Chapter 1: Catastrophe at the Door

The little stray cat I picked up has totally stirred up drama for Ethan Park’s Ragdoll.

Honestly, only in my world could a cat soap opera overshadow my actual love life. I swear, it’s like the universe is playing some cosmic prank, handing my crush the perfect reason to show up at my door—and it’s all about the cat, not me.

This is so absurd. How did I end up being upstaged by a cat?

Seriously. I haven’t even managed to hold Ethan’s hand yet, and now my cat is making headlines in his life. Sometimes, I feel like fate is just some sitcom writer in the sky, cackling and tossing in plot twists for fun.

Ugh, I still haven’t even held Ethan’s hand. Not once.

It’s almost pathetic how much I’ve fantasized about our first touch—like the moment would have a John Mayer soundtrack, all soft and swoony, and not be derailed by the yowling of a chunky stray cat.

When the doorbell rang, I was holding Biscuit, playing our usual silly games—kissing his head, hugging him, lifting him up like Simba. Since I couldn’t get close to my crush, the little stray cat I’d brought home naturally became my go-to confidant.

Biscuit had basically become my emotional support animal—my stand-in for all the affection I was too chicken to give Ethan. I’d gotten into the habit of talking to him like he was my therapist—and honestly, he’s way cheaper than actual therapy.

I figured it was just the DoorDash order I’d placed, so I carried the slightly annoyed, thoroughly smooched Biscuit to open the door. But when I saw who was standing there—holding a cat—I froze like a deer in headlights.

It was Ethan. He was there with Daisy, his Ragdoll, in his arms, looking like he’d just stepped out of a fancy pet food ad. My heart did a somersault and landed somewhere near my toes.

Meanwhile, Biscuit in my arms was beside himself, squirming his chubby body like he was about to launch into orbit.

Biscuit must have recognized Daisy—his whole body started wiggling like a furry worm, and he let out a little trill that sounded suspiciously like he was serenading her.

"You..."

Bang!

Because I slammed the door so hard, it rattled, mixing with Biscuit’s indignant meows.

My reflexes were a total mess. I didn’t even think—I just slammed the door so hard I’m pretty sure the neighbor’s picture frames rattled. Biscuit let out a yowl that could’ve woken the dead.

How could I even worry about Biscuit at a time like this? I tossed him onto his bed and dashed back to my room like I was running a sprint. If I wasn’t so scared of the pain, I’d have given myself a good smack for that one.

I could barely breathe, my face burning with embarrassment. If I could’ve, I’d have put myself in the adult version of a timeout—maybe locked myself in the bathroom for a week. Instead, I just paced my room, mentally flipping through every possible way to salvage my dignity.

I actually let Ethan see me looking like a total mess: cartoon pajamas, hair everywhere, and a face I hadn’t even washed yet.

I mean, of all days to look like a sleep-deprived gremlin, it had to be today. My pajamas were covered in cartoon avocados, my hair was channeling Medusa, and my face—well, the raccoon-eye look was not what I was going for.

Of course, opportunity always favors the prepared. Or so my mom always said.

I could practically hear her voice: “You never know who you’ll run into—always look presentable!” I’d rolled my eyes at her for years. Well, joke’s on me now.

I threw on the most flattering outfit I owned, rushed to the bathroom, and put on my best ‘no-makeup’ makeup face.

I went full YouTube beauty tutorial—concealer, a hint of blush, a swipe of brow gel, and a dab of lip tint. The kind of look that says, “Oh, I just woke up like this,” even though it took fifteen minutes and a silent prayer.

I spent forever learning this technique, all because a beauty vlogger once promised: “Once you master this, your boyfriend will call you ‘baby’ every day.”

I can still hear her chipper voice in my head, promising instant romance if I just learned to blend foundation the right way. I’d practiced so much, I could probably do it with my eyes closed.

I want to hear Ethan call me ‘baby’ too—even if it’s just in my dreams for now.

Maybe someday, I’ll hear it for real. Until then, a girl can dream, right?

Looking at myself in the mirror, I grinned, satisfied.

Perfect!

I gave myself a little pep talk—"You got this, Harper!"—and struck a quick power pose before heading back to the door.

As I walked back, it hit me—I’d left him waiting outside for ages. With Ethan’s personality, would he even still be there?

My stomach twisted with nerves. Ethan wasn’t exactly famous for his patience. What if he’d already left? What if he thought I was dodging him?

Unfortunately, the peephole in my door was broken.

Ugh!

I wanted to cry. Seriously, universe?

I pressed my forehead to the door, groaning. Why did I always forget to call the landlord about that stupid peephole? The universe was really stacking the odds against me today.

I opened the door, not expecting much.

...

Both the man and the cat were still there.

I froze in place, my heart thumping so loudly I was sure they could hear it.

Oh my god, could it be that the little angel statue on my bookshelf was actually working overtime, tying the red thread of fate between me and Ethan?

My heart skipped a beat. Was this fate? Was my little angel statue up there pulling some cosmic strings just for me?

This was Ethan’s first time at my place.

I’ve made it.

I had to resist the urge to do a happy dance in the doorway. Instead, I just grinned at him, feeling like I’d just won the world’s best lottery.

I’ve decided—tomorrow I’m heading to St. Jude’s Church to give thanks.

Maybe I’d even light a candle. Or two. Heck, I’d donate my entire coffee budget for a month if it meant more moments like this.

...

The air was silent for a few seconds. Ethan, as always, had that cool, “keep your distance” vibe. But that didn’t stop me from turning on my brightest smile.

I dialed up the charm, beaming at him like I was running for Miss Congeniality. If Ethan noticed my nervous energy, he didn’t let on.

"Ethan, did you need something?"

Ethan was holding a cat, his eyelids half-lowered in that lazy way of his. "I’m here for your cat."

His tone was all business, but I caught a glimmer of something in his eyes—maybe amusement? Or maybe I was just hoping.

...

Whoa.

I was completely floored.

For who?

Was this some kind of cosmic mix-up? Did fate mess up my order?

Did fate tie the wrong red thread?

Just then, Biscuit darted out, rubbing against Ethan’s leg and pawing at him like he was his long-lost soulmate. That look—hmm—was exactly how I imagined myself in my dreams.

Biscuit was laying it on thick, purring and rubbing up against Ethan like he was auditioning for a Temptations commercial. I’d never seen him so shameless.

I cleared my throat, bent down to pick up Biscuit. Stop dreaming, this man is mine.

I shot Biscuit a stern look. “Cool it, Romeo. Let’s not embarrass your mom.”

Besides, you’re a boy cat—why are you acting so flirty?

Wait, something suddenly clicked. I looked at Biscuit, then at the slightly listless Daisy in Ethan’s arms.

A little lightbulb went off in my head. The pieces snapped together—and my jaw almost hit the floor.

Maybe Ethan sensed my thoughts, because his deep voice sounded again: "Daisy is pregnant. I came to discuss how to handle it with you."

He said it so calmly, like we were talking about the weather and not the feline equivalent of a shotgun wedding.

...