Page 61 of Cat’s Guide To Romance

“It died honorably.”

He snorts and shifts his own marshmallow closer to the flames. It promptly catches fire, too.

I point at it. “Murderer.”

“Shut up!” He blows frantically, gets a face full of smoke, and starts coughing and laughing at the same time. I reach over and pat his back until he catches his breath, unable to stop laughing with him.

Our second attempts are much better. By the third, Sparkle decides he likes his marshmallows nearly burned anyway, so my original technique was apparently perfect. We eat far too many, forgetting I had all the parts to make s’mores.

At some point, Sparkle abandons his chair and settles onto the blanket I spread beside the fire. I join him, stretching my legs toward the warmth, and he scoots closer until our shoulders touch. For a while, neither of us talks.

I can’t remember the last time I did this. Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. No club. No employees. No tracking. No demons demanding favors. Nobody shouting my name because something broke.

Sparkle isn’t doing anything, either. His face is tipped toward the sky, the firelight catching in his eyes while his tail curls loosely beside him.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Mmhmm.” His gaze stays on the stars.

I follow his gaze. Without the city lights, there are thousands of stars overhead.

“I never do this,” Sparkle says.

“Camp?”

“Sit.” He leans back on his hands and stretches his legs out beside mine. “I mean, I sit. Obviously. But usually because I’m eating or folding something or helping Ferris with homework or working. Even when I watch TV, I usually have something else I’m doing.”

I understand that better than I’d like.

Sparkle’s tail curls around his legs as he stares into the fire. “I kept thinking today that I should check on Mama. Or the kittens. Then I remembered Papa’s home. My sisters are home. Mama can handle herself. Nobody needs me.”

Something in his voice makes me reach for his hand. Sparkle looks down as I weave our fingers together, and I brush my thumb over his knuckles. “Do you hate that?”

He thinks about it for a moment. “I thought I would.”

“And now?”

His thumb moves slowly against mine. “I think I like being wanted better.”

I bring his hand to my mouth and press a kiss to his knuckles. “I want you here. Not because I need you to do anything, although you did save my club the other night.”

“You’re hiring a manager,” he reminds me, his ears tilting toward me.

“I am. Look at me, accepting constructive criticism and growing as a person.”

Sparkle laughs softly. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you. It’s been difficult.”

He squeezes my hand before resting his head against my shoulder. My tail slides behind him and curls loosely around his waist. I don’t feel compelled to fill the silence this time.

Maybe this is what dates are supposed to be. Not plans. Not Guide steps. Not proving I can romance him better than anyone has ever been romanced. Just this. A pretty kitty leaning against me while our terrible tent struggles for its life twenty feet away.

A horrible ripping noise comes from behind us. Sparkle lifts his head, and I close my eyes.

Sparkle gets to his feet and grabs my hand, hauling me up after him. “We’re fixing the tent.”

I pout. “Why?”