Page 26 of Autumn at the Cat Cafe

Have a sister day at the pumpkin patch with Dora.

Take photos of the cats with pumpkins for social media.

Camping under the stars.

Wear something cozy every day.

Convert bathroom into a spa retreat.

He couldn’t tell if that was for the café, her apartment, or both.

Create a handmade autumn wreath.

Bake pumpkin pies at the bakery.

Pick apples and drink apple cider.

Knit a sweater.

Watch the sunset over Lake Erie.

“I already checked off the social media pictures,” she said.

Eyeing her fetching sweater again, he said, “Looks like you can mark off wearing something cozy.”

She glanced down. “Frankie Fletcher made it for me last year. He and his aunt own Fantastic Fibers and Textiles across the square. I’ve been working on the same fall sweater since I moved back. He thought this might be inspiration.”

“Was he right?”

“Yes and no. I love the pattern and yarn, but there’re too many stitches and not enough time. I shall prevail eventually.” She continued to grin.

Her smile could warm up a winter day in Antarctica. It was warming him up for sure. “So what’s your idea?”

She poked the paper. “You and I do the bucket list together.”

That was a curveball. “You want me to decorate your bathroom?”

“Not that one. Or the camping. We can do the other ones, though.”

“Why?”

“What better way to learn about Pecan Corner? Like you said, learning about the town will be helpful.”

“How is”—he glanced at the list again—“wreath making going to help me sell Second Chapter?”

For a split second, a pained look crossed her features, as if she were hurt by his logical question. “Anna Abernathy is The Red Carnation proprietor. She’s lived in Pecan Corner all her life. She’s a fount of information and loves to answer questions.”

All right, he could accept that explanation. Actually, the woman could be invaluable when it came to the quiz.

“Come to think of it, the bathroom in Second Chapter could use some sprucing,” she said.

“I don’t decorate.” His house had a minimum amount of furniture and a gray-and-white palette. Half the time he was barely home. Eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner at his desk wasn’t an exception, it was the rule.

“I can show you how,” she offered.

“I’ve seen your apartment. Not my taste.”

“Hummph.” She sat back. “I should be offended.”