8. Grath #3
She looks at me. Really looks at me. Her eyes are dark and wanting, pupils blown wide in the dim light of the storage room. I can see the war happening behind them, the part of her that plans everything fighting against the part that's already decided.
"No." The word comes out quiet but certain. Final.
"Good." Relief floods through me, hot and urgent.
I kiss her. Pour everything into it. All the fear and relief and desperate need. She kisses back just as hard. Her hands work at my belt. My fingers find the hem of her shirt.
Somewhere in the café, the kitten meows.
We both freeze mid-motion, hands still tangled in fabric and skin. The sound cuts through the haze of want like a bell.
"Did you lock the front door?" Maris asks, her voice suddenly sharp with the kind of practical concern that only she could summon in a moment like this.
"I. Don't remember." The words come out rougher, my brain still fogged with her taste, her touch, the feel of her pressed against me.
"Grath."
"It's fine. The sign says closed." I lean in again, trying to recapture the moment, the heat that was building between us like a fire finally catching.
"That doesn't mean—"
Another meow. Closer this time. Louder. More insistent.
"Ignore it," I say against her throat, my hands finding the curve of her waist again.
"I can't ignore the cat." But her fingers are still gripping my shirt, holding on even as she protests.
"Yes you can." I kiss the corner of her jaw, the soft spot just below her ear that made her gasp a moment ago.
"What if it's hungry?" Her voice wavers, caught between concern and desire.
"It's always hungry." Truth. That creature treats every hour like it's been starving for days.
"What if it's stuck somewhere?" She's weakening. I can hear it in the way her breath hitches.
"It's not stuck. It's manipulating you." I know this game. The kitten plays it better than most arena strategists I've known.
She laughs then, the sound breathless and beautiful. Pushes at my chest with both hands, creating space between us that feels like a wound. "We should check."
"Maris." I let every ounce of frustration bleed into her name.
"Just. Real quick. Then we can—" She doesn't finish the sentence, but the promise in her eyes makes my blood run hotter.
The kitten appears at that exact moment, as if summoned by our discussion. Sits primly on the threshold. Stares at us with those huge golden eyes that see far too much, judge far too accurately.
Maris sighs, her whole body deflating slightly. "See? It needed something."
"It needed attention. Which it's getting." Mine. Hers. The attention of every person who walks into this café. The creature collects it like I collect my small tokens.
"Poor baby." She's already softening, her voice going gentle in that way it does when she talks to the strays.
"It's a menace." Stating facts.
"You love it." Not a question. An accusation delivered with a small, knowing smile.
"I tolerate it." The lie tastes weak even as I say it.
She raises an eyebrow, and I can feel heat creeping up my neck, spreading across my face. Caught.
"Fine. I love it. Happy?" The admission comes out grudging, but honest. Because I do. The smug little beast has worked its way under my skin just like its owner has.
"Very." Her smile widens, triumphant and tender all at once.
She bends down, movements careful and deliberate. Scoops up the kitten with practiced ease. It purrs immediately, a smug rumbling that fills the small storage room. Smug little beast knows exactly what it's done.
"There," she says, straightening up with the creature cradled against her chest. "Crisis averted."
"Can we—" I don't finish. Don't need to.
"Yes." Simple. Direct. Everything I need to hear.
She sets the kitten on a nearby shelf, arranging it carefully among the spare napkins and backup sugar packets. It curls into a tight ball, tail wrapped around its nose. Closes its eyes like it's been planning to nap there all along.
"Now where were we?" Maris asks, turning back to face me. Her eyes are dark again, that earlier heat returning like it never left.
I show her.
This time there are no interruptions. Just her and me and the desperate need to prove we're both alive and safe and together.
I lift her onto the prep counter. She wraps her legs around me again. Her hands are everywhere. My shirt. My belt. My skin.
"You're sure?" I ask. Need to ask. Need to hear her say it.
"Yes. God, yes. Stop asking and just—"
I kiss her. Hard and claiming. My hands slide under her shirt. Find warm skin. She arches into my touch.
We're clumsy. Desperate. Tangled in fabric and want. Her jeans are tight and stubborn. My belt buckle catches. We both laugh. Breathless and wild.
When I finally push inside her, she gasps. Her nails dig into my shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
"Okay?" I manage.
"More than okay. Move. Please."
I move.
She feels incredible. Hot and tight and perfect. Her breathing comes in short, sharp bursts. I bury my face in her neck. Breathe in coffee and flour and her.
"Grath." My name is a prayer on her lips.
I want to be gentle. Want to make this last. But the adrenaline and fear and relief are still coursing through my veins. Every thrust is possessive. Claiming.
She meets me movement for movement. Her breathing gets ragged. Her legs tighten around me.
"Yes. Right there. Don't stop."
I don't stop.
The shelf rattles. Something falls. We don’t care.
"Close," she gasps. "I'm so—"
"Me too."
"Together. Please. I want—"
I kiss her. Swallow her moans. Feel her tighten around me. She comes with my name on her lips and the sound pushes me over the edge.
We collapse together. Breathing hard. Tangled and sweaty and satisfied.
On the shelf, the kitten yawns. Completely unimpressed.
Maris laughs. The sound is light and free.
"Well," she says. "That happened."
"It did."
"Behind the café."
"Against the counter."
"Very professional."
"Very."
She's still smiling. I want to capture this moment. Keep it forever.
"No regrets?" I ask.
"None. You?"
"Best decision I ever made."
"Stealing blueprints or having sex?"
"Both."
She laughs again. Presses a kiss to my jaw.
"We should probably clean up."
"Probably."
The sign-up sheet is ruined.
Completely. Utterly. Destroyed.
I look at the bulletin board outside the town hall. At the water damage and the running ink and the illegible names.
Maris stands beside me. Silent. Her face is pale.
"How?" she finally asks.
"Water bottle," Mayor Johnson says behind us. His voice is apologetic. "Someone. Left one balanced on top of the board. Leaked all night."
"Appears so."
"Convenient."
"Now, I'm not saying it was deliberate—"
"Of course you're not." Maris turns to face him. Her voice is perfectly polite. Perfectly controlled. I recognize that tone. She's furious. "Because that would mean admitting someone deliberately sabotaged Small Business Day to hurt local owners."
Mayor Johnson shifts his weight. "I'm sure it was an accident."
"Was the camera working?"
"The. Security camera?"
"Yes. The one right above the board."
His face flushes. "It. Appears to have malfunctioned."
"Of course it did."
"Maris—"
"Thank you for your time, Mayor."
She walks away. Shoulders tight. Steps precise.
I follow. My hands curl into fists.
We make it to the café before she breaks.
"This is my fault," she says. Voice shaking. "I pushed too hard. Got too confident. And now—"
"This isn't your fault."
"They're targeting us. Because of what we did. Because we got the blueprints."
"They're scared. That's why they're lashing out."
"And my business is paying the price." She presses her hands to her face. "Small Business Day was. It was going to be huge exposure. A chance to prove the café matters. That we all matter."
"We'll find another way."
"Will we? Because it feels like every time we take one step forward, they push us three steps back."
I want to argue. Want to tell her it'll be fine.
But the sign-up sheet was our chance. Our opportunity to show the town council that the rowhouse businesses deserve protection.
Without it, we're back to square one.
"Maybe I should just. Give up," Maris says quietly. "Sell. Take whatever money I can get and start over somewhere else."
"You don't mean that."
"Don't I?" She looks at me. Her eyes are red. "What's the point of fighting if we're just going to lose anyway?"
"The point is that we tried. That we didn't let them win without a fight."
"That's not enough, Grath. Trying doesn't pay the bills. Trying doesn't save the café."
"But giving up guarantees you lose everything."
"I'm going to lose everything anyway!"
The words echo in the empty café. Maris covers her mouth. Her shoulders shake.
I pull her close. She resists for half a second, then collapses against my chest.
"I'm tired," she whispers. "I'm so tired of fighting."
"I know."
"I don't know if I can keep doing this."
"You can."
"How do you know?"
"Because you're the strongest person I've ever met. And because you're not alone."
She makes a sound that's half laugh, half sob.
"We're going to lose, aren't we?" Her voice is small. Muffled against my shirt.
"Maybe," I say. Can't lie to her. Won't start now. "But we're going to lose together. If we lose."
She doesn't answer right away. Just breathes. Her fingers clutch at my shirt—the one I wore because she said once she liked the color. Stupid detail to remember now. But I remember everything about her.
Then she pulls back slowly. Wipes her eyes with the heel of her hand. The gesture is angry. Like she's mad at her own tears.
"I hate this," she says.
"I know."
"I hate feeling helpless. Like I'm just—waiting for the hammer to fall and there's nothing I can do to stop it."
"I know."
"I hate that they're winning. That Janelle gets to walk away from this smiling while we're—" She gestures vaguely at the empty café. The scattered papers. The ghost of what our petition was supposed to be.
"They haven't won yet," I tell her. Mean it. "Still standing. Still here."
She looks at me. Studies my face like she's trying to find something there. Some sign I'm lying or just being stubborn. Then something shifts. Some of the fight returns to her eyes. Not all of it. Not the bright, fierce thing it usually is. But enough.
"What do we do?" she asks.
"We figure out our next move. We regroup. We find another way to show the council what this place means. What all the rowhouse businesses mean."
"And if there isn't another way?"
"Then we make one." I say it simple. Because it is. "Not giving up because one plan failed. That's not who you are."
She takes a shaky breath. Her chest rises and falls. Then she nods.
"Okay," she says. "Okay. We can do this. Right? We can figure something out."
"We can."
The kitten, Pebble, she named it, after some sea creature, jumps onto the counter with a soft thump. Meows plaintively. The sound is demanding. Entitled. Like the world's smallest tyrant.
Maris laughs. It's watery but genuine. The kind of laugh that happens when you need it most.
"Even the cat thinks we're pathetic," she says.
"The cat thinks everything is pathetic. Especially us."
"Fair point." She reaches over. Scratches behind its ears. The kitten purrs. Closes its eyes like it's granting her a royal favor.
She feeds the kitten. I watch her move through the familiar motions. The doubt is still there. I can see it in the set of her shoulders. The tightness around her eyes.
But she's still moving. Still fighting.
That's what matters.
Outside, the sun climbs higher. The day begins.
And somewhere in a gleaming office, Janelle is probably celebrating her victory.
Not for long, I promise silently.
Not for long.