"Your husband sounds smart."
She smiles at me, and it's such a kind smile I immediately want to protect her from everything bad in the world, including homicidal kittens.
But then her smile fades.
"We do have a problem, though," she says quietly.
And just like that, the energy in the room shifts. Everyone goes still, waiting.
Before she can continue, the front door bangs open again—Jesus Christ, is this bar Grand Central Station?—but before I can yell "Fuck off, we're closed," I notice it's just Frank, the bar owner.
He stops mid-step, and his eyes land on the corner where we've swept all the broken glass into a sad little pile, then on the half-melted, foam-covered Christmas tree.
His face goes through several colors. Red. Purple. A shade I don't have a name for but might be calledimpending aneurysm.
"What the hell happened?" he roars.
Everyone starts talking at once.
"There was an incident—"
"The tree caught fire—"
"But we put it out!"
"Petrov saved the day—"
"I am hero," Petrov confirms.
"There was arm wrestling—"
"Becker started it!"
"I did not!"
"You absolutely did!"
Frank holds up both hands. "One at a time!"
"We've got things under control, boss," Hunter starts. "There was a mishap—"
But Frank's not listening anymore. His eyes have locked onto Mama Paws sitting in the chair, scratches on her face, and his entire demeanor changes.
The anger evaporates, replaced by concern so immediate and intense it's almost jarring.
"Fuck the mishap." He's already moving, crossing the bar in long strides. "Celeste! What happened?"
Oh. So that's her name. It suits her. Sounds elegant, like she should be hosting garden parties and drinking tea from actual china.
Frank crouches beside her chair, taking her hands. There's a tenderness there that makes my chest do a weird thing.
"I'm fine, Frank," she says, but her voice wavers. "Just some scratches from bathing kittens."
"Kittens," he repeats flatly.
"Very angry kittens."
He's examining her face, gentle but thorough, and I can see the exact moment he decides the scratches aren't life-threatening because his shoulders relax slightly.
