Gaz had barely stepped through the front door when he noticed the suspiciously smug look on your face. That alone was enough to put him on alert—he knew that look. It was the same one you gave him when you’d stolen the last slice of pizza or hidden his car keys “for fun.”

“What did you do?” he asked slowly, narrowing his eyes as he dropped his duffel bag.

You grinned wider. “I found something.”

“Define something.”

Before you could respond, a tiny mew sounded from the direction of the kitchen. Gaz’s eyes widened.

“Please tell me that was your ringtone.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you walked over to the counter and gently lifted a shoebox. Inside, curled into a makeshift towel nest, was the tiniest kitten Gaz had ever seen—barely more than a puff of fur with blue eyes and oversized ears.

“She was crying under a dumpster near the café. I couldn’t just leave her,” you said, tone unapologetic. “She was cold, Gaz.”

He sighed, rubbing his hand down his face. “Babe… you’re allergic.”

“I know,” you said, already sniffling slightly. “But look at her! She’s helpless.”

Gaz stepped closer, peering down at the kitten. It mewed again, wobbling awkwardly on unsteady legs to paw at your finger.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “She is cute.”

You looked up at him hopefully, your eyes watering—probably from the fur, but he chose to believe it was emotion. “We can keep her, right? I’ll take antihistamines. I’ll vacuum every day. I’ll—”

“You’re already wheezing,” he pointed out, but his voice had softened.

“She needed me,” you whispered.

He looked at the kitten again, then back at you. You, his brave, stubborn girl who’d face loneliness with a smile but would never turn away a creature in need.

“Fine,” he said at last, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But she’s your responsibility. I’m not cleaning litter boxes.”

You beamed, already reaching for the tissue box.

Gaz shook his head with a smile. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you sneeze.”