"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.
