Chapter 1: Corbin - Purrfect Valentine

Apparently, rock bottom has a basement, and below that basement is a hidden cellar, and if a person were to lift the secret trapdoor under the filthy rug, there’s a staircase that leads to hell. And I just so happened to be the lucky fella to find that damn staircase.

I’d discovered it two weeks ago when Andi dumped me via text a day after I got laid off. Now, apparently, I was learning that hell had a crawl space—one where your car could die on a deserted mountain road with no phone signal while you rehearsed the speech you were going to give your ex-girlfriend to win her back.

The engine made a mechanical death sound like grinding gears. I gripped the steering wheel tighter.

“Come on. Come on.”

The Mustang shuddered and went silent.

I coasted to the shoulder—if you could call three feet of snow-packed gravel between asphalt and a sheer drop a “shoulder”—and sat there while my breath fogged the windshield.

No engine. No heat. No cell service.

I checked my phone anyway, holding it toward the window like an idiot. The screen’s cheerful “No Service” message might as well have been a middle finger.

“Perfect.”

I’d been rehearsing what I’d say to Andi for two hours. Two hours of talking to myself, running through every version.

Andi, I know you needed time to think, but my question is still the same.

Too passive.

Andi, breaking up over text was shitty, and I deserve better than that, but I still want to try.

Too aggressive. She’d get defensive.

Andi, I love you, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes.

And that was too pathetic. The words felt hollow. Like a script someone else had written. But what was I supposed to do? Two years. I’d planned a future around her. Then she sent me a text—a text—saying she “needed space to figure things out.”

Space.

Like I was clutter. Like our relationship was a closet she’d been meaning to clean out.

The last road sign I’d passed said “Cupid Corner — 5 miles.”

I sat in the car until I couldn’t feel my toes. Then I grabbed my phone, my keys, and my wallet, shoved them all in my pocket, and got out.

As if the world wanted to sucker punch me one more time, the cold hit like a fist. I was wearing a wool coat that went down to my knees, but my leather loafers were not made for this kind of weather. I looked at the car. Looked at the endless stretch of pine trees and white peaks.

“Fuck!”

The word echoed off the mountains. Even nature was laughing at me.

I kicked a chunk of asphalt and swore again when it felt like I had broken my toe. Hopping up and down, I watched the clump skitter over the edge into the ravine. For a moment, I imagined following it.

Then I started walking up the mountain.

The anger carried me through the first mile. I tracked every bad decision: the mountain route instead of the highway. Not checking the weather from the past couple of weeks because god knew the ice stuck around in the shade and made the temperature in the mountains crappy and cold. And then there was the big ole winner, dating Andi in the first place.

That last one wasn’t fair. She wasn’t a bad person. She was just a lot. She needed a lot. Thankfully, I’d always had enough to give. Although, I guess she disagreed with that.

By the second mile, the anger had burned off into something worse. Thirty years old. Unemployed. Single. Walking up a frozen mountain road, chasing a woman who’d dumped me via text.

If my mother could see me now⁠—

No. We weren’t going there.

I shoved that thought into the locked box in my chest and kept walking.

A couple of minutes into mile three, I had to stop. Bent over, hands on my knees, sucking air as if I’d run a marathon instead of walked a gentle incline. Right. Mountain air. Thin oxygen. I’d forgotten that part.

Something sharp dug into my calf.

“What the—” I looked down. A tiny white-and-tan blur was scaling my leg like I was a tree, needle claws puncturing straight through my slacks. “Ow. Ow, ow, ow⁠—”

I grabbed the thing—a kitten, matted and filthy and way too small to be out here alone—and detached it from my leg. It dangled from my hands, staring at me with enormous eyes as if I were the one being unreasonable.

“No.” I set it on the ground and started walking again, even though my lungs protested.

Ten seconds later, something snagged my ankle. The kitten had latched onto my shoe, claws hooked into my sock, getting dragged along the asphalt like a tiny furry water skier. I pried it off, set it down, and walked faster.

Thirty seconds. A mew behind me. I didn’t turn around. Another mew, closer. I kept my eyes forward and picked up the pace, which was a feat considering I could barely breathe.

A small thud against the back of my shoe. I stopped and turned. The kitten sat on the pavement, looking up at me, and let out a mew so pathetic it should’ve come with a Sarah McLachlan soundtrack.

“I’m not your guy.” It mewed again. “I’m serious. I’m a disaster. I’m walking to a town I’ve never heard of to find a mechanic and then get to a woman who dumped me via text and then beg said woman—potentially on my knees—to take me back. Does that sound like someone who has their life together?”

The kitten blinked. Then it shivered—its whole tiny body vibrating with the effort.

“I’m allergic to cats. Sorry.” I shrugged, but something in its blue eyes kept me from turning around and walking away again. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Can’t you wait for the next sorry fool to help you?”

It mewed again. I took it as a no, sighing as I leaned down.

“This is temporary,” I muttered, unbuttoning my coat. “You hear me? Temporary.”

I scooped it up and stuffed it inside against my chest. It weighed nothing despite a protruding belly. However, besides that belly, it was all bones and fur and that persistent shiver, which stopped almost immediately. A small motor started up—purring, right against my sternum.

“Don’t get comfortable.”

It ignored me and burrowed deeper.

By the time Cupid Corner materialized through the low light, I couldn’t feel my face and I had at least four blisters forming from my leather shoes that were not meant for hiking mountain roads. The town looked exactly as I’d expected: a tacky Hallmark movie set. Pastel storefronts. Fairy lights. Hearts in every window. A gazebo in the center of a grassy area.

February was coming. Right. Valentine’s Day.

Because, of course, the universe had to throw my dumped status back in my numb face.

I spotted a sign that said “Cupid’s Cat Café” in curling script. A cat café. In a town called Cupid Corner. While I had an illegal stowaway in my coat.

Well, at least something had worked out.

I pushed through the door and a wall of warmth, coffee, and the smell of cats hit me. My nose itched right away, and I rubbed it with the back of my hand. Brightly colored walls, mismatched furniture, Valentine decorations on every surface. A fat orange cat sprawled across the counter. A Siamese sat on a shelf, regarding me with disdain. A black cat prowled between tables. Other cats sat on various chairs and curled up in baskets and on a rather large cat tower with multiple levels and hidden holes.

“You lost, handsome?”

Two women stood behind the counter. Both in their seventies or eighties. Both with hair dyed colors nature never intended—one pastel purple, one pastel pink. They wore matching expressions of delighted curiosity.

“Aw, he looks lost, Wim,” said the pink-haired one.

“Whatcha looking for?” The purple-haired one—Wim—tilted her head. “Smallville is a bit far from here.”

“You’re right! That’s who he looks like.”

“What?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Clark Kent,” the pink-haired one said with a wide grin. “Superman.”

“I’m not—never mind.” I stepped forward, wrinkling my nose when a striped cat tried to brush against my leg. “I need directions to the nearest mechanic.”

“Mountain View Motors,” Wim said. “Lynx McMurty owns it. He’s a couple miles out, near the edge of town. But he’s closed for the day. I’m Wimberly, and this is Beverly. But we go by Wim and Bev.”

“Closed? It’s barely five o’clock,” I said, ignoring her introduction.

“Winter hours. Nothing to fix if everyone’s stuck inside,” Bev shrugged. “Sorry, Kent.”

“I bet Lynx is still working. He’s always in that garage. You could always⁠—”

The kitten chose that moment to poke its head out of my coat.

Both women gasped.

“Oh my stars, is that a kitten?” Bev’s eyes grew wider behind her glasses.

“Where on earth⁠—”

“It found me,” I said. “Followed me up the mountain. I need somewhere to drop it off. Saw cat in the name of this place and thought I’d stop here first.”

Bev was already around the counter, moving faster than any seventy-something-year-old had a right to. “Drop her off? Look at this baby! She’s trembling. And her eyes—Wim, look at her eyes.”

“Gunky,” Wim confirmed.

“She needs a vet,” Bev said, staring at the kitten, who was staring at the fat orange cat on the counter. The orange cat gave the kitten one look before closing its eyes and going back to sleep.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” I said. “I’ll find a shelter or something. Is there one nearby?”

“A shelter?” Wim looked at me like I’d suggested drowning it. “In Cupid Corner? Honey, we are the shelter. But this baby needs medical attention. Look at that belly. And those eyes are infected.”

“So take it to a vet.”

“We’re not a vet, we’re a café. We serve coffee and technically rent out cats for cuddles, which sounds worse when I say it out loud, but⁠—”

“Dr. Vanderspelt is who you need,” Bev cut in. “She’s the only vet in town. Runs Heart and Paws Vet Clinic. She could take a look and⁠—”

The café door swung open, letting in a gust of cold air and a woman who was grinning from ear to ear. She’d braided her blonde hair in two braids with the tips dyed pink, and she had a few piercings trailing up the edge of her left ear.

Before I could check if my brain had frozen—because why in this small-town hell was I paying any attention to a stranger’s piercings—the woman opened her mouth and spoke.

“Sorry I’m late, I had a schnauzer with an attitude problem and I—” She stopped mid-sentence, gaze landing on me. “Oh. Hi.”

Bev and Wim exchanged a look that I didn’t like one bit.

“Well, speak of the devil,” Wim said, grinning.

“We were just talking about you,” Bev added, in a tone that implied this was cosmically significant and not a basic coincidence. I mean, how many people lived in this place? Couldn’t have been more than a couple thousand. Probably less. God, I needed to get out of here.

The woman stepped further into the café, and I got a better look at her. Probably late twenties. Hazel eyes that seemed way too wide and round. She was a good foot shorter than me and wearing a puffy jacket that made her look like a teal marshmallow.

She was also smiling. At me. Like I hadn’t trudged in here looking like a half-frozen disaster with a stowaway cat in my coat.

I didn’t trust people who smiled that easily.

“This is Dr. Vanderspelt,” Bev announced, practically shoving the woman toward me. “Best vet in town.”

“Only vet in town,” Dr. Vanderspelt corrected. She stuck out her hand. “Ally.”

I looked at her hand, then back at her face. “Corbin.”

She waited. I didn’t take her hand. After a beat, she lowered it, still smiling, though something sharper flickered behind her eyes. Good. At least she wasn’t completely oblivious.

“Corbin here found a kitten on the mountain,” Wim supplied helpfully. “The poor thing’s in rough shape.”

“It followed me,” I clarified. “I didn’t find it. It attached itself to my leg. Literally. With claws.”

“Let’s see.” Ally stepped closer, and I caught a whiff of vanilla and something clinical underneath—antiseptic, maybe. She peered at the kitten’s face poking out of my coat. “Oh, sweet baby. Yeah, those eyes are infected. Upper respiratory, probably. May I?”

She held out her hands, waiting.

I unbuttoned my coat and extracted the kitten, who immediately started squirming again. The second I placed it in Ally’s hands, the thing lost its tiny mind.

It yowled—not a mew, an actual yowl—and twisted violently, claws scrambling for purchase on Ally’s jacket. It hissed and spat. She adjusted her grip, cooing at it, but the kitten wasn’t having it. It stretched toward me, crying as if I’d thrown it into a woodchipper instead of handed it to a medical professional.

“Whoa, okay, shh, you’re okay—” Ally tried, but the kitten only screamed louder. Even the Siamese seemed concerned, leaping to a lower shelf to get a better look.

“What’s wrong with it?” I demanded.

“It’s scared.” Ally looked up at me, and this close, I noticed the freckles scattered across her nose. The gold flecks in her eyes. The fact that she had to tilt her head back to meet my gaze. “It must’ve bonded to you. You’re safe. I’m a stranger.”

“I’m a stranger too. We met an hour ago.”

“You’re a warm stranger who carried the sweet baby for miles. That’s basically fatherhood in cat terms.”

“Hell no,” I said, taking a step back.

But the kitten was still wailing, straining toward me with everything it had.

“It’s a girl,” Ally said, holding it up and wincing when the kitten swiped at her face, catching her on the cheek.

“Oh, for the love of—” I reached out and took it back. The crying stopped instantly. It burrowed against my chest, purring like nothing had happened.

Ally’s mouth twitched. “Interesting.”

“It’s not interesting; it’s annoying.”

“Tomato, tomahto.” She stepped closer—too close—and her hands came up to examine the kitten while it sat against my chest. Her fingers brushed my coat, my shirt underneath, and I held very still. “I’m going to need to do a proper exam. Her belly’s distended, which could be a few things. Some benign, some... less so.”

“Fine. Take it. Examine it. Do whatever you need to do.”

“But it’ll distress her to be away from you.” Ally pulled back slightly, looking up at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “Don’t you want to help her?”

For a split second, Andi’s face flashed in my mind—the way she’d looked at me when I’d offered to pick up extra shifts so she could take that trip with her friends. The way she’d smiled and said, You’re always helping everyone, Corbin. It’s one of the things I love about you.

Apparently not enough.

“No,” I said.

Ally blinked. “No?”

“I don’t want to help it. I want to find a mechanic, get my car fixed, and get out of this town.” I unbuttoned my coat the rest of the way, ignoring the way the kitten’s claws dug into my shirt. “It’s a cat. It’ll get over it.”

Ally frowned at me. “She is a she, not an it. And she’s sick. And scared. And she⁠—”

“Is not my problem.”

I pried the kitten off my chest. It screamed—an awful, gut-wrenching sound that made Bev gasp and Wim mutter something under her breath. Its claws caught on my shirt, my coat, anything it could grab, but I pulled it free and shoved it into Ally’s hands.

The kitten thrashed. Yowled. Reached for me with its tiny paws.

I didn’t look at it.

“You said the mechanic is on the edge of town? Mountain something?” I buttoned my coat back up, directing the question to the two older women.

“Mountain View Motors,” Bev said, though she was watching the kitten struggling in Ally’s arms.

“You can’t just—” Ally started, but I was already moving toward the door.

“McMurty, right?”

“He’s closed,” Wim said, her voice notably cooler than before.

“Then I’ll knock until he opens.”

I pushed through the door and back into the cold. Behind me, the kitten’s cries followed, muffled by the glass but not gone. Not even close.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and started walking.

The universe could laugh all it wanted. I had a car to fix and an ex-girlfriend to win back, and I wasn’t about to let a sick kitten and a veterinarian with freckles and pink hair derail that plan.