Chapter 7: Corbin - Purrfect Valentine

“Hey, it’s me. Again.” I stood next to the gazebo in the center of town, phone pressed to my ear, watching my breath fog in the cold air. Wim’s rusty blue bike leaned against the railing behind me, the wire basket empty. The kitten had decided my chest was the only acceptable location.

“I know you’re getting these. I know you’re ignoring them.” I rubbed the back of my neck with my free hand. “Please, Andi, when I get out of here, I want to talk. In person. About us. About your decision. Listen, I still love you, and whatever I did to piss you off, I promise to work on.”

The kitten shifted inside my jacket, a small, warm weight against my ribs. She’d been quiet since I picked her up from the clinic two hours ago—exhausted from her first injection, Ally had said.

I hadn’t been there for that part. But Ally’s face when she’d handed the kitten over told me enough.

“Anyway.” I cleared my throat. “Call me back. Please.”

I hung up before I could say anything else pathetic and shoved the phone in my pocket.

This was the fourth message I’d left Andi today. Four messages, zero callbacks. At some point, the silence stopped being “I need space” and started being “take the hint, asshole.”

I wasn’t ready to take the hint.

Across the street, that godforsaken cupid mannequin stared at me. The one with the drooping wing and the unhinged smile. It was still pointing its heart-tipped arrow at passersby like a threat. I half expected it to come alive and try to murder me when no one was looking.

I hated this town.

The kitten made a small sound against my chest—not quite a meow, more like a sigh—and burrowed deeper into my jacket.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “I know. We’re both stuck here.”

“Talking to yourself, Superman?”

I turned. Ally strode toward me across the square, hands shoved in the pockets of her jacket, that honey-blonde hair with the pink tips catching the late afternoon light. She walked with long strides, a bright smile on her face.

“Talking to the cat.”

“Did she talk back?” She stopped in front of me, close enough that I caught the faint scent of vanilla again. “Some cats do.”

“Nothing I could understand yet. She’s been quiet.” I adjusted my jacket, careful not to jostle her. “She hasn’t moved in an hour.”

“That’s normal. The injection site is sore, and she’s probably exhausted from the stress.” Ally’s eyes dropped to my chest, tracking the small lump under the fabric. “She’s quiet, which is good. She’s probably sleeping it off. So.” Ally clapped her gloved hands together. “Ready for the tour?”

“I’ve seen the town.”

“You’ve walked through it while brooding. That’s not the same thing.” She was already moving, heading toward Main Street without checking to see if I’d follow. “Come on. We need to get you supplies. Food, litter, a carrier for transport. Maybe some treats if you want her to forgive you for existing.”

“She doesn’t need to forgive me. I didn’t do anything.”

“Yet.” Ally shot me a look over her shoulder. “This cat holds a grudge like none I’ve ever seen, Superman. Better be ready to make amends.”

I grabbed the bike and pushed it alongside me as I followed her. The basket rattled with every bump in the sidewalk, loud enough that a few people turned to look. Great. Now I was the weird guy pushing a rusty bicycle through a Valentine’s hellscape while a dying kitten slept against his heart.

“First stop.” Ally gestured toward the bakery I’d passed three times this morning. Love at First Bite. The window display featured a three-tiered cake covered in fondant roses and a sign that said ORDER YOUR VALENTINE’S SWEETHEART SPECIAL NOW! “This place has the best cinnamon rolls, but they also sell pet-safe treats. The owner’s sister runs the shelter two towns over.”

“I don’t need treats.”

“The kitten needs treats. And you need to stop being difficult.” She poked me in the shoulder, and then pushed through the door. The smell of warm sugar, cinnamon, butter, and something baking made my stomach growl loud enough for Ally to hear.

She grinned. “Hungry?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

The woman behind the counter lit up the second she saw Ally.

“Dr. V! It’s good to see you!”

“You too.” Ally leaned against the counter like she had all the time in the world. “How’s the Valentine’s rush treating you?”

“Brutal. I’ve got orders backed up through the fourteenth.” The woman’s gaze slid to me, curious and assessing. “And who’s this? New boyfriend?”

“God, no.” Ally laughed—actually laughed—and I ground my teeth. What was so horrible about me as a significant other? “This is Corbin. He’s the one who found that sick kitten on the mountain road.”

The woman’s expression shifted instantly. Warmer. Softer.

“That was you? Bev and Wim told me about it. Said you walked five miles into town to get her help.” She was already reaching for a paper bag. “Here. On the house. Cinnamon roll for you, salmon bites for the baby.”

“I don’t⁠—”

“Take it.” Ally elbowed me. “Don’t be rude.”

I took the bag. It was warm in my hands, and the smell made my mouth water despite my best efforts to remain unaffected.

“Thank you,” I managed.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. And good luck with that one.” the woman winked at Ally. “He’s cute when he’s grumpy.”

Thankfully, we escaped before I could die of embarrassment.

We passed the florist—Petals & Thorns, with its pink delivery van and buckets of roses on the sidewalk—and a woman, probably the same one I’d seen earlier, was hauling an armful of red carnations. She paused to wave at Ally with her elbow.

“Hey, Dr. V! Doodles says hi!”

“Tell him I said hi back! And no more eating the tulips!”

“No promises!”

I watched the exchange with something between fascination and horror. “Does everyone in this town know you?”

“Pretty much.” Ally shrugged. “Small town. I’m the only vet. If you have a pet, you know me.”

“And if you don’t have a pet?”

“Then you know someone who does, and they’ve told you about me.” She flashed me a grin. “I’m very popular, Superman. Try to keep up.”

We turned down a side street, passing the old candy shop that was under construction and a store that sold nothing but candles. The kitten stirred against my chest, claws pricking through my shirt as she stretched.

“Easy,” I murmured without thinking. “You’re okay.”

She settled. When I glanced up, Ally was watching me.

“You’re good at that,” she said.

“At what?”

“Knowing what she needs.”

I didn’t have a response to that, so I said nothing. The kitten purred against my chest—a small, tired sound that vibrated through my ribs.

We stopped at a pet supply store I hadn’t noticed before. Ally loaded me up with more supplies than I could carry—kitten food, a small litter box, a soft blanket, cat toys, a carrier that the kitten would probably never use because she refused to be anywhere but attached to my body.

“This is too much,” I said as she added a package of interactive toys to the pile.

“It’s exactly enough. She’s going to be with you and you want her to not pee in your shoes, right? Might as well make her comfortable.”

“No, I don’t want her to pee on my shoes, but what about when I leave?”

Ally bit her cheek, avoiding my gaze. “I guess you can donate it to the cat café. They always need more stuff.”

Before I could get my wallet out, Ally handed over her credit card and paid. I told her she didn’t have to, but she pointed out that she’d forced me to take the kitten. I thanked her, though I didn’t like that she’d paid. We stepped back outside, my arms full of bags, the bike somehow balanced against my hip. The sun was starting to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that matched the Valentine decorations. If I squinted, I could almost see why people visited this place for Valentine’s Day.

Almost.

A crash echoed from somewhere behind us—metal on concrete, loud and sharp—and the kitten jolted against my chest.

I dropped the bags.

My hands came up automatically, one cupping her back, the other bracing her against me. Her claws dug into my shirt. Her heart raced against my palm. But she didn’t scream. She didn’t try to run.

She pressed closer and waited for me to tell her it was okay.

“It’s okay,” I whispered. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

By the time I straightened, she’d stopped shaking. Ally was staring at me with an amused expression.

“What?”

“Nothing.” The lilt to her voice disagreed with the statement. Ally bent to pick up the scattered bags, but her eyes stayed on me. “You’re better at this than you think.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. So I grabbed the bike and started walking.

We’d made it another block when a voice called out from behind us.

“Ally! Hey!”

I turned. A man was jogging toward us from the direction of the bookshop—tall, well-dressed, with short curly red hair. He looked like the kind of guy who owned a lot of turtlenecks and suspenders. In fact, the man dressed like a young version of my grandfather.

Ally’s face lit up. “Fitz!”

She met him halfway, and he wrapped her in a hug that lasted too long in my opinion.

I stood there holding a bike and a kitten and several bags of cat supplies.

“How’s the shop?” Ally asked, stepping back but keeping her hand on his arm.

“Chaotic. Valentine’s display is a nightmare, I’ve got romance novels breeding in the back room, and I have a book signing the day after Valentine’s that I haven’t started getting ready for.” He had an accent. British. Of course he did. “You should come by, love. I saved you a copy of that cozy mystery you wanted.”

“You’re the best.”

“I know.” His gaze drifted to me, assessing. “Who’s this?”

“Fitz, this is Corbin. He’s the one who found the kitten.”

“Ah! The hero.” Fitz extended his hand, and I shook it because I wasn’t a complete animal, even if I wanted to be. “Good to meet you. That’s a hell of a thing, saving a sick kitten.”

“She followed me. I didn’t have much choice.”

“Still.” He smiled, easy and warm and completely insufferable. “Takes character.”

The kitten chose that moment to poke her head out of my jacket, blinking at Fitz with bleary eyes. He made a sound of genuine delight.

“Oh, she’s precious. Look at those eyes.”

“She’s recovering from her first injection,” Ally said. “It was rough.”

“Poor thing.” Fitz reached out to pet her, and the kitten hissed—a weak, raspy sound that was more exhaustion than threat—and burrowed back into my jacket.

I tried not to feel smug about that. I failed.

“Anyway.” Fitz turned back to Ally. “Karaoke Thursday at the Sweetheart Inn. You’re coming, right? Everyone’s been asking about you since you weren’t there last time.”

“Maybe. It’s been another long week.”

“It’s been a long month. You deserve a night off.” He touched her shoulder. “I’ll put you down for a duet with yours truly, yeah?”

“I’ll think about it.”

He said goodbye with another hug—another hug—and disappeared back toward his bookshop. The door chimed as it closed behind him.

Ally turned to me, eyebrow raised. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re making a face.”

“This is my face. You don’t know me well, but I always look like this.”

“You look like you swallowed a lemon.”

I adjusted the bike handle and started walking. She fell into step beside me; her stride shorter than mine, and slowed down to match her pace.

“So,” she said after a moment. “Karaoke.”

“What about it?”

“You should come.”

I almost laughed. “No.”

“Why not? You’re staying at the Sweetheart Inn, anyway. It’s literally happening where you sleep.”

“I don’t sing.”

“Neither does half the town. That’s the fun part.”

“I don’t do fun.”

“Shocking.” She was grinning now, that spark in her eyes. “One night. One night that isn’t vet appointments and moping in your room. Would it kill you?”

“Possibly.”

“Dramatic. Didn’t realize Superman was such a drama queen.” She bumped her shoulder against my arm—my upper arm, given the height difference—and the contact sent warmth spreading through my chest. “Come on, go with me.”

“No.”

“Fine. I’ll go with Fitz. He’s been asking me for weeks.”

I stopped walking.

“He has?”

“Mmhmm.” She was already walking ahead, already leaving. “See you tomorrow for her injection⁠—”

“I’ll go.”

She stopped. Turned. The smile spreading across her face was insufferable.

“What was that?”

“Karaoke. Thursday. I’ll be there.” I narrowed my eyes. “With you.”

“With me?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Corbin Kent.”

“It’s Corbin Wright.”

“Right.” She walked back toward me, close enough that I could make out the freckles scattered across her nose. “Did you want to make sure I didn’t go with Fitz?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“I am not.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Superman. To be fair, so was Clark.” She reached up and adjusted my jacket collar—fingertips brushing my neck, a flash of warmth against cold skin—and every nerve in my body focused on that single point of contact. “Thursday. Eight o’clock. Don’t be late walking out of that little bedroom of yours.”

She walked away, lifting a hand to wave at someone across the street.

The kitten purred against my chest.

“Shut up,” I muttered.

She purred louder.

I grabbed the bike, loaded a couple bags into the basket, looped the others around my wrist, and I rode back to the inn. The sun had set completely now, and Valentine’s Lane was starting to glow in my peripheral vision—pink and gold fairy lights reflecting off the windows.

Thursday was going to be a disaster.

And I was an idiot for being tricked into going.