The first rays of dawn filtered through the half-open blinds, casting long, golden stripes across the rumpled bedsheets. I stirred slowly, my body still heavy with sleep, and glanced at the calendar pinned to the wall beside the nightstand. Tomorrow. The wedding was tomorrow. A quiet thrill shot through me—everything was finally locked in. The riverside clearing had been confirmed with the local council, complete with permits for the fairy lights and a small bonfire pit if the evening turned chilly. Caterers had sent over the final menu tweaks: grilled lamb skewers, fresh shopska salad with chunks of feta, warm pita bread, Sylvia's paprika-stuffed peppers, and a big pot of her slow-cooked bean stew. The guest list was tiny and perfect—just Elena (human, always reliable), Sylvia (with her perky fox ears and bushy tail that never stopped moving), Boris (the big guy himself), Victor from the bar, and Sara, Miko's sharp-tongued boss from the gift shop. The twins would toddle down the makeshift aisle in their little vests and flower crowns, scattering petals if they didn't get distracted by butterflies first. Akira's name lingered on the list in faint pencil; if she miraculously appeared with Lilly in tow, we'd make room. If not, we'd still exchange vows under the willows.
I rolled over, reaching instinctively for Miko's warmth—her soft curves, the way her cat tail would curl around my leg in her sleep. But the bed was empty, the sheets still faintly warm from her body heat, her subtle vanilla scent hanging in the air like a promise. She must have slipped out early, probably fussing over last-minute details. She'd been insatiable last night, more horny than usual, climbing on top of me twice before we collapsed in a sweaty tangle. Like she wanted to burn off every ounce of pre-wedding nerves, satisfying us both until we were boneless. I smirked at the memory, my cock stirring lazily under the covers as I pictured her cat ears pinned back in pleasure, tail lashing wildly.
No time to linger. I swung my legs out of bed, the cool hardwood floor grounding me as I pulled on faded jeans and a plain t-shirt. The house was unnaturally quiet—no toddler footsteps thumping down the hall, no babbling "hi" echoes. I padded to the twins' room, door slightly ajar. Empty cribs, toys scattered across the rug like a miniature battlefield: stuffed animals toppled, blocks half-stacked. Miko must have bundled them up and taken them with her—maybe to Elena's for outfit fittings or something equally bridal.
Perfect opportunity. Solo errands. I grabbed my wallet, keys, and a light jacket against the crisp morning air, then headed out on foot. The neighborhood streets were just waking up: bakery vans rumbling past with the intoxicating smell of fresh banitsa and bread, early risers sipping coffee on stoops, the distant chime of a church bell. Town center wasn't far—a fifteen-minute walk through narrow cobblestone alleys lined with flower boxes and shuttered shops slowly opening their doors.
First stop: the tailor's shop on the main square, a cozy place with creaky wooden floors and walls lined with bolts of fabric. The owner, an older man with a tape measure perpetually around his neck, greeted me with a nod. No tux for me—too formal for a riverside ceremony. I tried on a few options, settling on a crisp white button-down shirt with subtle embroidery along the cuffs, slim black trousers that fit without pinching, and a charcoal vest that matched the twins' outfits perfectly. It was simple, comfortable, but sharp enough to make Miko's eyes light up. I paid in cash, the tailor folding everything neatly into a paper bag.
Next: the jeweler a couple of blocks over, a small storefront with gleaming display cases under soft spotlights. Miko had dropped hints about rings weeks ago, but life had gotten in the way. I browsed slowly, heart thumping a bit harder than I'd admit—gold bands, silver twists, diamonds catching the light like tiny stars. I chose a simple golden wedding ring for her: polished to a warm shine, etched with a delicate wave pattern to echo the river where we'd say our vows. Eight hundred euros. Steep, but worth every cent. It'd slide perfectly onto her finger, a quiet promise amid the chaos of our life.
Bag in hand, I stepped back into the bustling morning sun—vendors setting up market stalls, the air filled with chatter and the sizzle of street food—and nearly bowled straight into a familiar massive frame.
"Boris?" I blinked, steadying myself.
He grinned, his thick beard splitting wide, dark eyes crinkling at the corners. "Здравей, братле!" (Hello, brother!) He clapped my shoulder with a paw that could crush bricks, nearly knocking the wind out of me. "Рано си станал? Хайде, да хапнем нещо. Умирам от глад." (Up early? Come, let's grab something to eat. I'm starving.)
We ducked into a nearby corner cafe with wrought-iron outdoor tables, the kind where locals lingered over newspapers. Steam rose from fresh espresso machines inside, and the waiter brought us menus without a word. Boris launched into a story about Elena vanishing at dawn—"Елена изчезна тази сутрин, сигурно с Мико и Силвия за някакви женски работи." (Elena was gone this morning, probably with Miko and Sylvia for some girl stuff.)—and how Sylvia had finally moved out last week. "Силвия най-накрая се изнесе. Намери си свой апартамент отвъд града. Казва, че й писнало да ни слуша как се караме за футбола." (Sylvia finally moved out. Found her own place across town. Says she's tired of hearing us argue about football.)
We ordered light—flaky croissants dusted with powdered sugar, strong black coffee, a side of thick yogurt topped with honey and fresh berries, and some sliced fruit. Morning was still young; no need for a heavy fry-up that would sit like lead in our stomachs.
Boris leaned back in his chair, the metal creaking under his bulk, and sipped his coffee. "Готов ли си за утре? Няма ли студени крака?" (So, ready for tomorrow? No cold feet?)
I laughed, shaking my head as I stirred sugar into my own cup. My Bulgarian was still rough around the edges, but I managed. "Да, готов съм. Повече от готов. Отдавна чакаме това." (Yeah, ready. More than ready. It's been a long time coming.)
He nodded approvingly, eyes warm. "Добре. Мико е за пазене. Не я проваляй." (Good. Miko's a keeper. Don't fuck it up.)
**Caz's POV**
The sun was barely peeking over the rooftops when Mommy burst into the room like a whirlwind, her cat ears perked straight up, tail swishing back and forth with barely contained energy. "Up, up, my little ones! Big day prep starts now!"
Ava blinked sleepily from her crib, rubbing her eyes with chubby fists and letting out a confused little coo. I sat up, tail flicking in annoyance, my brain still muddled from dreams of wires and screams. What's happening? Wedding stuff? But that's tomorrow. Why are we up at the crack of dawn?
Mommy didn't explain. She scooped us both up with quick, efficient movements, dressing us in soft little outfits—comfy shirts and pants that didn't pinch our tails—while humming a cheerful tune. Ava babbled a soft "hi" at her, but Mommy just kissed our foreheads and carried us out the door. She paused in the kitchen to grab a thick wad of cash from the drawer—Daddy's emergency stash, probably—and met Auntie Elena outside on the stoop. No car; we walked, the cool morning air nipping at our ears as the town slowly came to life around us. Streetlights flickered off one by one, shops rolled up their shutters with metallic clangs, and the distant rumble of delivery vans mixed with the chirp of waking birds.
Ava and I bounced in Mommy's arms, exchanging confused glances. Her tail kept brushing mine, and she made little questioning noises, but I just shrugged my tiny shoulders. Grown-ups were weird. Mommy and Elena chattered non-stop in a mix of English and Bulgarian—something about final dress fittings, flower arrangements, and "a surprise for your daddy that he'll never see coming." We stopped at a jewelry store first, the window displays glittering with rings and necklaces under the morning sun. Mommy browsed the cases with Elena's help, picking out a simple silver wedding ring—not flashy like the gold ones, something understated with a subtle twist pattern. Not as expensive as the fancy stuff, but she smiled wide, cat ears twitching happily. "He'll love it," she said, paying with some of Daddy's cash while we squirmed in our stroller.
I looked around while they haggled—people rushing by with briefcases and coffee cups, a dog-eared hybrid sniffing at a lamppost, cars honking in the growing traffic. The world was bigger than our house, full of smells and sounds that made my tail puff up with curiosity. Ava tugged at my sleeve, pointing at a street vendor selling balloons, but I ignored her, too busy watching everything.
Finally, after what felt like hours of walking and stopping, they wheeled us into a cozy cafe shop with outdoor seating under striped awnings. Mommy and Elena ordered tea and pastries, chatting about veil options, while we got plopped into high chairs with sippy cups of juice and bowls of cut-up fruit. Rest time, at last. Ava immediately used it to annoy me—poking my cat ear with a sticky finger, stealing my banana slice and smooshing it back onto my tray, making goofy faces and babbling "hi hi hi" until I swatted her hand away with a grumpy chirp. She giggled, tail flicking mischievously, and did it again. Whatever. Sisters were the worst.
I stared at the grown-ups' steaming mugs, the rich, bitter aroma wafting over—coffee, dark and strong. Morning coffee. The one thing I missed from my old life as James: starting every day with a hot black mug, steam curling up, strong enough to jolt me awake before heading to a job site. Before the girlfriend's apartment. Before the faulty wiring that ended everything in a flash of pain.
I sighed—a tiny, frustrated huff—and poked at my fruit with a chubby finger. This reincarnated kit life had its moments, but damn, I missed the caffeine.