by J. M. Snyder
“You…want to split up?” Dez asked. He didn’t want to impose himself on Fran. The guy had given him a lift, but that didn’t mean he wanted Dez trailing him around the store like a puppy.
“No. Unless you want to.”
“It would probably be faster.”
“What, you have a hot date or something?”
Dez barked a laugh. “Yeah, chance would be a fine thing.”
“You can’t have any trouble getting dates.”
A flush rose in Dez’s neck and face. “Let’s say I have trouble getting second dates.”
“Oh, dear. What do you do to those poor women?”
Was that a test? Did Fran want to know which sex he dated? Did that mean…?
A certain liveliness in Dez’s stomach area joined the flush. He sensed he would fuck this up. He always did, somehow. And he didn’t want to fuck it up. Not with Fran. Because there was something…he had hopes there. Oh, god, he needed to reply; he’d been silent too long. Come on, talk, keep it simple.
“I don’t date women.”
A grin spread over Fran’s face. “I knew there was a reason we got along so well.”
Dez turned and grabbed a random bag of veg on the shelf to hide the fact he was grinning, too. Okay, stay calm. That didn’t have to mean much. A good-looking, fun guy like Fran definitely wouldn’t have any trouble getting…dates. Maybe he was just glad to have another gay bloke around he could talk to, be friends with. God knows, Dez would have been happy to have such a friend ten years ago.
But Dez hadn’t seen Fran do a lot of entertaining. No parties that he’d heard. Maybe Fran worked too hard to party or date much. A small business was very tying. A business that included animals, even more so.
“How’d you come to start the cat café?” Dez asked as they cruised up the dairy aisle.
“I knew this Japanese girl when I was at uni, and she told me about the cat cafés in Japanese cities. Because people often live in places too small for pets, and work long hours, the idea of cafés with pets took off there. A couple of years ago, I got an inheritance from my grandmother and I decided to open my own business. As it happens, I love cats, but I didn’t much fancy opening a cattery. This is a lot more fun. Well, aside from the paperwork. Oh em gee.” He said that last with a dramatic gesture. “So much paperwork! The council had no clue how to license the place.”
“I can imagine.”
“The license I have is for performing animals. Can you imagine that? Performing cats! Some days I’m lucky if certain of them deign to wake up when the customers are in. If they were staff, I’d sack them.”
Dez laughed. “Yeah. Well, the way people will just sit and watch cats do anything, even sleeping could be a performance.”
“That’s true. I put up a video on our website of four of them sleeping in a heap in a basket. It’s half an hour long and it’s had thousands of views. The most action is a paw stretch or an ear flick. We cat lovers are nutters, aren’t we?”
Did that “we” included Dez, or was he being asked as an outsider? Was he a cat lover? He glanced at the cat-themed badges pinned to Fran’s denim jacket. Maybe he was becoming one.
“Yeah, we’re nutters okay.”
* * * *
When they got home, they helped each other inside with their purchases. As Fran locked his car, Dez waited for him at the door, carrying in the last couple of bags.
“Thanks for the lift,” he said. “And the whole trip. I…needed to get out. So thanks.”
“Yeah, you seemed like you needed to. It was no problem. It was fun.”
“Can I…make you dinner tonight? To say thanks. The café is closed all day, right? Including the evening?”
“It is. And, yes, I’d like that.” He again gave that kind smile of his, and Dez feared this was a pity date. But if pity was all he could get for now, he’d take it. He hadn’t earned much else.
“Is seven-thirty okay for you?” Dez asked when they got to Fran’s door at the top of the stairs.
“Perfect. Cats get fed at seven and they can amuse themselves for the evening. I’ll see you then. Bye for now.”
Fran kissed him on the cheek. It was a peck, a goodbye kiss, and he was off right after it with a wave and a grin.
Okay, that had just been a friendly thing, right? One gay bloke to another? Fran seemed the sort for that kind of gesture. Open, a little flamboyant. Because who’d expect a guy running a cat café to be straight anyway? Not like the way they expected a policeman to be straight.
Dez climbed the final set of stairs to his own flat, the last two shopping bags dangling from one hand. He’d never been up for those kinds of gestures—kisses, even from friends, not romantic partners—in public. He’d never really been in an environment where he felt he could do that without being…challenged. Okay, aside from a gay bar or two, but he’d never gone to those often. He’d always felt a bit awkward. The people he met there could be police-phobic, usually with good cause.
Never mind. He should stop over-thinking that kiss. If it meant something else, Fran would follow up. Again, he seemed that sort of guy. Not full of fear and running an endless internal monologue of self-doubt and second-guessing.
Dez let himself into his flat, then caught a whiff from the kitchen bin starting to get pretty ripe. Okay, he thought, putting down the bags. He had a few hours until Fran would arrived. Time to clean the hell out of this place.
Chapter 4
The flat looked pretty good by the time Fran showed up with a bottle of red wine tucked under one arm and a plate of cheesecake, covered by a clear plastic dome, in his hands. “I brought dessert.”
“Is that from the café?” Dez asked.
“Yes,” Fran admitted with a sheepish grin. He glanced around at the much-cleaner kitchen when he followed Dez in there. “But it’s in date and I swear it doesn’t have any cat hairs on it.”
Dez chuckled. “Put it in the fridge, then. Can I open that wine to breathe?” He took it, got out the corkscrew, and found himself struggling as the twisting movement sent pain lancing through his shoulder. He tried switching hands and nearly fumbled the bottle. “Damn.”
Fran took the bottle before he dropped it. “I’ve got it. Your shoulder bothering you?”
“It’s strange the movements that make it hurt. I don’t think I’ve uncorked anything since…” The shooting. The words hung unsaid in the air.
“Are you okay to drink?” Fran asked as the cork came out with a soft pop. “Are you on painkillers?”
“Only when I need them.”
And right now he could use them. Thoroughly cleaning the place had left him stiff and sore and craving a couple of painkillers. But if he took them he’d be out for the count and certainly not up for sparkling dinner conversation. To be honest, he probably wasn’t up for that anyway, but he intended to make an effort.
“I’m surprised you can do food in a place with animals,” he said.
Fran went along with the change in subject. “Oh, we’re quite restricted. We can’t cook or prep. Even the sandwiches have to come in ready-made. And of course, the cats must be kept out of the kitchen area. The hygiene inspectors from the council think I’m mad, though they said at least my animals are meant to be there in my establishment. Not like the rodents living in others.”
Dez shuddered and found a couple of wineglasses in the cupboard. They were dusty and he gave them a quick wash. “I suppose rats and mice won’t come near a cat café.”
“I guess not. We’ve certainly never seen any.”
“Good to know. Go take a seat. Dinner’s ready.”
“Can I help?”
“No, it’s all under control. It’s nothing special really…”
“Don’t be modest. I bet it’s great.” Fran took the wineglasses and bottle and went into the living room.
A few minutes later, Dez emerged with a casserole dish held in oven gloves and found Fran sitting at the small table by the window that looked out over the darkened
street.
He smiled as Dez approached. “Smells good.”
“It’s beef casserole. Hang on, vegetables coming, too.”
He dashed back for the bowl and warmed plates, then they were soon helping themselves. Fran poured the wine and Dez held up his glass in a toast.
“Thank you for taking me out today.”
“It was just to the supermarket.”
“I needed it. Just like I needed the push to get this place cleaned up. Thanks.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Fran said. “You’ve been ill.”
“No,” Dez said, shaking his head. He ate some beef. It had come out pretty well—mum’s recipe, which she’d emailed when he’d asked for something easy to make with beef. “Not really. I only said that so you didn’t think I was a slob. I’m not. But some days…some multiples of days are difficult. The only way out is to break the spiral, and you broke it.”
Fran ate in silence for a moment, and Dez feared he’d scared him off. Made him think Dez was a nutter. But after a moment, he nodded. “I figured it was something like that. Do you have PTSD?”
Dez fumbled his fork at the directness of the question. There was no awkwardness in Fran’s eyes. No judgement either. Just honest enquiry. “Yes,” Dez said.
Fran nodded. “My brother is in the army. He was in Afghanistan for a few months, and when he came back…” He paused and Dez held his breath, fearing he was going to hear a story of Fran losing his brother to suicide. But Fran went on, no tremor in his voice. “Things were tough for him for a while. But he got help and he’s fine now.”
“Is he still in the army?”
“Yes.”
It was a good thing to hear. That there was a road back. Dez smiled and raised his glass again. “To your brother. A real hero.”
Fran shook his head. “He never liked being called that either. I guess I should have learned from that and not bothered you with that stupid cake.”
“I’m quite glad in the end that you bothered me, Fran.”
Fran gave that smile again, the one that lit up his face. “Then I guess me never learning my lesson is a good thing.”
* * * *
Fran didn’t stay late. He had to go see to the cats. And Dez was seriously ready to take his strongest painkillers and seek a night of oblivion, away from his aching shoulder. He kept the pain well-hidden as he walked Fran to the door.
Fran moved in for a cheek peck again, but stopped suddenly and looked into Dez’s eyes. His pupils were big in the dimness. He raised a hand and stroked Dez’s face, smooth, just shaved before their…date. Was it a date? Or just a friendly dinner?
Fran leaned in again, and this time, kissed him on the lips. Right, yes, this made it a date.
It was quite a cautious kiss, Fran perhaps still unsure of Dez’s interest. He should reassure himself. It was definitely an interest returned. Dez opened his lips enough to let their tongues touch gently. When they parted for air, Dez spoke quietly.
“You…can do much better than me. You must know that.”
“Oh, shush. Riley likes you. That tells me a lot.” He darted in for a final kiss, a peck again, but on the lips. “Go get some rest. You’re in pain. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Dez blinked as the door opened and closed behind Fran. Guess the pain wasn’t so well-hidden after all. At least not from Fran.
* * * *
Sunday night, and Dez hadn’t seen much of Fran for a few days. So when he heard a tap at his door, he sprang out of his seat like someone just put forty thousand volts through it.
“Oh, hi,” Fran said when Dez opened the door. “Hey, you look great.”
Did he? He’d certainly slept better the last few days. And his clothes were more carefully pressed than usual. He also had a fresh haircut.
“Thanks. You, too.”
Not quite true. Fran was looking a bit tired. Sunday was a busy day in the café. The weather had turned warm and Fran’s skin gleamed with sweat. And someone had spilled something chocolatey down his T-shirt.
Fran snorted at the compliment. “Highly unlikely. I just thought I’m drop by before it gets late. It’s my day off tomorrow. One of the staff is coming in to watch over the cats. Would you like to spend the day with me? I was thinking of taking a trip along the coast. Nothing very exciting or anything…”
“I’d like that.”
The brightness of Fran’s smile hid the tiredness on his face. “Great. We can head out early, get brunch somewhere maybe.”
“Brunch…right.” God, if the lads at the station ever heard that. Brunch—the gayest meal. “Sounds great,” he added when he saw momentary worry on Fran’s face. “You want to come in for a cuppa?”
“I wish I could, but I’m still working. If I want to be out all day tomorrow, there are things I have to do tonight.”
“Then let me give you a hand. What are you doing?”
“Mostly stocktaking and ordering.”
“I can tick things off a list with the best of ‘em.”
“You’re a lifesaver.”
They at least didn’t have to work around the cats, all upstairs in their private residence. The store room was at the back of the café on the ground floor. The café sat silent, dark and empty, its tables, chairs, and sofas competing for space with elaborate cat condos, boxes full of toys, things to climb, and a rope bridge that stretched across the room from one fancy play tower to another. They had just as much stuff to play with, climb, and sleep on as they had upstairs. Those cats lived well.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much cat litter in one place in my life,” Dez said, looking with wonder at the shelves piled high with large bags of the stuff.
“Just had my delivery a few days ago. Okay, you’ve got the checklist, start calling out things on the list.”
Dez did, going through cat food and litter, cat shampoo and the like, then items for the café, napkins, condiment packs in individual serving sizes, huge bag of coffee beans and tea bags.
When that was done, they went to the kitchen and counted plates, bowls, glasses, and cups, in case of breakages during the week.
“Do you even count the knives and forks?” Dez asked, impressed at the attention to detail.
“That takes too long. The easiest method is to weigh them.”
“On what?”
“The scale the vet uses for the cats when he comes around for their monthly checkups. No, let me get that,” he said as Dez went to pick up two of the baskets that held cutlery. Dez took just one instead, though flushed with embarrassment. Did Fran think him weak? Someone who needed to be taken care of?
Maybe. But it would be pretty silly to try to prove him wrong by risking damage to the shoulder. The doctors had told him often he was lucky to still have feeling in the arm, especially the hand. That he should be careful to avoid aggravating it and possibly causing nerve damage.
When the work was done, they retreated upstairs to Fran’s flat. Fran opened the door to let the cats wander in if they chose.
“Thanks for the help,” he said, putting on the kettle. “Here, have some cake. It will be out of date by Tuesday, so might as well eat it now.”
“Half your diet seems to be ‘stuff we can’t serve in the café tomorrow,’” Dez observed.
Fran laughed. “Only half? I’d say at least two thirds. Sit down, tea’s ready.”
They settled at the kitchen table, small enough that their knees touched under it. They sat at right angles to each other, close, so close, and chatted about their plans for tomorrow, as long as the weather held up. Given it was nearly ten now and still warm enough to work in T-shirts even with the windows open, suggested it might be. But you never could tell.
“Okay,” Fran said, “so eight-thirty I’ll knock for you. Be ready.”
“I’ll be ready.” Oh, he was so ready to have Fran all to himself for the day. No café staff, no cats! Although he liked the cats fine, especially Riley, who apparently liked him. “I’ll say ‘goodni
ght’ unless there’s anything else you need help with.”
“No, I’m fine. I’m going to put in my orders and then get to bed.” Fran rose as Dez did, then stepped forward into his arms.
Dez held him and bent down to kiss him. It was a kiss that took it up a notch from the one after dinner a few nights ago. Hotter, more demanding. For a moment, Dez entertained hopes as Fran pressed closer to him and his body responded, flushing with heat, hardening. He didn’t deserve someone as good, as sweet, as Fran in his bed, but if Fran felt he was worthy of it…
A crash from close by made them jump apart in shock. They looked at the table, now short one glass, but displaying a 100% increase in the number of cats. Riley sat near the edge; he’d just pushed off the glass and looked insufferable.
“Riley!” Fran said. “You little sod. Why would you do that?” He moved out of Dez’s arms. “Let me clean up the mess before one of us steps on broken glass.” He went off to rummage in a cupboard and came back with a dustpan and brush. Dez glared at Riley, who continued looking smug, while Fran swept up the glass.
Cock-blocked by a cat. Now that was a new one. Maybe he could recapture the moment. Or maybe he should get the hell out of here. If they got naked together, Fran would see the gruesome scar in Dez’s shoulder and chest. He’d react the way anyone would, with shock and disgust. Dez could only barely stand to look at it himself.
Fran dropped the glass into the bin, then scowled at Riley. “Bugger off, you little pest. Go and break your own stuff.” There was no harshness in the words, no more than a mildly irritated tone. Cats would be cats after all.
Perhaps Riley understood, perhaps not. In any case, he paused to lick a paw and wash an ear before jumping down and returning to the cat playroom at a leisurely stroll.
“Sorry about that,” Fran said, coming back towards Dez after putting the dustpan and brush away. He smiled. “Where were we?”
“I think I’d better get out of here. It’s late. If we’re going out tomorrow, I need some sleep.”
“Oh, well, okay.” Fran took a step closer as if moving in for a goodnight kiss, but Dez backed up. Fran stopped, a look of surprise and disappointment on his face. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”