Chapter Text
Mango waddled up the linoleum aisle like a king passing his royal subjects before coming to a halt at her feet and flopping onto his side. Mango was by far the fattest cat that she’d ever seen; she wasn’t sure how he moved at all. At least he wasn’t a flight risk. He couldn’t even jump over the feeding pen. Most of the cats were confined to a small feeding pen during mealtimes to avoid messes. The cats who ate first, though, were the ones who had special diets and were confined to cages while they ate.
“You better enjoy being a fatass while you still can,” she told the cat. He pawed at her shoes until she juggled bowls in her arms and leaned down to scratch his neck. He’d already lost two pounds, much to his chagrin. The diet the shelter had put him on after being surrendered was saving his life. As the days passed, she could see the real Mango coming through.
It was moments like these that she was forced to reflect on how lucky she was. She was literally being paid to pet and feed cats. The pay was shit at the shelter—she was lucky to be paid at all, since most people who worked there were volunteers—but she’d never give up the job for anything.
She made sure to give Edmond his arthritis meds with his pulverised wet food. Poor guy only had one tooth left, hanging on by a thread. She always gave him an extra touch of love—chances were, this shelter would be his last home. She strived to make it his best one.
The kittens Washing Machine and Dryer huddled together in the cage to the left, anxiously watching her from the back corner. Even when she opened the cage doors and placed the bowl of food in front of them, they seemed no friendlier. Their beady little eyes stared past her soul. She was sure that kitten minds held every secret in the universe.
Below them, Poncho got his vitamins, Dog got her watered-down kibble, and Oreo didn’t waste any time inhaling her wet food. Wrath lived up to his name and had to eat his food alone as well.
She lowered a long tray of kibble-filled bowls and what she called cat soup—a cocktail of tuna, water, and gravy—into the feeding pen. Striped, tabby, and tortoiseshell tails stuck up and darted into the centre like flagpoles fighting for food. Mango was trying to jump over the fence, but couldn’t get his back feet more than an inch off the floor. She scooped him up and scratched his neck to console him.
In the corner of her eye, she watched a black shape shadow the far window of the room. A cat tree had been set up to invite passersby inside the cat room. Normally, they went straight for the dog pen where they could play fetch and interact with them outside. Oreo enjoyed sitting at the top of the tree to watch animals leave and enter her kingdom. Volunteers and staff always waved at her when they passed. Now, Kiki sat huddled in the cave of the covered box in the middle of the tree. She made a habit of taking the leftovers from the other cats after meals. Until they were done, she stared out from her hiding place with giant, glowing green eyes.
The shadow was that of a man. Giant, wide shoulders, dressed in black jeans, quarter shirt and medical mask, and those rugged scars over his neck, jutting out from above his mask. He was intimidating and never made eye contact nor spoke to anyone.
Still, she recognized him. It had been at least a month since his last visit, but when he did visit, he could be found at the shelter almost every day. Despite his inability to acknowledge other people, the cats loved him, and he was now a familiar face to them. Kiki slid out from her cave with a short mewl. The man knelt in front of the cat. Kiki shook herself out and paced across the cat tree, expecting him to start the cuddles ASAP. It had been a slow day, and the cats were waiting for someone exactly like him to come along. The glass kept them separated.
She wasn’t sure what his deal was. He’d never said a word to her, but she recognized why he kept coming back. He came to see these cats because it filled some hole in him, like they did her. That blond hair had gotten longer since she’d last seen him. Now, it hung over his eyebrows and obviously annoyed him, judging by the way he kept carding it back to see Kiki. His eyes crinkled in the corners when he smiled under the mask.
He seemed startled when he realised that she was approaching the heavy double door beside him. By the time it opened, he was standing with his hands in his pockets like a deer in headlights.
“It’s feeding time. You wanna come in?”
The man seemed to not understand her. She worried he may not speak English because of how hesitant his eyes turned.
“I’m allowed?” He asked finally. His voice matched him. It was deep and loud, even when he was obviously trying to speak so lowly.
“Yeah! Come on,” she waved him inside with the arm that wasn’t clutching Mango to her breast. Once the door swung closed behind him and she was sure that Kiki hadn’t made another escape attempt, she held Mango out to him. The cat hung between them lamely. At least he enjoyed the stretch.
“You wanna hold him? Mango likes you. They all do.”
Maybe the cats were making her sentimental today. Whatever it was, she was tired of watching him look lonely in a room full of friends.
He didn’t hesitate to take the living bowling ball. She could almost feel the vibrations of his purrs from where she stood.
Cats were beginning to notice their friend’s arrival. The ones who weren’t overcome by their instinctual need for food briefly left their meals to approach him. He knelt in the wave of cats. It only took a moment for tufts of multicoloured fur to soil his black clothes. It felt like the reunion of a family. Mozart jumped onto his shoulder and sat there, waiting for his turn for affection.
She busied herself by removing the empty bowls from the tray and setting them in the sink on the far wall, but kept a watchful eye on the man. He was speaking to the cats, too quietly for her to hear.
“Thought the visiting hours were over for today?” He said finally. He certainly wasn’t asking the cats, but part of her couldn’t believe that he was asking her, either.
“Well, they’ve been lonely today.” She realised that once this conversation had started, she needed to carry it on. Plus, she liked his Manchester accent, which was rare this far west in the ancient little town of Somerset. “You haven’t been back in a while. They missed you.”
He stared at her. She had to turn away to conceal her tomato-red cheeks.
“I, uh… have a job that keeps me away from home,” he explained after a moment. He made the declaration sound as if he’d just released a life-changing secret.
“Is that why you never take one home?”
“Well, yeah. And I don’t think I’d make a good dad.”
She laughed. He watched. She blushed and focused on petting Maurice as he licked the remnants of soup from one of the cocktail bowls in the sink. She ran the water; she knew he loved drinking from anything besides a water bowl.
“Have you ever thought about fostering? Sometimes I bring a cat home for a few weeks just so they don’t forget what it’s like sleeping in a bed with someone who loves them.”
His brows furrowed.
“You just give it back?”
“No. I give them some TLC until they find a permanent home.”
“Don’t they get sad?”
She felt guilty for being so excited. He understood what she was trying to say.
“Sure. Maybe they do. But I think having something nice for a little bit is better than having nothing nice at all.”
He stared down at Mango without seeing. The man—who she realised was still nameless—let the conversation end there. After another ten minutes of silently petting cats, he left.
It didn’t take long for him to return. The next day, he wore the same mask, but exchanged his outfit for a Metallica t-shirt and blue jeans. She couldn’t remember seeing him in short sleeves before. That tattoo he’d always teased her with went farther up his arm than she expected, almost to his shoulder. Scars interrupted the ink. Some of them were obviously self-inflicted, but ancient. There was a bullet’s entrance and exit wound in the meat of his bicep.
She grinned up at him when she saw him approach the shelter’s entrance. He held it open for a woman and her daughter and then turned to the front desk once he entered. This was the first time he’d ever deviated from his usual beeline into the cat room.
“Hey. Welcome back. Cats are in great moods today. Lots of energy.” As she spoke, she flipped through paperwork and charts behind the desk. She’d been answering calls all morning. Her gaze only met his when she didn’t get a response. He seemed to be thinking hard about something.
“I was thinking about what you said yesterday.”
There was panic for a moment. What did she say? Hopefully not something offensive. Well, she did call Mango a fatass. She’d done that this morning as well.
“…About deserving nice things.”
A sigh of relief and realisation left her. “Oh. Well, we all deserve nice things. Especially cats. They’re good creatures, their sharp edges just make them hard to love sometimes.”
Her stomach filled with butterflies when she realised that he was studying her. She blushed and tried to duck her head to hide it. God, she hated her blushing. Cats never made fun of her for how red her face got when she was nervous or emotional.
“Did you want to get a drink with me tonight?”
She forgot how to blush. Or that she was blushing. Her eyes shot up to his. He was serious.
“Uh…”
They stared at each other for a moment. Finally, she shook herself from her daze. “Yeah. Yes. Where were you thinking?”
“You like the Malt Shovel?”
“Of course I like the Malt Shovel. I get off at six. I can meet you there?”
“You drive here? I can pick you up.”
“That would be stupendous.”
She could’ve danced with excitement. Instead, she grinned wildly and lowered her head. Again, that blush raged across her features.
“I’m Simon, by the way.”
While their hands met and shook, she introduced herself as well, feeling like an idiot. She was also reminded of how fond she was of the crow feet that formed beside Simon’s blue eyes. She wanted to see what was under his mask, but surprisingly, that wasn’t necessary for her to agree to go out with him.
By now, Simon had lost his nerve, and he sheepishly stepped back from the desk. “I’ll see you later, then?”
She nodded. “Yeah. See you later, Simon.”
Instead of heading for the cat room, Simon turned and left the building with his head down and his hands in his jean pockets. She watched him cross the parking lot and get into his truck, taking note of his licence plate and how nervous the giant monster of a man obviously was.
He hadn’t come here for the cats. Today, he’d come for her.
She pulled out her phone, still grinning with a hand over her mouth to stifle a thrilled squeak. She texted her friend.
“ Going on a date at the Malt Shovel tonight. This is his licence plate .”
Her reply was almost instantaneous.
“ Does he like cats? ”
“ He does. He really, really likes cats. And I think he likes me .”
When that truck pulled into the parking lot, she giddily handed a volunteer the cat room keys.
“Give them some love for me.” She didn’t mean to sound so out of breath as she gathered her bag and sweater. Simon got out of the truck and leaned against the tailgate. He wasn’t wearing his mask today. She could see the sharpness of his jaw and a contented smile where it should have been. The elderly woman glowed when she was excited, mirroring her coworker’s thrill.
“Have a blast, sweetheart. Be safe.”
“Always, Be. I’ll see you next week!”
They waved to each other as she exited the building. She barely remembered to glance both ways before hopping across the parking lot and coming to stand in front of Simon. He was drinking her in, studying her fur-covered jeans and red shelter uniform shirt with the paw print on the sleeve and logo on the chest. Stunning, he decided.
Without his mask, his eyes didn’t get lost under his hair. Actually, she realised he'd gotten a haircut, a fade that cleaned up his appearance considerably. Now, there was nothing obstructing those endless blue eyes. The haircut definitely suited him.
“Ready?”
She nodded. “Hell yeah.”
Simon opened the passenger door for her, closed it once she was settled in his truck, and then went around to the driver’s seat. The truck started with a gentle rumble.
“What brought you to the shelter? You’ve been there for years, right?”
Simon nursed another porter. She’d chosen a stout from one of the local breweries that the Malt Shovel catered, and was now on her second one.
She shrugged at his question. “I just like animals. They’re nicer than a lot of humans, you know? I started working in the bird room first, but now I work with everyone.”
“You have any cats?”
“Yep. Hadley is a British short hair I took home from the shelter. Molly is a kitten I’m fostering. She’ll go back to the shelter soon, so she can find herself a home.”
“I don’t think I could work there without taking everyone home with me,” he admitted.
She shook her head with a laugh. “Yeah, Simon. It’s hard. What about you? You said your job keeps you away from home.”
He took a swig of his beer. “Yeah. Military. I’ve spent a lot of time overseas. Not a lot of time to hang out with animals. It’s nice when I come home, though, to visit the shelter. Something I always look forward to when I get back.” The only thing I look forward to.
“I’ve heard lots of stories of soldiers adopting cats from foreign countries and taking them on their tours. Nice to see that something good comes out of war.”
He snorted; she’d reminded him of a fond memory. “You like spiders?”
She gave him a humorous side-eye. “Big ones. That don’t live with me. Small ones that live in my bathroom and don’t pay rent can leave.”
He laughed. “I was in Urzikstan a month or two ago. Team was tenting out in the desert. One of my soldiers got the biggest fucking tarantula in his tent, and the whole camp went insane.”
“Oh, god,” she giggled, “Soldiers afraid of tarantulas? You couldn’t just shoot it?”
The memory made Simon laugh and almost choke on his beer. “He tried. Guy who was sleeping with the thing is Scottish. We all thought we were being raided. He got to sleep with holes in his tent for the next two nights.”
She guffawed. “Scottish. Checks out.”
“You a traveller? Been around?” He wondered.
She thumbed the condensation on her glass. “Not really. I like putting down roots. I don’t have a lot of family around. I spend a lot of time with Beatrice if she ever feels like a cuppa, but I mostly enjoy going for walks with Hadley. And I always put out food for the birds.”
“Sounds nice to me. Wait—you go for walks with Hadley? Like, on a leash?”
Her face lit up. “Yeah! He’s got his own little harness and everything. He loves visiting the water.”
“I don’t recall ever seeing that before. Walking a cat… huh.”
His tone was confused, but not judgmental. It encouraged her to shrug and say, “I was gonna go for a walk with him around town tomorrow evening. You’re welcome to join. I love that little cafe beside the government offices. The baristas always love seeing Hadley, too.”
“I’d enjoy that,” he found himself saying immediately.
The woman glanced around the bar while they sipped their drinks together.
“So, tell me about your people.”
“My people?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Your friends. Your family. The people that made Simon.”
He frowned when he thought. She watched those beautiful blue eyes trace the edge of his bottle.
“I don’t—,” he started. Simon didn’t have a family. Not anymore. But the more he thought about it, the more he realised that he was wrong, and saying ‘I don’t have any family’ would be offensive to the people he worked with. “Well, I’ve been working with this team for a few years now. Officially, at least. I’ve known them for longer.”
“Military guys,” she provided.
“Yeah. We’re from all over. Couple of us are from the UK. Austria, Korea, the US, Mexico. Good people. Friends.”
“Tarantula Guy one of them?”
They snickered. “Yep.”
“I bet you don’t let him live that one down.”
“Nope,” Simon grinned.
“That’s good. Means he’s family.”
Simon smiled to himself.
“You said you like going for walks with Hadley. Hiking? Or just around town?”
“No, I’m not a hiker. I… like being in my own little corner of the world. Does that make sense?”
He pondered her words before he decided, yes, it did. “I think so.”
“Y’know, there was a time in my life when I didn’t have all this. When I didn’t think I was ever going to have any of this. I have everything I ever wanted. Beatrice has afternoon tea with me if she’s not busy with her grandkids, I get to see my cats every day, I get to read my harlequin novels in a comfortable bed every night. I have it all.”
Simon’s heart warmed.
“What about you?”
He tilted his head.
“What about me?”
“I mean, what’s in your corner? If your family is in your team, what keeps bringing you back here?”
The question elicited a long sigh from Simon. He drank the last of his porter. He craved another one, but knew he wouldn’t be able to drive if he had it. And he was excited to personally drive her home tonight. She waited, unsure whether she should tell him to forget that she asked at all.
By the time they’d both had sips of courage, he cleared his throat and spoke, “I had family. Before everything changed. It’s… well, trying to explain it is like trying to sum up a lifetime of family drama. But I miss it. I miss the family that made me miserable, I miss coming back home to something, even if that something was a shit hole. Now, when I come back here from a job, I’m just waiting for them to call me and tell me to come back so I can be useful again.”
Simon certainly didn’t intend to be this honest. As soon as she felt pity for him, she fought it down. Simon wasn’t the type to want pity. He didn’t seem like the type to tell people his problems at all. She felt honoured to have listened to him.
He had no time for pity, and he wasn’t interested in waiting for it. Instead, he motioned to her drink. “You done?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Simon bought her beer, which she thanked him for more than once, and they walked together back out to his truck. The sun had set by then. A sprinkle of rain was starting to fall.
While they talked more about her own childhood in Somerset, she gave directions for Simon to drive her home. She was nervous, worried that she’d offended him by not giving a satisfactory response to his personal admittance. Once they idled outside her little townhouse—her corner of the world—she gathered her bag and sweater and turned to him.
“Thanks for the drinks. I had fun Simon.”
“Me, too,” he said. He was being completely honest. He craved more of her time, but felt guilty to ask for it.
“You wanna meet me here tomorrow? Seven? We’re taking Hadley for a stroll. And you’re gonna let me buy the drinks this time.”
“Deal. I’ll be here.”
“Okay,” she smiled widely. In the next moment, she’d leaned across the divider and her lips met Simon’s in a lighting-fast kiss.
It was brief enough for Simon to worry that he’d imagined it. Regardless, whatever she’d done had left him with the urge to vomit from the excited butterflies in his chest. She hopped from the truck, waved to him once the door closed, and darted up to her door.
He was too stupefied to wave back. He just watched her until she’d safely entered her home. Even then, it took him a moment before he was collected enough to drive away.