Cat Café Confessions

FF Contemporary Romance
by Aurora North

Free with Kindle Unlimited

Pairing: FF (Sapphic)
Heat: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ Inferno
Tropes: Co-Owners to Lovers, Grumpy/Sunshine, Friends to Lovers, Forced Proximity, Praise Kink, Found Family, Slow Burn, Control/Surrender

She’s my business partner. My best friend. My roommate. And if she calls me “good girl” one more time, I’m going to combust.

Talia Monroe is the overworked co-owner who handles the books, the permits, and the panic attacks. She sunk her savings into opening Catpurrcino with her best friend—and she’s been white-knuckling the “just friends” act ever since their drunken hookup the night before the café opened.

Imogen “Immy” Vega is the chaos. The cat whisperer. The social media genius who turned a ghost cat into an internet celebrity. She’s loud, scattered, and so full of love it spills out of her onto everything she touches. She’s also been in love with Talia for over a year and hiding it behind humor and cat-ear headbands.

They share a café. They share a tiny apartment. They share a bed when the heater dies. They share everything—except the truth about how they feel.

When a viral cat video brings the spotlight, a corporate franchise comes knocking, and the walls between “business partners” and “everything” finally crack—Talia and Immy will have to decide whether the risk of loving each other is bigger than the agony of pretending they don’t.

You’ll love this book if you enjoy:

✅ Grumpy/sunshine FF with scorching praise kink
✅ Co-owners to lovers with forced proximity
✅ “Everyone can see it except them” slow burn
✅ Domestic kink meets cat-café cozy
✅ Found family of baristas, regulars, and opinionated cats
✅ Explicit scenes that serve the emotional arc (🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️)
✅ HEA guaranteed

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⚠️ Content Warning: This novel contains explicit sexual content (graphic FF scenes including praise kink, light D/s dynamics, and marking), strong language, depictions of anxiety, family conflict, workplace stress, and themes of emotional exploitation in a past relationship. Intended for readers 18+.

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Chapter One: Morning at Catpurrcino

The muffins were Talia’s tell.

She knew this about herself—knew it the way she knew her debt-to-income ratio and the exact price of oat milk per gallon and the fact that their POS system crashed every third Thursday like it was menstruating. When Talia Monroe was fine, she slept until her alarm, made one cup of coffee, and faced the day like a functioning adult. When Talia Monroe was not fine, she stress-baked at five-thirty in the morning with flour in her twists and her heart trying to claw its way out through her sternum.

Today was a twelve-muffin morning. Blueberry lemon. From scratch.

She cracked another egg into the bowl and whisked with more force than the batter required, her glasses fogging from the preheated oven. The café kitchen was small—commercial-grade but squeezed into a space that had originally been a storage closet—and at this hour, with the overhead fluorescents off and only the under-cabinet lights glowing, it felt like the only room in the world.

Six months since the night before they opened, when—

She whisked harder.

Don’t.

The back door rattled. Then a key scraped the lock, missed, scraped again—accompanied by a muffled voice already mid-conversation with someone who wasn’t there.

“—and I told you, Chairman, the vet said your weight is fine, you’re just big-boned, and honestly the body positivity movement could use a mascot—oh my God, are those muffins?”

Imogen Vega appeared in the kitchen doorway like a weather event. Cat-ear headband slightly crooked. Lipstick already on—coral today, bright enough to register from space. A new Catpurrcino tee she’d designed herself, the logo stretched tight across her chest in a way that Talia had learned not to notice.

“Talia Monroe. It is”—she checked her phone—“six twenty-two in the morning. On our six-month anniversary. And you’re baking.” She leaned against the counter and leveled a look that was half accusation, half worship. “How bad is it?”

“It’s not bad. It’s muffins.”

“Stress muffins.”

“Celebratory muffins.”

“Babe, your hands are shaking.”

Partner. The word shouldn’t have hit like that. It was accurate. Business partners. Co-owners. Co-signers on a loan that would take roughly four hundred years to pay off at current margins.

Six months since the night before they opened, when they’d sat on the empty café floor with a bottle of champagne and a lease they’d just signed and a terror so pure it felt like joy, and Immy had said, “If this fails, at least we fail together,” and Talia had looked at her—really looked—and Immy had kissed her.

And Talia hadn’t stopped her. Had pulled Immy into her lap on that cold tile floor and kissed her back like it was the last thing she’d ever do, and then it wasn’t just kissing, and they’d stumbled upstairs to the apartment that still smelled like paint, and—

Don’t.

In the morning, Talia had said, “We should probably not do that again.” The words had tasted like ash.

Immy had said, “Totally, yeah, business partners,” and smiled, and something small and load-bearing had cracked in the architecture of Talia’s chest, and it had never quite healed right.

Six months.

She could still taste champagne when Immy leaned that close.

And then it was just the two of them. The café quiet, chairs half-stacked, the espresso machine ticking as it cooled. Golden light slanting through the front windows.

Immy came out of the cat room and leaned against the counter beside Talia. She smelled like coffee and lavender hand sanitizer and something underneath that was just Immy—warm skin, sweet, a little reckless.

She leaned her head against Talia’s shoulder.

Talia didn’t move away. She never moved away. That was the problem.

“Good day, partner,” Immy said softly.

Then she headed for the stairs, and Talia watched her go—the sway of her hips, the curl of dark hair escaping her bun, the curve of her neck where Talia had once pressed her mouth and felt Immy’s pulse jump against her lips like a bird trying to escape.

She looked around the café—their café—and thought: We made it six months. We can make it six more.

And then, quieter: But I don’t know how much longer I can make it sleeping twenty feet from her and pretending I don’t remember every sound she made on that floor.

She picked up Chairman Meow—all sixteen furious pounds of him—and carried him upstairs.

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After Hours — A scene TOO HOT for Amazon

Cat Yoga After Dark. Wine. Candlelight. And the moment Talia finally snaps after watching Immy in yoga pants all evening. Meanwhile, Zoe discovers that the quiet bookstagrammer in the corner booth has been hiding something devastating under all that composure. Two couples. One café. The filthiest, funniest night in Catpurrcino history.

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