More mewing.
"I know. You're scared. But I'm going to help you out of there." I thought I had a crush on Tyler before… but now? Listening to him talking gently to a kitten? This man is perfect.
I hear shuffling. A grunt of effort.
"Come on, sweetheart. Work with me here."
Is he talking to the kitten or me? Because my brain has short-circuited at the sound of "sweetheart" in that deep, patient voice.
"Got you." Tyler slides back out from under the car, and cradled against his chest is the tiniest ball of fluff I've ever seen.
The kitten can't be more than six weeks old. A soft ball of gray fur and enormous blue eyes.
"Oh my God," I breathe. "She's so small."
"She is." Tyler stands, cupping the kitten carefully in his large hands. "Looks healthy though. Good weight. Eyes are clear."
"How do you know so much about kittens?"
"Had a cat growing up. Mittens. She was the best." His expression goes soft at the memory. "She lived to be nineteen. Got me through some rough years."
The kitten mews and tries to climb up his chest.
"Easy, little one. You're safe now." He looks at me. "Any idea where she came from?"
"No. But there are a few strays around the complex. Maybe she's from one of their litters?"
"Probably." He gently scratches behind the kitten's ears, and she immediately starts purring. "She needs food. Water. A litter box. Probably a vet check too."
"I don't have any of that. I've never had a pet before,” I confess. Not for lack of wanting. My parents were no pet type of people. They wanted to be able to go whenever and wherever they wanted without the added hassle of finding care for a pet. Plus, my mom’s OCD would never have allowed for pet hair or a litter box in our home. We had to take our shoes off when we entered and put on booties. There was no way she would haveallowed anything that could be deemed to have added germs or dirt into the house.
"I'd take her, but..." He sighs, looking genuinely regretful. "My apartment has a strict no-pets policy. And with my military schedule, deployments, training exercises—it wouldn't be fair to her."
The kitten nuzzles against his hand, and my heart melts.
"She likes you."
"I like her too. But that doesn't change the logistics." He looks at me, and there's something hopeful in his expression. "What about you? Could you take her?"
"Me?"
"You work at the coffee shop, right? You have regular hours." He holds the kitten up slightly. "She needs someone. And you seem like the kind of person who'd take good care of her."
"I own the coffee shop,” I can’t help but correct him. “I don't know anything about taking care of a kitten."
"I could help you. I’ll buy the supplies. Show you what she needs." His voice goes quieter. "Please, Chloe. I can't leave her out here. It's not safe. And the shelter... they're overcrowded. And it’s a kill shelter. She's so small, she might not?—"
"Okay." I’m surprised when I hear the words come out of my mouth. But, I did always want a pet and this little ball of fur… maybe she’s exactly what I need.
"Okay?"
"Okay, I'll take her." I reach out and gently touch the kitten's head. She's so soft. "But you'll really help me get supplies?"
"Absolutely. There's a pet store about ten minutes from here. We could go right now if you want."
"Don't you need to shower or something? You're all sweaty from your run."
Heat creeps up my neck the second the words leave my mouth. Why did I mention his sweat? Why am I looking at his sweat?
