Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Henry

"HE'S A WONDERFUL cat," I say to the couple watching me scratch Tommy's chin. "He spends most of his time in that window over there enjoying the sun when it comes in. A great cuddler too."

Tommy, a big old tabby cat, rolls onto his back and presents his belly as though to display his cuddling prowess. I stroke the soft fur of his tummy gently, and he closes his eyes in feline bliss.

"Could I?" a woman asks.

"Of course," I say. "He loves a belly rub."

She pets him tentatively, and joy lights her face as Tommy's purrs deepen. She shoots a look at her partner, a man who's smiling quietly beside her, and I silently praise Tommy for impressing the couple so much. He was already an older cat when he came to us. His previous owner had passed away, and now the sweet old man would love nothing more than to live out his days as someone's lap cat. Maybe this couple's lap cat. I really, really hope that's where this is headed. Tommy deserves it.

"You know," I say as the woman keeps petting Tommy and his purrs rumble louder, "he's up for adoption. He's a bit older, but he'd love a nice, quiet home with no other pets. You two said you lived nearby?"

"Yes, we have a little place about fifteen minutes away, but it's just us," the woman says.

"That sounds perfect," I suggest.

The couple shares a look. "We'd have to think about it but…"

"I don't want to pressure you," I say quickly. "But since Tommy seems to like you so much, I thought I'd let you know that he's available."

"Oh, I love him," the woman coos. "What do you think, hon?"

The man gets closer and joins in on petting Tommy, who couldn't be happier about getting twice the attention. He sprawls out for the couple, soaking in the free pets.

"We have been talking about a pet…" the man says.

"Exactly, and he's such a good boy," the woman says.

I back off, letting them discuss. My time here has taught me that people will make better decisions without the pressure of an employee lingering at their shoulder. But as I head toward the edge of the room, I nudge my boss Chloe and jerk my head toward where the couple is fawning over Tommy.

"This might be his people," I say quietly.

"Tommy? Oh, I hope so. That sweet old man needs a nice home. Kids? Pets?"

I shake my head. "Nothing. It's just them. They're perfect."

Chloe claps me on the shoulder. "Good work, Henry. I'll keep an eye on them."

I leave Chloe to seal the deal, if that's what the couple decides, and make a loop of the rest of the café. People are playing with the cats brave enough to hang out at ground level or trying to lure the skittish ones off the tops of the cat trees all over the room. I glance at the clock. Only a few minutes left on this group, then I'll get a short break before the next round begins. It's been non-stop today — for me as well as the cats. Wave after wave of people have come in to hang out with the cats or get a snack or both. We even had River leading some "cat yoga" classes today. Those sessions are always a hit. People love having a cat jumping on their back or running between their legs while they're in a downward dog pose.

It's also made for an exhausting day, however, another one of those long shifts where I get very little help from the high schoolers who are supposed to be manning the register. But when I see the couple from earlier talking with Chloe and signing the paperwork that'll mean Tommy goes to a comfortable, loving home, it all feels worth it. I'll miss the big old guy, but there's few things better than seeing a cat like him find a good home. All of our cats here are rescues, so many of them have been in search of a safe, secure living situation for far too long.

The couple is still figuring out the adoption process when the rest of their timeslot exits. I steal a moment of rest in one of the chairs meant for patrons, trying not to think about how badly I'd like to go home. I have to perk back up for this next group, but it really would be nice if I had a bit more help today. Maybe I can talk to Chloe about hiring more employees for this place. The part-time high schoolers aren't enough for how popular the café has become.

My break feels far too brief. In what seems mere seconds, people are filtering in through the front door. They pause in our reception area, which is cut off from the café and cat room by two doors an employee has to open from the inside. This helps prevent a cat from sneaking out and getting hurt or lost.

I force myself up and summon every bit of energy I have left. But as I make for the door, I stumble over my own feet. A man stands amid the group, and the second our eyes meet through the windows a bolt of recognition flashes through me. He's taller than I remember, but Alex cuts his hair exactly the same way he cut it when we were going to high school in this little town. Stubble now shadows his jaw, and he's filled out nicely since we were teenagers, but there's no doubt that it's him. I can tell by the way his dark eyes widen at the sight of me.

This was definitely not a complication I anticipated or needed tonight.

Alex and I weren't really friends in high school, more like acquaintances. Once in a while I'd see him at a party or something, but I wouldn't call us close. For one thing, I was already out in high school. Kind of hard to hide it in my case. And Alex was not only straight, but popular, constantly dating cheerleaders and athletes. Our social circles simply never overlapped. It's been a good seven years since I've seen him, but I doubt much has changed in that regard.

Even so, my stomach does a very ill-advised flippy thing at the sight of him. Alex was hot enough when he was an awkward teenager who was somehow less awkward than the rest of us. As a whole adult man, he's devastating.

I try to get it together before I reach the door that will let the patrons into the café. It's actually two doors, one connecting to the café, a short hall, and then a second door for the reception area. This ensures that even if a cat sneaks through one line of defense, there's a backup in place.

I unlock the café door, then step into the hall and unlock the reception area door. I usher the group into the little hall, ensure the doors are closed, then open the café door again and welcome them all inside.

"Welcome to Rainbow Rescue Cat Café," I say. "Please feel free to interact with the cats, but keep in mind they won't always feel up to playing or pets. If someone's looking overwhelmed, it's best to leave them be, but we have plenty of toys around that you should feel free to play with. All of our cats here are rescues, so they come from all kinds of circumstances and experiences. And our café is located right up there, so you can get a drink or a snack to enjoy during your time. That's all. Please enjoy!"

The speech is so automatic for me that I barely hear myself. The whole time, my eyes try to slide back toward Alex, to assess his reaction. Does he remember me? Maybe I was too insignificant during high school to stick in his mind, a random, weird queer kid who didn't factor into his life.

I back out of the way, and ten or so guests disperse through the café. Three of those guests are Alex and two people I assume are his parents. They mill about the room, Alex hanging back and looking like he'd rather be anywhere but here. That shouldn't bother me so much, but for some reason, it does. Tripp Lake is wonderful, and he must be visiting from out of town. Otherwise I would have seen him at some point before today. Why does he look like everything here is coated in stinking grime? I intercept him while he stands by a window gazing outside like he wants to smash the glass and flee.

"Hey."

He startles. "Oh, hi. Um…"

"Henry. From high school?"

"I remember."

Does he? I have no reason to doubt him, but why would he bother remembering someone like me?

"So, you … work here?" he says, stiff and awkward. "I thought you went to college on the East Coast. How'd you end up back in a place like this?"

His sneer unfortunately does not take away from his handsomeness whatsoever. He talks like I've sentenced myself to some horrific fate. Does he hate his own hometown that much?

"I did go to school out east," I say. "But afterward I moved back here."

"Why?" He catches himself and shakes his head. "Sorry, I didn't mean that. I just…"

I laugh behind my hand. "It's okay. I missed this place when I was out on the East Coast. I thought I wanted to get away, but it turned out four years was enough. By the time I graduated, I couldn't wait to be back in the Pacific Northwest. I think the East Coast might be a bit intense for me. You're visiting, I assume?"

His scowl deepens, and I really wish every expression didn't look so good on him, because he's probably married or something by now. Even if he isn't, I shouldn't be pathetically pining over a customer, and one who I know is straight. It's just hard when the hot, popular dude from your high school returns out of nowhere and is somehow even more attractive than you remember. Up close, I can tell that Alex filled out in all the best ways, his shoulders and chest broad under his hoodie, his five o'clock shadow dark and rugged. He smells like grass and man, and it's a perfume that makes my head light.

"Visiting," Alex confirms. "Just for a few days."

I should not feel disappointed, but I do. As useless as it is, I want him to say he's staying here, because that means I could bump into him again some time.

A brush of fur against my leg finally distracts me from unhelpful thoughts. Poppy is rubbing against my leg and purring for attention. I take the excuse and bend down to pet her, nice, firm pats like she prefers. She purrs and preens, dancing around me to get more attention.

When I look up, Alex is watching me.

He towers with me crouched on the floor petting Poppy, his dark eyes like inky pools. And I know I'm being pathetic and overly optimistic, but I swear I see something more in his face than the annoyance he wore a moment ago, something that has my whole body reacting on pure instinct.

It's a bad instinct. A bad, stupid instinct. Because there is absolutely no way some straight guy from my high school who looks like he hates every inch of Tripp Lake could be looking at me with anything even remotely resembling interest.

Right?