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I shrugged off his argument.“Yeah. I’m not in the habit of inviting disaster into my home.”

“My home,” he corrected with an irritated sniff. “And what are you talking about?Disaster is basically your middle name.”

“Maybe. But I doubt your fish would appreciate you sticking your paws into the tank and batting at them with those sharp little claws of yours.”

Octo-Cat jumped off the tank and raised a paw to his chest.“Who are you callinglittle? I am deeply offended, and so are they. My fish have names, and I’ll thank you to use them.”

Even though I regularly talked to pets and forest animals, I’d never once heard Octo-Cat’s fish utter anything other than “blub, blub.” Was he simply pulling my leg about this? Then again, if other animals could talk, why wouldn’t fish be able to as well?

Still pondering this, I sprinkled the food into their tank and quickly closed the lid to avoid any kitty shenanigans.

When Octo-Cat jumped back on top to watch them through the tiny opening for the water filter in the back, I decided to ask for a little clarification on the matter.“What are they?”

“They’re fish, genius.”

I met his eyeroll with one of my own.“Of course, they’re fish. But you mentioned they have names. Right? So, tell me, what are they?”

He hopped back onto the floor and sat at my side, his eyes trailing the largest fish as it swam idly about the tank.“See, that big orange one? That’s Tasty.”

“Uh-huh. What about the striped one?”

He smiled and shifted his gaze to the aforementioned fish.“That’s Delicious.”

I was beginning to see a pattern here but continued to listen until all the fish had been named—among them were Yummy, Scrumptious, and Appi-teaser. My guess was he’d seen a few too many commercials for a certain restaurant chain leading to the made-up name of that last one.

I didn’t point this out, though.

Instead I shook my head and said,“I’m not letting you eat your fish. They’re supposed to be your pets.”

“Angela,” he said, aghast. “Who says I want to eat them?”

“You—” I began but was cut off by the merry chime of the doorbell. I didn’t recognize the tune since Nan had recently changed it. It definitely had an upbeat doo-wop vibe about it, but I wasn’t particularly fluent in that era of music.

“We’ll finish this later,” I promised the tabby before racing down the stairs.

Upon pulling the door open, I found my other half, Charles, waiting on the front porch with a giant grin on his face. He immediately wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me in for a kiss.

“Gag. Get a room,” Octo-Cat spat as he finished descending the stairs.

I chuckled as Charles and I finished our greeting.

“Great idea. We’ll use yours,” I told the mean kitty.

Charles bunched his eyebrows in confusion.“Use mywhat? Oh, right. You were talking to the cat, weren’t you?”

“Sorry. He’s just being bratty, but I’m focused on you now.” I flushed and tucked a fallen strand of hair behind my ear. Sometimes I forgot that others could only hear one side of my animal conversations. “What’s with the early-morning surprise?”

“I thought we could spend the day together, if that’s all right with you.”

“That’s perfect with me.” I gave him another long, lingering kiss.

Octo-Cat walked by, then stopped and pretended to retch—except that partway through his performance, his faked motions led to a very real need to empty his stomach.

“Gross!” I cried when the puddle of puke landed just a few inches from my left foot.

“You’re telling me,” Octo-Cat responded before trotting into the kitchen and leaving me to clean his mess.

“Well, that’s romantic,” Charles quipped with a goofy laugh.

“Isn’t it just?” I carefully turned away and grabbed the cleaning spray and a roll of paper towels from our coat closet.

“It’s okay if today’s not perfect,” Charles assured me, accepting the dirty bunch of used paper towels from me. “Today’s just Saturday. It’s next Friday that’s important.”

“What do you—?” I stopped when I noticed Charles’s face had crumpled into a frown. “Valentine’s Day, yes. I’m really excited.”

I wasn’t a doting romantic, but I loved that Charles was.

“This will be our first one together, and I want to make sure it’s special.” He sprinted toward the kitchen to dump the soiled towels into the trash.

“Okay. What should we do?” I asked with an innocent smile as he jogged back.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got it all planned out.”

“Great. Tell me about it.”

“Nope. It’s a surprise.” Something flashed in his eyes that made my stomach fill with butterflies, both because I loved Charles and because I had a tendency to fear the unknown.

“Just so long as you’re not planning to propose,” I joked before I could stop myself.

Charles’s face fell again. This time my heart sped to a million beats per minute—or somewhere thereabouts.

“Oh,” I said when nothing better came to mind.