning of something.