Chapter 3-3
920 Words
“I suppose you have to buy a ton of cat food,” Dez said as they maneuvered carts into the supermarket.
“Yes, but not from here, not with the markup. I buy it wholesale.”
“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 s*x he dated? Did that mean…?
A certain liveliness in Dez’s stomach area joined the flush. He sensed he would f**k this up. He always did, somehow. And he didn’t want to f**k 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.
- Writer
