“Sorry,” I tell her while she glowers up at me with that dumb underbite. “You’re just so ugly.”
“Wow.”
I jump again, heart in my throat. Tate leans on the doorframe, staring down at the cat.
“So you do have a cat.”
“She’s not my cat.”
“She?” He gives me an arch look. “She’s ashe?”
“She has female energy.”
He drops to a crouch. “Hey, kitty cat. What’s your name?”
The cat prowls over to him, eyes on his face.
“Watch out,” I warn. “She’s going to?—”
The cat lets out a rumbling purr and rubs herself against Tate’s legs. My jaw drops.
“Aww.” He strokes a big hand down her back and she purrs again, rubbing her face against his other hand. “What a sweetie.”
“What asweetie?” My jaw is on the ground. “She’s not like this,” I explain, pointing to her. “She’s kind of a bitch.”
“Jordan.” Hepicks the cat upand tucks her in his arms, petting her while she preens and purrs. How he’s doing this while keeping both his eyes in his head, I have no idea. If I did this, I’d be dead. “Don’t call your cat a bitch.”
“She’s not my cat!” My voice goes weirdly high. “I’m just letting her crash with me until I figure out what to do with her.”
Liar. I can’t take her to the SPCA. I don’t know why. I just can’t. She wouldn’t like it there.
He does a double take. “You took her home?”
I hold up the scratched hand he’s been glancing at all week, and he frowns.
“Huh.” She wiggles in his arms and he sets her down. She walks right into my bar like she owns the place. “Doesn’t look like she’s a stray anymore.”
Back inside, the cat curls up in Tate’s lap, and something in my chest squeezes. A couple regulars sit at the other end of the counter, the music plays at a low volume, and the twinkle lights give the place a warm glow.
I’m still exhausted from the week, but this is my safe, happy place, and having Tate here, lavishing attention all over the cat and keeping me company, is not as unwelcome as I would have thought.
It’s actually kind of nice. Quiet nights sometimes drag, but it’s already past midnight.
“This is a health code violation.” I gesture at the cat, as if I’m actually going to do anything about it. “I could lose my business license.”
His eyes crinkle. “I won’t tattle on you.”
The cat rests her chin on the counter, eyes on me. “Don’t be smug,” I tell her.
The regulars stand from their table, drop their empties at the end of the bar, and wave goodbye.
“I’m closing now,” I tell Tate.
“Okay.”
I wait a beat. “That means you need to leave.”
“I can’t move.” He gestures at the heap of purring black fur on his lap. “I’ve been chosen.”
