As I stare up at the whimsical sign for Catnip & Cappuccinos, guilt swirls in my stomach. Considering I’m ten minutes late, poor Sebastian is probably sitting inside waiting for me right now. What if he’s hoping to meet his soulmate while, to me, this is nothing more than an opportunity to cross off another task?
I’ve been so focused on my objective—complete the list and create a winning ad campaign—that I hadn’t stopped to consider real people might get hurt in the process.
I smooth back the flyaways disheveled by the chilly gust of wind, reminding myself that it’s just one date. Besides, we might not even like each other.
With that thought in mind, I push through the front door.
Once inside the cozy cat café, some of my anxiety wanes. It’s the cutest coffee shop I’ve ever seen, all bright pops of color and funky, bohemian fabrics. The ruddy brick walls are covered in artwork featuring famous literary cats, from the cheeky Cheshire in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland to Dr. Seuss’s Cat in the Hat. There are a few less obvious ones, too, like the ginger cat with a smooshed face that I’m pretty sure is supposed to be Crookshanks from Harry Potter. As an unabashed booklover, I immediately feel at home.
While I unbutton my new coat—an Isabel Marant shearling jacket I found on sale at Bloomingdale’s earlier this morning—my gaze sweeps the café in search of Sebastian.
Cats and kittens in every size and color imaginable canoodle with coffee-sipping patrons, creating a happy, contented aura that spills into every nook and cranny. I can feel my own mouth curling at the edges until a loud sneeze makes me jump, and the smile vanishes.
A man seated in the far corner blows his nose into a napkin, then crumples it into a ball and drops it on the table near a pile of other wadded-up napkins. Ew.
My heart plummets when I see his face. Although it’s blotchier and rounder than I expected, the man is clearly Sebastian. He retrieves a small lint roller from his briefcase and rubs it furiously over his immaculate navy suit.
The ungracious part of me wants to turn around right now, but it wouldn’t be fair to judge him so hastily. Besides, I need to make it through the entire date or else it doesn’t count.
“Sebastian?” I say tentatively, approaching the table.
He glances up and smiles. At least, I think it’s a smile. The chiseled features from his profile photo are now so pink and puffy, he resembles a bloated salmon.
“Quincy, hi. Nice to meet you.” He sets the lint roller on the table next to his mountain of soggy napkins. “I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered for us while I was waiting.”
“No problem. Sorry I’m late.” I shrug out of my coat and loop it over the back of the chair before sitting down. “Have you been waiting long?”
“About twenty minutes. I like to arrive ten minutes early. But don’t worry, a cute girl like you is worth the wait.” His left eye twitches slightly, and I think he’s trying to wink, but it’s impossible to know for sure. His eyelids are so swollen, they barely budge.
“Welcome to Catnip & Cappuccinos.” A young Lucille Ball look-alike wearing a retro-style apron and cat-eye glasses sets two mismatched mugs on the table. “Here are your Persian Purr-overs,” she says, rolling her r’s.
I thank her and reach for the mug, in desperate need of caffeine. And maybe an EpiPen for Sebastian. I’m pretty sure he’s having an intense allergic reaction.
“I hope you don’t mind, they’re decaf,” he says, dumping a sugar packet into his coffee. “My body doesn’t react well to caffeine.”
“Or to cat dander?” I ask gently, hoping I don’t offend him with my concern.
“Is it that obvious?” He sniffles and reaches for the last remaining napkin.
“To be honest, you look like you’re pretty miserable. I’d be happy to go somewhere else where you’ll be more comfortable.”
“No, no, I’m fine. It’s only a mild allergy.” He blows his nose so loudly the cat being snuggled by a woman seated at the table next to us leaps two feet in the air then lands in her enormous cappuccino, spilling it across the table. The frothy buffet draws half a dozen other cats, triggering a feline feeding frenzy.
“Are you sure? There’s a teahouse next door. We could—”
“No, no.” He waves his hand, dismissing my offer. “That’s not how this works. The app picks the location. If you don’t follow the rules, then what’s the point of using the app?”
“Um…” I’m not sure what to say. But he’s an awfully big stickler for the rules for someone who’s basically become one humongous hive.
“Although, I have to say,” he adds, casting a displeased glance around the room. “I’m surprised places like this even exist. Aren’t all these cats a health code violation?”
“I don’t know much about health codes, but cats are generally considered fairly clean animals. They groom themselves several times a day.”
“Yeah, with their tongues.” He makes a gagging gesture, and I can’t help thinking he’s being a little uncharitable for someone who’s elbow deep in a pile of used tissues.
“So,” I say, eager to change the subject. “You’re a dog person, then?”
“Not particularly. But they’re better than cats. Did you know that people in medieval times believed cats were the devil’s minions and escorted souls to Hades?”
“At least they’re cute escorts.” I smile, trying to lighten the mood as an adorable calico kitten paws at my pant leg. I can’t resist bending down to scratch her tiny head, noting the name on her pink collar says Whiskers.
“Cute?” Sebastian scoffs. “Tell that to kids in Iceland. They have a legend called the Yule Cat. The creature prowls the countryside looking for human flesh to devour.”
How charming, I think morosely.
“But you won’t eat me, will you, Whiskers?” I rub the tip of my finger beneath her chin, and she purrs sweetly. If it weren’t for Sebastian, I’d scoop her into my lap.
“If you died alone in your apartment, she’d eat every last appendage, saving your eyeballs for last like a couple of plump maraschino cherries,” he says matter-of-factly. “To that little carnivore, you’re basically a human charcuterie board.”
Is this guy for real? I’m trying to be understanding—after all, his face is starting to look like a lumpy marshmallow slowly expanding to twice its size—but the overt negativity, coupled with the unsavory imagery, is becoming irksome. Still, I can’t walk out, no matter how badly I’m tempted. My only hope to put us both out of our misery is to get him to end the date. And soon.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I say casually. “My cats are perfectly harmless.”
“You have cats?” He gapes at me in horror like I’d just sprouted a tail and whiskers.
“Yep! An even dozen. There’s Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen.” I tick off the names of my fictitious cats on my fingers, then realize I’m running out of reindeer. In a panic, I add the first names that pop into my mind. “And Justin, Joey, JC, and Lance.” As if it isn’t bad enough that I’m lying to the man, I embarrassingly rattled off the band members of NSYNC. Shoot. Except, I forgot Chris Kirkpatrick. Oh, well. A baker’s dozen might have been pushing the bounds of believability.
“I, uh, didn’t realize you had so many cats.” He shrinks back in his chair and looks as disgusted as if I’d just coughed up a hair ball.
“They’re all angels. I think you’ll really come to love them. You know, as soon as you get your shots.”
“M-my shots?” he stammers.
“Uh-huh,” I say brightly. “Weekly shots. In your tushy. But don’t worry, you only need to get them for, like, three to five years.”
His eyes bulge, and I’m starting to feel a little bad for my charade, but he still hasn’t left, so I pull out one last stop.
“What do you think, Whiskers? Do you want Sebastian to be your new daddy?” I lift the adorable kitten into my arms and nuzzle her face.
“I, uh, forgot,” Sebastian says quickly, “I promised a friend I’d help him move today.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.” I frown. “Should we reschedule? You can come over to my place and meet the kids.”
He must be visualizing a dozen ferocious felines feasting on his lifeless body, because he scoots his chair back so fast it topples over and clatters against the floor. The commotion startles the nearby cats into a hissing hysteria, which sends Sebastian running for the door, wielding his briefcase like a shield.
“Sorry you had to see that, Whiskers.” I pat her head. “And I’m afraid I’ve set a bad example. You shouldn’t lie, okay?”
Whiskers licks my hand with her sandpapery tongue, as if to communicate she understands my—admittedly hypocritical—life lesson. She has the most beseeching golden-hued eyes, and as she gazes into mine, I feel a certain kinship with the sweet little thing.
“Whiskers is the last one in her litter to be adopted.” The girl who brought our coffee earlier pauses to give the kitten a pitying look. “A couple took her home a few weeks ago, but they brought her back after only one day.”
“Oh, how sad.” I cuddle Whiskers closer. “How come?”
“They said she wasn’t any good at normal cat stuff. She tried to befriend a mouse instead of catching it and wouldn’t use the litter box. Oh, and weirdly, they said she’d jump off the furniture but never land on her feet.” The girl shrugs and turns away to buss a nearby table.
“Huh.” I pet Whiskers’s tricolored coat, loving the soft feel of it beneath my fingertips. “That’s really not so strange,” I say, hoping to comfort her. “And I don’t blame you for not using a litter box. It’s kind of unsanitary when you think about it.”
Whiskers purrs peacefully, snuggling against me. And even though my date is over, and I should be leaving, I don’t budge.
Instead, I pull out my phone and dial Brynn.
She answers before the second ring. “Tell me everything!” she squeals. “Was it love at first sight?”
I glance down at Whiskers and smile. “Yeah, I think it was.”