A SECOND CHANCE AT FOREVER Chapter 102: CHAPTER HUNDRED & TWO

ASHLEY

Mochii was going to murder me in my sleep if I came home without her tuna.

Not just any tuna—the fancy kind in the little gold-lidded tins, infused with bone broth and something called “super greens” that probably cost more than most people’s lunch. She had a particular look she gave me when she was annoyed—eyes narrowed, tail flicking slowly, like she was filing a complaint to the feline gods about the human she’d been cursed with.

I sighed, pushing my cart down the narrow aisle of the pet store. The overhead lights buzzed faintly above me, and the faint smell of hay, litter, and kibble lingered in the air. This place was a far cry from the warm, citrus-scented comfort of my shop, but it had become a weekly stop since I’d brought Mochii home from the shelter last fall.

She was moody, dramatic, and took up more emotional space than most people I knew.

She was also the reason I hadn’t completely crumbled when I got back to New York.

I reached for her favorite pâté 

Three cans went into the basket.

I hesitated before grabbing a fourth. Then put it back.

It wasn’t that I couldn’t afford it. The shop was doing fine. Slow some weeks, sure, but stable. Still, things were tight. There was always something—restocks, packaging supplies, rent, taxes, mystery fees from my label printer being temperamental. I wasn’t at the luxury stage of throwing money around. Not yet.

So, Mochii was getting three cans today. She’d survive. I might get the silent treatment for a few hours, but she’d survive.

I moved toward the checkout area, adjusting my hoodie but something caught my attention 

A flyer, taped crookedly to the side of the register. It was printed on bright yellow paper, the edges curled slightly from the humidity. Paw prints bordered the edges, and in the center was a grainy photo of a scruffy little dog with one floppy ear and the most hopeful eyes I’d ever seen.

ANIMAL ADOPTION FAIR – THIS SATURDAY

Help Give Them a Second Chance

Donations Needed – Supplies, Food, Funds, Anything Helps

Hosted by Midtown Shelter

My heart twisted.

I hadn’t heard about the fair. Then again, I hadn’t been to the shelter in years. I used to volunteer there back In college—before life, and bills, and heartbreak swallowed up my time. I’d walked yappy dogs and changed out litter boxes and once bottle-fed a kitten the size of my palm. I used to dream about running a space like that one day. A little haven for the animals no one else wanted.

Then things changed. I changed.

The girl behind the counter caught me staring. “Isn’t he cute?” she said, nodding toward the flyer. “That pup came in last week. Sweetest thing. But the shelter’s completely full again. They’re hoping the adoption event will make space—and raise enough to stay open through summer.”

I swallowed hard. “They’re in danger of closing?”

“Not yet. But their donations have dropped. Vet bills, food, cleaning supplies—it all adds up. They’re doing everything they can just to keep the lights on.

”

I nodded, pretending I wasn’t breaking a little inside. Pretending that I didn’t remember the exact sound of the shelter director’s voice when she used to say, “We save who we can, but we always wish we could do more.”

God, I knew that feeling too well.

I glanced down at my wallet as I set the cat food on the counter. There wasn’t much in there—two crumpled twenties, a few coins, and my emergency credit card I was desperately trying not to max out.

I hesitated, then pulled one of the bills free and slid it into the donation jar beside the flyer.

The girl’s smile widened. “Thank you. Seriously.”

I nodded, my voice stuck somewhere between my throat and heart. “It’s not much.”

“It means a lot.”

I wanted to do more. But right now, I didn’t have much money lying around. Every dollar was accounted for—rent, inventory, food, bills. I could cover my needs, sure, but..

“Would it be okay if I took one of those flyers?” I asked. “ I might know people ho’d be interested in donating. Or adopting.”

The girl lit up. “Absolutely. I can grab you a clean one from the stack in the back.”

“Perfect,” I said. “I’ll put it up by my register.”

She returned with a fresh copy, sliding it into my bag with the cat food. “Thank you. Every bit of visibility helps.”

I nodded, fingers brushing over the folded paper. “I hope they find homes. All of them.”

Me too, I thought as I walked back outside.

The wind tugged at my hoodie as I headed down the street, the city humming quietly around me. Somewhere out there, dogs were waiting. Cats curled in cages. Animals hoping for something better.

And maybe I couldn’t do everything. But I could do something.

Even if it started with a flyer.

By the time I reached the store, the wind had picked up. I tugged my hoodie tighter and unlocked the door.

The bell above chimed as I stepped in.

And, unsurprisingly—but still somehow surprisingly—Kyle was already there.

He was sitting on the velvet stool by the window, one ankle resting over a knee, flipping through the notebook I always left behind the counter. The nerve. I raised a brow, but he didn’t even flinch.

“You know,” I said, closing the door behind me, “most people knock before breaking and entering.”

He glanced up, utterly unbothered. “I brought coffee.”

“Bribery,” I muttered, heading toward the back room to drop off the bag. “Classic.”

“I also organized your sample tray.”

That made me pause. “You did what?”

“I got bored.”

“Kyle, last time you touched my tray, you almost combined ylang ylang with bacon oil.”

“That was one time. And I stand by it—it was bold.”

I snorted, shaking my head as I emerged again. “What are you even doing here?”

He shrugged, not looking at me now. “I didn’t feel like going home.”

And that was the thing.

He didn’t have to say more than that. I understood. These days, he didn’t always need a reason to show up. And, despite myself, I didn’t always need one to let him stay.

Things between us had been… different.

Looser.

Too easy sometimes. Too tangled others.

It wasn’t like before—at least we pretended it wasn’t. There were no titles. No definitions. 

Two days ago, it had been laughter and cheap wine on my floor. A week ago, sex against the wall of my storeroom after closing.

We weren’t fixing things. We weren’t falling back. We were just… here.

Whatever here meant.

Still, there were rules. Unspoken ones. No staying over. No asking “what are we?” No talking about feelings longer than a joke allowed.

So far, we were doing fine.

Mostly.

“I picked up a flyer at the pet store,” I said, tossing it onto the counter beside him. “Animal adoption fair this Saturday. Midtown Shelter.”

He picked it up, brow furrowing as he scanned the paper. “Didn’t you get Mochii from there?”

“Yeah.” I leaned on the opposite end of the counter, facing him. “They’re looking for donations. Supplies. Volunteers.”

He looked up at that. “You want to help?”

I hesitated. “I want to. But I can’t really give much right now. So I figured I’d put the flyer up here—maybe someone with extra funds or time might step in.”

Something unreadable passed across his face. Thoughtful. Quiet.

“Good idea,” he said eventually, setting the flyer down.

I nodded. “I’ll tape it up by the register later.”

He didn’t say anything else, but he was watching me again—that look he got when he thought I wouldn’t notice. The one that said I see you. Not just on the surface, but all the parts I tried not to show.

And for a second, I didn’t feel guarded.

For a second, this didn’t feel like pretending.