"Thank you for saying yes. To all of it." He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "I've been wanting to talk to you for months. Trying to work up the courage to say more than 'large Americano, please.'"
"Really?"
"Really. You intimidate me, Chloe Painter."
"I intimidate you? You're a Special Forces soldier."
"And you're a woman who built a business from scratch while being kind to every person who walks through your door. I’ve seen you handle some nasty customers and have had to stop myself from intervening. You do it with grace and kindness that I wish there was more of in the world. That's way more impressive than anything I've done."
I don't know what to say to that.
Tyler steps back. "I should go. Let you get some rest. But I'll see you Tuesday."
"Tuesday. I'll be ready."
"Good. And Chloe?"
"Yeah?"
"Check on Mochi before bed, make sure she has water and food. And if anything seems wrong, call me. Anytime. I mean it."
"I will. Thank you, Tyler."
"You're welcome. Sleep well, sweetheart."
He leaves, and I float into my apartment.
Mochi is curled up on Mr. Snuggles again, fast asleep.
I check her water, her food, her litter box. Everything is perfect.
Then I collapse on my bed and text the group chat.
Chloe: I have a date. With Tyler. Tuesday night.
The responses are immediate and enthusiastic.
And as I fall asleep that night, with Mochi purring on my chest, I think about how much my life can change in a single afternoon.
One stuck kitten.
One jogging soldier.
One dinner that felt like fate.
Maybe Emily was right.
Maybe this is the beginning of something.
CHAPTER 3
The next three days absolutely fly by. Tyler is in the field, so I don’t see him for his usual coffee runs. He makes sure to text me every night and the conversations are lighthearted. I send him photos of Mochi every day and give him the full update after her late afternoon vet appointment Monday.
The restaurant Tyler chooses for us is perfect. Another Italian place, but he asked if I’d be good with it and I’d said yes. Who doesn’t love Italian? It’s a mom and pop restaurant on the corner of a quiet street.
It’s not too fancy that I feel out of place in my jeans and sweater, but nice enough that it feels special. Warm lighting, checkered tablecloths, the smell of garlic and fresh bread that makes my mouth water the second we walk in.
The hostess seats us at a corner booth, and I slide in, immediately reaching for the breadbasket.
