“Down the street from my house. It was a ragdoll breed, I think.” His voice is low and almost monotone, but I know him by now.
Travis doesn’t hold conversation just to be polite. He’s not naturally chatty, so if he’s talking, it’s because he wants to, not because he thinks he has to fill some awkward silence.
It’s something I appreciate.
“Tell me about the cat,” I say, turning to him fully as I polish a glass. I meet his eyes, a dark brown with an intensity behind them that shatters his uncaring façade. “Are we trapping it, are you adopting it…”
“Uh, no,” he chuckles. “I just…you said those breeds were rare, right?”
“A ragdoll? Absolutely. Did it look healthy? Was its fur full and shiny?” I set down the glass and lean against the counter, cocking an eyebrow.
He shrugs. “I think so. Should I keep an eye out, in case I see it again? Are there any signs I need to look for?”
Another thing I’ve learned about Travis in the past year: he’s a big softie.
“Aww,” I say, teasing him. “You’re such a bleeding heart.”
He narrows his eyes. “Shut up,” he murmurs, and I catch the tips of his ears reddening and a flush spreading up his neck.
But my smile is genuine, and he huffs and almost smiles back at me. “I have my own feelings about cats being outdoors, but if you see it again, try and snap a picture for me,” I say.
“Oh, I have some,” he says quickly, and pulls his phone out from his dark jeans. Placing the clean glass on its rack, I move closer to Travis, my shoulder almost touching his upper arm as he swipes through the photos on his phone.
It isn’t lost on me that he took a picture of a cat just to show me.
The realization makes my chest ache, and I try not to dwell too much on the thought.
I also try not to acknowledge I’m holding my breath.
The bar is full of different aromas from Omega and Alphas pheromones. Even when I scent Travis, other faded notes of Alphas swirl around with his.
But this close, when all I can sense is wood and smoke, I try not to inhale too deeply.
My body responds in all the ways it shouldn’t.
I wonder if he does the same when I get too close to him.
Eventually, he finds the photos he’s looking for, and his long, thick fingers zoom in on his phone’s screen, showcasing a regal-looking fluffy cream cat. Dark ears and piercing blue eyes compliment the cat’s face, and the coffee colored feather-duster tail is all the confirmation I need.
“Definitely a Ragdoll,” I murmur. “Stunning.”
He shrugs and swipes through a few more photos, including one with the cat in the middle of a peaceful slow blink.
I nudge his arm playfully. “You’re not a bad photographer,” I murmur.
“Oh, I have this one, too,” Travis says softly, scrolling through his phone. “I saw these guys the other night.”
The ache in my chest grows.
We stand quietly together, the bass of the music a faint pulse in my ears. The rush has finally died down, and for a few moments, Travis and I have the bar to ourselves.
There’s always more to do, always something to stock or refill if we’re not making drinks.
But I still look forward to those fleeting, rare moments where it’s just the two of us.
Even if I have to hold my breath to resist overdosing on his incredible scent.
I smile at each cat he shows me on his phone, my grin widening the longer he scrolls through the album.
