Page 41 of The Christmas Arrangement

“Okay if I post this on my social media?” Autumn asks.

“I’d be offended if you didn’t,” I tell her.

Once Ivy and I are back on the sidewalk I say, “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“You wrote something on your arm.”

“Just a reminder.” She won’t meet my eyes, and I’m about to press when she gasps. “Oh! I almost forgot—look what Autumn gave me while you were shopping.” She pulls a small glass jar from her coat pocket.

“What is it?”

“A sample of a new body scrub she’s working on. Currently, she’s calling it Reindeer Dust.”

“What even is reindeer dust?”

“Sugar, coffee grounds, and holiday magic, which is what Autumn calls glitter.”

I laugh and forget all about Ivy’s mysterious reminder.

Titus’ Teahouse & Cat Cafe is a restored Victorian house with bay windows and a pressed tin ceiling that catches the afternoon light. The space is quirky, with mismatched vintage teacups, velvet furniture, loads of plants, and overloaded bookshelves. And more cats than I can count. Cats on climbing trees. Cats in window perches. Cats sleeping in sunbeams. Cats on shelves. Cats everywhere. Fur floats through the air and tumbles along the wood floor.

Titus bustles out from a back room to greet us. The bartender turned teahouse proprietor’s nervous energy is palpable. I get it. This cafe is his dream made real, and there’s a certain terror to that.

He embraces Ivy and then hits me with the classic bro handshake/one-armed hug. “Thanks for coming, man.”

“We wouldn’t miss it,” I say as I slap his back and stifle a sneeze.

There’s a small crowd of soft-opening attendees, including Shane. He’s trying to blend in, but his camera and his smirk give him away.

Ivy makes a beeline for a Persian cat lounging on a window seat. She scoops it up, nuzzling its face.

“That’s Lady Marmalade,” Titus tells her.

“Isn’t she a pretty kitty?” Ivy coos.

I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or the feline. The cat is objectively gorgeous—long cream-colored fur, flat face, amber eyes. But my own eyes are already starting to water.

“Yeah, beautiful,” I manage.

Two minutes later, my eyes are actively burning. I rub them furiously, which, of course, only makes it worse. Then my nose starts to run.

“You okay?” Ivy asks, still cuddling the cat.

“Fine. Probably.”

I don’t want to ruin Titus’ opening. But my eyes are beginning to swell. I need to get out of here.

“Here, hold King Cole,” Titus suggests, as he tries to place a black kitten with enormous yellow eyes in my arms. “I’m not really a cat person,” I apologize, backing away.

I bump directly into Shane.

Click.

He catches the image of my red, watering eyes, refusing to hold the kitten as I grimace. And there’s no doubt he heard me. Ivy’s crestfallen expression confirms it.

“He’s going to make you look like a monster.”