The knock on the door was light, quick—almost sheepish. You weren’t expecting anyone. Not a package, not a visitor, and certainly not… this.
You pulled open the door, blinking down at the scene on your front step.
A cat carrier sat square in the middle of the doormat. Inside, a tiny fluffball blinked back at you with wide, curious eyes. Smoke-gray, blue-eyed, and looking like a literal cloud with ears.
Beside the carrier sat a bouquet of wildflowers—scraggly, uneven, clearly not store-bought. There were thistles and dandelions and some kind of purple thing you couldn’t name. You were pretty sure Soap had picked them himself.
And tucked between the flowers and the handle of the carrier was a folded piece of paper.
Your name was scrawled across the front in familiar, boyish handwriting.
You unfolded the note slowly.
"Our child. Love you." —Soldier 🖤
You stared. Then stared again. Then looked down at the kitten, who meowed up at you like finally, and started pawing at the carrier door.
“Johnny MacTavish,” you muttered under your breath, “you absolute menace.”
You brought the little creature inside—flowers, note, carrier and all—setting her on the kitchen table. The dogs, Clover and Bramble, padded over curiously but stayed polite, noses twitching, tails held low. The kitten glared back with the authority of a queen, all six inches of her.
Great. She had his attitude, too.
You sighed, scooped her up, and felt her start to purr immediately against your chest.
“Yeah, I can see why he fell for you,” you murmured.
You heard the dogs barking, howling, and thundering toward the front door. You didn’t move. You were on the couch, arms crossed, kitten on your lap. The door creaked open.
"Hey, lass," Soap called, stepping inside. His hair was longer, scruffier. There were new scars under his eyes. Same cocky grin. And you—still unmoved—narrowed your eyes.
He dropped his duffel and opened his arms wide. “Don’t I get a hello?” Scotch leapt from your lap and bolted toward him, tail held high.
“Oh now she gets a greeting,” you muttered. Soap knelt and caught her, grinning as she climbed up his chest and headbutted his chin.
“That’s my girl,” he said fondly.
You stood, arms folded tight, and walked toward them.
“She screamed for three nights straight,” you began.
Soap looked up sheepishly. “She’s got a healthy set of lungs.”
“She terrorized the dogs.”
“Character building.”
“She destroyed my favorite blanket.”
“That… sounds like a you problem.”
You stared him down. He stood up, kitten still perched on his shoulder, and held your gaze. “Anything else?”
You stepped closer. “You shipped me a live animal, Johnny.”
“I vetted the courier!”
“And didn’t tell me???”
He shrugged. “Wanted it to be a surprise.” You opened your mouth to yell, really let him have it, but Scotch batted you gently on the forehead, as if to say calm down, Mum, and purred loud enough to cut the tension. You both froze. Then you sighed, Soap’s grin widened.
“She is cute,” you admitted reluctantly. “She’s ours,” he said, voice softer now. You looked between them. The man you loved, grinning like an idiot, and the kitten you hadn’t asked for but already couldn’t live without.
“God help me,” you said, stepping into his arms. He caught you easily, wrapping one around your back and kissing your temple.
“I missed you,” he murmured. “I missed peace and quiet,” you teased. He snorted. Scotch yawned loudly from his shoulder.
You glanced up at her. “She missed you too. Probably because I don’t let her drink out of my coffee.”
“Monster,” he said.
You leaned into him, warmth finally settling in your chest. She’d clawed the curtains, scratched the furniture, and claimed your pillow. And you wouldn’t change a damn thing.