Page 37 of Autumn at the Cat Cafe

He tapped his temple. “Mind like a steel trap.”

“With the humility to go with it.”

“Hey, when you got, you got it. The only things I don’t remember are what color socks I put on in the morning, what I ate for dinner last week, and the answer to eight times seven.” He headed toward the front of the store.

“Fifty-six,” she said, following him.

Without turning around he replied, “Are you sure?”

“Yes—” She paused. It was fifty-six, wasn’t it? She quickly went through her sevens.

He chuckled.

And just like that, they were on an even keel again. “Very funny, Harvard Boy. It sounds like your steel trap is a little rusty,” she said, catching up to him.

“No one’s perfect.”

But when he was like this—witty, charming, and sporting that scruffy, sexy beard—he was extremely close. She glanced over her shoulder. Sir Meow was indeed staying put. He even looked comfortable perched on the one bare space on the shelf that barely fit him, licking his left paw.

“I’m already overwhelmed,” Leo said, dropping the lighthearted mood as they stopped in front of the few open spaces at the front of the store. “I hope you have an idea of where to start.”

She motioned for him to join her behind the counter. Underneath were stacks of old shoeboxes, whipped topping containers—anything that could hold something was stuffed in every nook and cranny. There was barely any room for the tall, creased leather stool with a silver back that was in the middle, where Earl sat during the shop’s hours, his nose in a book.

“Where’s the cash register?” Leo asked.

“He used this.” She picked up a small silver calculator from the nineties. Or was it the eighties?

“Does he have a ledger book? I know better than to ask about virtual spreadsheets.” He knelt down next to her, scanning the mess. “I’m astounded he has cable.”

“He liked watching old TV shows. Or history channels.”

He stood. “That’s what was on when I first turned on the TV.”

For a moment they were both quiet. A moment of silence forEarl. Then Leo said, “If he didn’t have a cash register, where did he keep the money?”

“In a cash box. He took it upstairs every night after he closed.”

“I haven’t seen it.” He leaned against the stool. “Not yet anyway.”

“I’m sure it’s in his apartment somewhere,” Via said.

Sir Meow jumped on the counter and rubbed his cheek against Leo’s arm. Leo absently scratched the cat under his chin, sending Sir’s purring into overdrive.

She watched Leo’s fingers move from Sir’s chin to the cat’s ears. Blissed out, Sir leaned into his touch. Via had never been so envious of a cat in her life.

A knock sounded at the door. She turned to see Owen waving at them through the window, smiling. Earl had so much stuff crammed into the small space that she had to scooch past Leo, her body brushing up against his. “Sorry. Got to get that door.”

“No problem.” The corner of his perfect mouth lifted in a half smile.

Her eyes zeroed on his dimple. Right there, at the corner of his incredible lips... warmth shot through her.

Owen. She had to let Owen in. Quickly she unlocked the front door and opened it. Chilly evening air entered the shop, and the autumn-colored lights on all the businesses cast the town in a warm glow. “Hey, Owen.”

“Hi, Via. I was closing up the pharmacy and I saw the lights on in here.” He peered around her shoulder. “Are you opening the shop again?”

“No...”

Leo appeared next to her and held out his hand to Owen. “Leo Brewster. I’m Earl’s nephew.”