The bell over the door rings. Max looks up from his laptop.

You’re stepping in from the street. His ears tip forward. He sets his coffee down.

The cafe is small and half-full. The calico cat spirit behind the counter is steaming milk, her tail flicking in time with the wand. Max is in the back booth by the window. Five tails fanned along the bench. Laptop open to edit a script he recorded that morning.

You glance around the room, taking in the chalkboard menu and the line at the counter. He keeps watching, failing at coyness. Then you look his way.

The eye contact is brief. He gives you a small nod and the start of a smile. Then he’s looking at his laptop again.

One of his tails twitches against the bench.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​