‘Not allergic to cats?’
‘You’re asking me now?’ he demands, a laugh playing at his lips.
I shrug. ‘I forgot. It’s a cat café.’
He bites his lip, reaches for his notepad, then seems to change his mind and takes my hand again. He gestures with the other for me to get the door, so I hold it open for him, and he winks as he brushes past me.
The entrance is a lobby, walled off with two sets of windows. To the left, behind a glass door, is the café. There are a few tables, a barista counter, some cat-themed decor. To the right, past an opaque door, is the cat lounge. There’s a sign stuck on the center and a laminated printout with warnings on what to do and not to do.
In front of us is a long counter with a register, and behind it is a man I don’t recognize from around town. Not that I know everyone, but I have keen eyes and tend to remember faces.
He’s tall, with loose brown curls and a scar along the leftside of his jawline. His shoulders are also—if possible—broader than Dex’s. The man must do nothing but work out.
He gives us a look up and down, which is not usual for customer service. If anything, he seems kind of dangerous. He definitely doesn’t seem like the kind of person who takes care of fuzzy little animals for a living.
More like he moves bodies in his free time.
He opens his mouth and begins speaking, but as Dex raises his hands to interpret, the man stops immediately.
Fuck, I really hope we’re not about to have a problem. It’s been years since some hearing asshole kicked me and the person interpreting for me out of a place, but it has happened. And I don’t think my temper will hold.
That’ll definitely kill any chance I have tonight for more than a kiss. That’ll probably put me in the negative hole so deep I’ll have to dig my way out.
But then the guy lifts his hands and signs. It’s not perfect—he’s got a thick hearing accent, and it’s not exactly ASL grammar, but it’s close enough. And I can understand him just fine.
‘Welcome to the cat café. Reservation?’
Dex looks suitably impressed and offers the guy a sunny smile, which makes my insides twist. I know this man isn’t flirting. He’s barely wearing an expression at all, and he’s not making eye contact with either of us.
But the protective and possessive feeling in my bones is almost overwhelming. I slide up to Dex’s side and offer my own smile. It’s probably not as nice as Dex’s, but the man doesn’t react at all.
‘Reservation for Rome. Two people.’
The guy taps on his iPad for a moment, then pulls out little stickers. They’re nothing fancy, just a red dot with the number three in the center, probably for the reservation slot.
‘You can get coffee, then take your drink into the cat lounge. You have fifty minutes,’ he signs. His fingers are a little stiff and a little too…punctual. ‘My brother is inside. His name is Milo. He owns the café.’
Dex tilts his head to the side. ‘Your name what?’
The guy lifts his hand and spells carefully, ‘Archie.’
He looks nothing like an Archie. He looks like a Duke or Callum or Atticus. But Dex doesn’t seem bothered by his appearance, so I’m pretty sure I’m just being a judgmental asshole again.
Dex nods and says, ‘Nice to meet you.’
Archie doesn’t sign it back.
After a beat, Dex shrugs and tugs me toward the café door. ‘Thirsty?’
I’m not. My stomach is in knots trying to get this right, but I follow him in anyway and hope they have something decaf because I don’t need any more caffeine with how jumpy I’m feeling.
There are two people ahead in the queue, which gives me time to look at the menu. All the items have cat-themed names, but there are descriptions under them, which I appreciate.
‘Look-look,’ Dex signs, his tongue wagging back and forth. This shouldn’t give me any ideas, but I just can’t help myself. ‘Purrfect London Afternoon. I want that.’
It’s just a London fog, but his excitement makes my chest squeeze, so I simply smile and nod.
‘You?’ he asks.
