Chapter 3: Corbin - Purrfect Valentine

I woke up to pink. Pink wallpaper. Pink bedspread with roses. A heart-shaped pillow that had migrated to my face at some point during the night, which explained the dream I’d had about being smothered by a valentine.

The twin bed creaked as I shifted, my feet hanging off the end because apparently this room had been designed for someone significantly shorter than six-foot-three.

Apparently hell’s crawlspace had a secret pit of pink despair because somehow, every time I thought I reached rock bottom, I landed in a new level of some twisted pit of the damn inferno.

To be fair, the woman running the inn had been really generous offering me this room, even if it was in the renovated barn instead of the actual inn.

Lucky me. I got the Sweetheart Inn’s “we don’t normally rent this out but here you go” special.

Lynx had dropped me here last night after towing my car back to his shop. He’d taken one look at the engine, made a sound that wasn’t encouraging, and told me he’d know more in the morning.

My phone buzzed on the narrow dresser. I grabbed it, hoping—stupidly, pathetically hoping—to see Andi’s name.

Lynx (Mechanic on steroids).

I opened the text.

I stared at the ceiling. Counted the tiny hearts in the crown molding. Wondered what I’d done in a past life to deserve this.

A week. I could be stuck in this damn town for a week.

I dropped the phone on my chest and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes until I saw stars. The plan had been simple: drive to Andi’s, deliver my speech, win her back. Instead, I was trapped in a converted barn in a tacky small town obsessed with Valentine’s Day, sleeping in a bed made for a child, while my car sat in pieces at a mechanic’s shop.

The universe wasn’t laughing at me anymore. It was pointing and taking pictures.

I sat up and ran both hands through my hair. With a sigh, I picked up my phone again and stared at the picture of Andi and I from last year when I took her to look at fall colors. God, she was beautiful, all cozy in my arms while I kissed her cheek.

Unfortunately, a few notifications covered part of the photo.

Three missed calls from my dad. A text from my college roommate asking if I was alive. And nothing from Andi.

I called her anyway.

Straight to voicemail. Her voice, cheerful and detached: Hey, you’ve reached Andi. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you when I can.

I hung up without saying anything. Tried again. Voicemail.

I typed out a text:

Delivered. No typing bubble. No response.

With a pathetic grunt, I flopped back onto the bed, managing to slam my head into the headboard. Feeling spiteful, I flipped off the ceiling.

It didn’t respond.

By late afternoon, my stomach was eating itself. I’d spent the morning alternating between staring at my phone (no response from Andi still), staring at the ceiling (pink, with those goddamn hearts), and contemplating if I should’ve jumped into that ravine yesterday.

The room was too small to pace in. The window overlooked the parking lot. At some point, the heart-shaped pillow ended up in my hands, and I threw it across the room. I picked up again. Threw it. Picked it up. Over and over again. It didn’t make me feel better. Somehow, I passed the day away in my pink room of hell.

At five-forty, my phone buzzed with a text from Ally, whom I’d put into my phone as “Dr. Sunshine.”

Right. The dinner thing. The “I need to discuss some things with you” thing that I’d agreed to yesterday because she’d offered free food and I’d had nothing better to do.

I still had nothing better to do. And now I was starving on top of that.

I hadn’t eaten all day. Hadn’t left the room. Hadn’t done anything except spiral about Andi and throw that stupid heart pillow against the wall approximately 398 times.

I threw it two more times for good measure.

My stomach growled loud enough to echo off the pink wallpaper.

I typed back that I would be out in a couple minutes. Did I want to go? No. But did I need to leave this tiny jail cell and find something to eat? Yes. Very much yes.

Dragging myself off the bed, I splashed water on my face in the tiny bathroom, and decided I looked presentable enough for a woman who’d already seen me at my worst—frozen, exhausted, and covered in kitten fur.

The yellow VW Bug pulled up outside the barn. I spotted it through my window—impossible to miss, that thing, like a rolling lemon with a death wish.

Thankfully, when the mechanic had driven me to my car, it allowed me to get my duffel bag, and more importantly, different shoes. I now wore black tennis shoes instead of the leather loafers, which I was likely going to have to throw out thanks to all the walking I did yesterday. God, my legs were sore as I walked out of the barn.

The passenger door stuck again. I’d forgotten about that from yesterday. I yanked on the handle, planted my foot against the frame, and wrenched it open with enough force that I nearly fell backward onto my ass.

“Good evening,” Ally said cheerfully from the driver’s seat, pink-tipped hair and all. “You’d think you’d remember the door.”

“You’d think you’d get it fixed.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

I folded myself into the passenger seat, knees pressed against the dashboard, and tried not to think about how small her car was. How close she was. How good she smelled. But she only smelled good because she must’ve had a vanilla perfume, and vanilla went in food and I was ravenous.

“You look hungry,” she observed, pulling away from the inn.

“I haven’t eaten all day.”

“Why not?”

Because I’d been too busy wallowing in self-pity and calling my ex-girlfriend an inappropriate amount of times. “Wasn’t in the mood.”

She made a sound that might have been sympathy or might have been judgment. Hard to tell.

We drove through town, past the fairy lights and the heart-shaped everything and the people who smiled at strangers. The freaks. I stared out the window and tried to ignore the way my stomach was talking more than I was.

“There it is.” Ally pointed at a little storefront with a red lantern in the window. “Best Asian fusion in town.”

“It’s the only Asian fusion in town, isn’t it?”

“That too.” She pulled into a parking spot and killed the engine. “Stay here. I’ll grab the food.”

“Stay here?”

“It’ll be faster. I called ahead.” She was already climbing out. “Two minutes.”

The door slammed before I could argue.

I sat in the tiny car, stomach growling with disappointment, watching her disappear into the restaurant. Fine. Whatever. If she wanted to grab the food, I wasn’t going to complain. The faster we ate, the faster this was over, the faster I could go back to my pink prison and continue feeling sorry for myself.

She emerged three minutes later with two paper bags that smelled incredible. My mouth actually watered. I reached for one of the bags as she slid back into the driver’s seat.

She pulled it out of my reach.

“What—”

“Patience.” She set the bags in the back seat, started the engine, and pulled out of the parking lot.

“Where are we eating?”

“You’ll see.”

She turned left instead of right. Away from the inn. Away from the restaurant.

“This isn’t the way back to the inn.”

“Nope.”

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere we can talk.”

I recognized the road. We’d driven it yesterday when she’d taken me to the mechanic. The same curve, the same trees, the same⁠—

Heart & Paws Veterinary Clinic.

She pulled into the parking lot and cut the engine.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No. You said dinner. You didn’t say anything about—” I gestured at the clinic, the cheerful painted sign, the building where that damn kitten was probably still screaming for me. “This.”

“I said I needed to discuss some things with you.” Ally grabbed the bags from the back seat and smiled at me—sweet, sunny, and absolutely unyielding. “This is where the something is.”

“You mean where it is.”

“If by it, you mean the kitten, yes. She’s here.”

“This is kidnapping.”

“Is it though?” She tilted her head, those hazel eyes sparkling with something that looked dangerously close to amusement. “I offered you dinner. You’re getting dinner. I said I’d pick you up. I picked you up. I never specified where we’d eat.”

“You implied⁠—”

“I implied nothing. You assumed. And you made an ass of yourself, just like the saying goes.” She popped her door open.

“It’s ‘u’ and ‘me,’” I corrected.

“That’s sweet, but I’m not interested in you that way, bud.” She winked at me and got out of the car.

I don’t hit women. I don’t hit women. I don’t hit women. Honestly, I really didn’t. But this woman pissed me off. Still would never raise a hand against a woman, but damn. I counted to ten. Then twenty. I ground my teeth together. “I’m not going in there.”

“Okay.” She shrugged, entirely unbothered as she leaned over. Her sweater was too low-cut to be leaning over, and I glared at my hands in my lap. “Then you can sit in the car while I eat your pad thai and dumplings.”

She somehow managed to wave with the bags in hand, shut the car door, and headed for the clinic.

My stomach screamed about as loud as the little fluff ball in that building had yesterday when I’d left her. It. It was an it.

I watched Ally walk away, and then reprimanded myself when I realized I was staring at her ass. I really was a pathetic man. She didn’t look back. Didn’t hesitate. Just unlocked the clinic door and disappeared inside, taking the food—my food—with her.

I sat there for approximately five seconds.

Then I swore, fought with the passenger door, and followed her inside.