The Purrfect Love Story

The firehouse smelled like coffee that had been sitting too long on the burner, wet gear hanging to dry, and a faint hint of cat litter that no one would admit belonged to Goose. It was early December, Jersey cold nipping at the bay doors whenever they rolled open, but inside Station 9 felt like its own little world. My world now. Rookie or not.

“Move it, Grandpa,” Nas called across the bay, a cocky grin stretched across his twenty-four-year-old face. He was barely out of the academy, but since I was the newest one through the doors, he relished every chance to call me the old man rookie. I shot him a look and shouldered past, hefting the hose we’d been dragging out for drills.

“I’ve got socks older than you,” I muttered, which only made Dez snort from where he was leaning against the truck.

“Don’t tempt him,” Dez said, grinning like a devil. “He’ll try to prove it. And nobody wants to see Rosario strip down in the bay.”

The guys laughed, even Tomás cracking a rare smile as he walked past to check the equipment. Tomás was the calm one, steady as stone, with this dry sense of humor that slipped out when you least expected it. He didn’t rib me the way the others did, but when he gave advice, I listened. He was married with kids, which made him the grown-up of the crew, whether he wanted to be or not.

“Cut it out, all of you,” Lou’s voice rang across the bay. Captain Lourdes Reyes had this way of speaking that carried through walls, even though she never raised her voice. She stood in the doorway of her office, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “Nas, less talking, more lifting. Dez, if you’re going to lean on my truck, you’d better be polishing it. And Ace…”

She looked right at me, holding me in place like a kid caught stealing cookies. “You’ve got more to prove than anyone in this house. Don’t waste my time.”

The words weren’t cruel. They were fair. Lou had twenty years on the job, and the respect she commanded wasn’t just about rank. She was tough, but she looked out for us like we were hers. I’d heard the whispers when I first came in, the bartender-turned-firefighter, the Rosario sibling who drifted from one thing to the next. Everyone else in my family had their shit together. Ofelia with her residency, Xenia with her business, Amaya chasing her art, and somehow landing a guy who looked like trouble but turned out solid. And me? The eldest, but the least dependable.

Except here.

Here, with the weight of the hose in my hands, the smell of smoke still sometimes clinging to my gear, and the adrenaline of sirens echoing in my chest, it felt different. Real. Permanent. Like maybe I’d finally found the thing I wasn’t going to walk away from.

Zach walked past then, giving me a quick clap on the shoulder. He wasn’t on my crew every shift, but when he was, he made sure to check in. He was basically family now, dating Ofelia, and it didn’t surprise me that he’d end up watching my back here too.

“You’re doing fine,” he said under his breath, so the others wouldn’t hear. “Don’t let the rookie crap get to you.”

Easy for him to say. Zach was the golden boy, firehouse favorite, good at everything, never questioned. But the weight of his words helped anyway. I wanted to prove myself, not just to Lou and the crew, but to him. To Ofelia. To my whole damn family.

I tightened my grip on the hose, jaw set. Rookie or not, thirty-one or not, I wasn’t leaving this behind. Not this time.

Goose announced himself the way he always did, with the sharp jingle of his blue collar and the sound of something clattering to the floor. This time it was Lou’s clipboard, knocked clean off her desk as he trotted out of her office with the kind of swagger only a three-month-old kitten could pull off.

“Rosario!” Lou barked, voice echoing across the bay.

“Yeah, Cap?” I called, already sighing.

“Your menace is loose again.”

I set the hose down and whistled low. The little orange devil came prancing toward me, stripes gleaming in the light, tail flicking like he was proud of himself. Goose wasn’t even supposed to be here full-time, but the station had adopted him along with me. Dez dropped to one knee, trying to scoop him up, but Goose darted right past and leapt into my arms like he owned me. Which, if I was being honest, he did.

“Good boy,” I muttered, scratching under his chin. He purred so hard his tiny body vibrated.

When I first brought him home from Ofelia, he’d been half this size, all ears and squeaks. Ofelia had stared at me like I was crazy the day I asked if I could take one of Spitfire’s kittens. “Ace, you can’t even keep a job, and you want to raise a cat?” she’d said, arms crossed, eyes skeptical. It stung, mostly because she wasn’t wrong. But I needed to prove, to her, to my whole family, maybe most of all to myself, that I could be steady for once. Goose was my shot.

And damn if he didn’t live up to his name. The little guy never walked if he could run, never sat still if there was something to climb, and never passed up the chance to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. He’d nearly set off the station alarm once, pawing at the panel until Dez caught him. Tomás swore Goose was secretly training to be the first feline firefighter.

“You spoil him,” Tomás said now, shaking his head as Goose batted at the zipper on my jacket. “That cat has no fear.”

“Better than having no fun. Besides it’s not like I could or would ever trust bring Cloud to the station like he does with Goose,” Dez countered, pulling a feather toy out of his locker. He’d bought it on his lunch break last week and claimed it was “for stress relief,” but really it was for Goose. The kitten launched himself off my shoulder, paws outstretched, and Dez cackled.

Even Lou, for all her complaining, secretly liked him. I’d caught her feeding Goose little bits of chicken from her lunch more than once. She pretended she hated the fur on her chair, but when Goose curled up there during long nights, she always let him stay.

Watching him dart around the bay, skidding on the concrete like a tiny orange comet, I felt something I didn’t usually let myself admit, pride. Goose was mine. I was taking care of him, and he was thriving. Maybe that meant I wasn’t the screw-up sibling anymore. Maybe I could stick to this.

Of course, Goose chose that exact moment to knock over a half-empty mug of coffee, sending it splattering across the floor. The crew erupted in laughter while I groaned and grabbed a rag.

“Yeah,” Dez said, shaking his head. “Real picture of responsibility, Rosario.”

I wiped up the mess, but I couldn’t stop the grin tugging at my mouth. Goose wasn’t perfect, hell, neither was I. But somehow, together, we were working.

I scooped Goose up before he could launch himself at another unsuspecting mug, tucking him against my chest while he purred like he hadn’t just wrecked half the bay. Dez and Nas were still laughing, Tomás shaking his head like he’d seen it all before. It was easy to let their noise fade into the background, though, because my thoughts drifted, as they always did when I held this little furball, to family.

The Rosarios. We weren’t perfect, but we were close. Too close, sometimes. Ofelia, my middle sister, was the smart one, the practical one. She’d rolled her eyes so hard when I told her I wanted Goose, like she was waiting for me to hand him back two weeks later. Now she was practically a full-blown doctor, dating Zach Dayton, one of the most respected guys at the station. Watching her with Zach, seeing how steady they were together, was like staring at a life I couldn’t quite imagine for myself.

Xenia, the stylish one, had a thriving business in New York, training dogs and making it look effortless. She was engaged to Clay, who could probably lift a car if he felt like it, and together they had two dogs of their own. And then there was Amaya, the youngest, still in school, artistic and romantic in a way I never was. She’d fallen for Alan, a quiet guy with sharp eyes, the kind who carried secrets but treated her like she was his whole world.

And me? Oldest, but somehow the last one standing. No fiancée, no girlfriend, no soulmate on the horizon. Just Goose.

I loved my family, but sometimes the weight of being the odd one out sat heavily on my shoulders. Especially when my mother asked over Sunday dinner, “So, Ace, bringing anyone home for Nochebuena this year?” She always asked it so casually, like she was asking me to pass the salt. But it landed like a stone in my gut every time.

The truth was, I didn’t even know how to answer anymore. I wanted to bring someone home, sure. I wanted to have what my sisters had. But I didn’t trust myself not to screw it up. Not yet.

I looked down at Goose, his head tucked against my jacket, his blue bell chiming with each little purr.

Goose purred like the smug little king he was, and I scratched behind his ears, trying not to think about my mom’s voice in my head asking if I’d finally bring someone home for Nochebuena. The truth was, this kitten was the only one I’d be showing up with. Which, knowing my family, meant I’d get at least five different versions of “when are you going to get serious” from my sisters before dessert.

“Just you and me, bud,” I said again, giving his tiny chin a rub. He licked my thumb, like he was agreeing.

A couple of hours later, the bay was quiet, the crew scattered in the lounge watching TV while Lou finished reports in her office. I pulled my jacket on and headed out to the corner bodega. Coffee was long gone, snacks were low, and as the rookie, it was on me to restock. Goose trailed at my heels, bell jingling with each step.

“You’re not coming with me,” I told him, nudging him back toward the station with my boot. He meowed like he was arguing, but I managed to shut the door behind me before he could slip through. Or so I thought.

The bodega was warm and cramped, smelling like fried food and cinnamon gum. I grabbed bottled water, sports drinks, a couple of bags of chips, and some protein bars that Dez would definitely hoard. The old man at the counter rang me up, mumbling about the cold outside. I was halfway out the door when I heard it, the faint jingle of a bell I knew all too well.

“No,” I muttered, stepping onto the sidewalk. “No, no, no.”

Sure enough, Goose was trotting down the block like he owned Newark. His tail flicked, his little paws light on the sidewalk, weaving through pedestrians without a care in the world.

“Goose!” I hissed, jogging after him. “Damn cat, come here!”

A couple of people glanced my way, smirking, but I didn’t care. Goose’s blue bell chimed like he was mocking me, darting left just as I reached out. My arms closed on empty air. He slipped between two teenagers and then shot across the street before I could catch up.

“Shit,” I muttered, heart thudding as I pushed through the crowd. Cars honked, someone swore at me, but all I could see was that orange blur and the flash of blue at his neck. Goose wasn’t slowing down. He was heading deeper into the city, straight toward trouble.

And me? I was already chasing after him, muttering about my damn cat and wondering if this was the day Goose’s free-roaming ways finally broke me.

I didn’t know it yet, but I wasn’t the only one chasing him.