Page 1 of Claimed By the BRATVA Grump

Sammie

The milk frother screams, Duchess is sitting on table four again, and Lucifer has managed to break into the cat treat cupboard for the third time this week. Tuesday at Purr & Pour is, as always, completely unhinged.

"Lucifer, I swear to every deity currently accepting applications," I mutter, lifting the enormous black cat out from between the jars of kibble. He goes limp in my arms, doing his signature dead-weight protest, and fixes me with the slow, contemptuous blink he reserves exclusively for me. The man who named him knew exactly what he was doing.

I deposit him on the window bench next to Socks, who opens one eye, decides the drama isn't worth the energy, and goes back to sleep. Socks has the right idea, honestly. I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, retie my apron, and survey my kingdom.

Purr & Pour takes up the ground floor of a narrow Victorian building on Calloway Street, and it is, objectively, the best place in the city. I say this without bias. Sage green walls, mismatched furniture that feels intentional rather than chaotic, and every surface that isn't occupied by a cat is occupied by a satisfyingly fat succulent. The whole place smells like espresso and vanilla and whatever Delilah is burning in the kitchen today, which, based on the faint char in the air, is the second batch of cardamom cookies.

"They're fine," Delilah calls through the hatch before I can say anything. "Slightly more rustic than planned."

"Rustic is a generous word."

"I prefer it to ‘cremated,’" she murmurs, referencing a customer’s unsolicited feedback last week.

I smile and start working the espresso machine, pulling shots for the queue building at the counter. This is my favorite part of the morning, the rhythm of it. Grind, tamp, pull. Steam the milk. Remember that the woman in the green coat always wants oat milk, that the older gentleman by the window has his flat white with one sugar every single day at nine-fifteen, that the two students in the corner share a pot of English breakfast and argue about something different every week. I know all of them. Remembering people is the easiest thing I do.

Cookie weaves between my ankles, which would be charming if I weren't carrying a full tray of lattes. "Not now, sweetie." She meows once, extremely pointedly, and relocates to the top of the cake stand, where she sits with her tail curled around her feet like a furry garnish. Red is doing his usual thing of sitting perfectly still in the middle of the room, staring at a fixed point on the wall with the intensity of someone receiving transmissions from outer space. Duchess is still on table four, sitting directly in the centre of the napkin holder.

Everything is exactly as it should be.

The bell above the door chimes, and I glance up out of habit, the automatic smile already on my face.

It takes me a full two seconds to process what I'm looking at.

He's tall. Very tall, the kind of tall that makes the door frame seem slightly apologetic. Broad through the shoulders, with dark hair and a face that looks like it was carved by someone who wanted to make a point. The suit is black, perfectlyfitted, expensive in the way that doesn't announce itself. Polished shoes. An understated watch that says old money. He steps inside, standing still for a moment, and the room does something slightly odd as everyone turns to face him. Even Red stops staring at the wall.

His eyes do a single, unhurried sweep of the café. They're grey. Very grey. And they land on me with the kind of neutral assessment usually reserved for risk evaluations and tax returns.

He doesn’t smile back.

I keep my smile firmly in place, because I have faced down a cat named Lucifer on a daily basis for three years now, and I’m not going to be intimidated by a man in a nice suit, however much he looks like he personally drafted a cease-and-desist against the concept of joy.

"Hi, come on in," I say. "Grab any seat you like, or come up to the counter if you know what you want."

He comes to the counter without so much as a glance at the menu board. He doesn't clock the laminated cat fact cards Delilah and I spent an entire Sunday making. He just walks straight up, sets one hand on the counter, and looks at me.

"Black coffee."

That's it. No please, no thank you, no acknowledgment that I exist as anything other than a mechanism for delivering caffeine. I wait a half-second in case there's more. There isn't.

"One black coffee, coming right up." I reach for a mug, because nobody gets a paper cup at Purr & Pour unless they specifically ask, and I am absolutely not asking him. "Any particular roast? We've got a single origin Ethiopian that's incredible, or a house blend if you want something more straightforward."

He blinks once, slowly, like he is processing his annoyance at the question rather than the question itself. "House."

"Great choice." It isn't a great choice, the Ethiopian is objectively superior, but I smile like he's just made the most inspired coffee decision of the century. He holds my gaze for a moment, like he's trying to work out whether I'm mocking him.

I pull his shot and let my eyes do a quick lap of the café. It’s a professional habit. Rhodes has started kneading a customer’s knee, preparing to present himself for ear scratches. Lucifer has relocated from the window bench to the back of the armchair nearest the counter and is now staring at the back of the tall man's head with focused, unreadable intensity.

That makes two of us, honestly.

I set the coffee down in front of him. He's taken out his phone, scrolling through something that makes his expression do absolutely nothing.

"Four fifty, whenever you're ready." I gesture at the card reader. He taps his phone against it without looking up. "Sit anywhere you like,” I say, lifting my eyes back to his. “Now I know your order, I’ll bring refills on request.”

He picks up the mug, moves to the small table by the far wall, the one that faces the door, and sits with his back to the corner. I watch him for exactly one second before I make a decision.

He is my newest challenge. I will get a smile out of him if it’s the last thing I do.