“So…” the woman peeks at the top of his application, “Dean, have you decided which cat you’d like to meet?”
“Yeah, um,” Dean pauses to fish a Post-It from his pocket. “Could I see Violet? She’s the grey shorthair. And Aslan too, if that’s okay. He’s the orange tabby.”
“Of course,” she replies, handing him a buzzer. “It’ll just be a few minutes.”
Dean nods and heads to the small lobby by the cattery. There’s an issue of Modern Cat splayed open on the table, and he flips through a few pages before answering a text from Jo. She demands to know whether the kittens have been adopted, so he assures her, ‘Nope, still here. Just gonna make sure they aren’t plotting world domination.’
‘All cats are plotting world domination, Dean. Get with the program,’ Jo shoots back, and Dean is about to tap out his reply when the buzzer goes off and lights up in his lap. He returns the device to the reception desk, where the same woman takes it and gestures to her left. Dean’s gaze follows the line of her arm, landing on a guy with dark hair and… wow, seriously blue eyes.
“Dean?” the hot stranger wishes to confirm, and okay, forget everything else; it sounds like he gargles with gravel every morning.