Chapter 9: Ally - Purrfect Valentine

I woke up with a pounding headache and an awareness that something was very, very wrong. Or very, very right. Depending on how you looked at it. The sheets smelled of cedar and clean soap. The pillow under my head was unfamiliar—firmer than mine, not the flat pancake I kept meaning to replace. And there was warmth at my back. A lot of warmth. The kind that came from a very solid, very large, very male body pressed against me from shoulder to thigh.

And something else.

Something hard. Insistent. Pressed right against my ass.

Oh God.

My eyes flew open. Gray henley hanging to my thighs—not mine. Tiny room with peeling wallpaper—not mine. Twin bed so small that two adults couldn’t possibly fit without becoming intimately acquainted—definitely not mine.

The fragments of last night assembled themselves like a hangover jigsaw puzzle. Karaoke. Too much to drink. A terribly performed duet. Some asshole spilling a drink down my shirt. Corbin offering me his henley. The world’s smallest bed. His arm around me as I’d fallen asleep against his chest.

And now his dick was saying good morning to my backside.

A small weight shifted near my face. Muffy. That’s right. He’d named her. The kitten was curled on the pillow beside my head, her tiny motor running, completely unbothered by the awkward situation happening below. She cracked one eye open, looked at me, and went back to sleep.

Lucky little shit. I wasn’t getting back to sleep even if I tried. Not with Corbin’s morning wood poking me.

I held my breath. Maybe if I didn’t move, if I stayed perfectly still, the universe would rewind and I could pretend this wasn’t happening. I was a professional. A medical professional. I did not wake up in strange men’s beds with their⁠—

Corbin’s breathing changed. The shift from sleep to wakefulness. I felt every muscle in his body go rigid at the exact moment awareness hit him.

“Shit,” he muttered, voice rough with sleep and what was likely a decent sprinkle of mortification.

He tried to pull back—tried to put space between us, tried to extract himself⁠—

And rolled right off the edge of the bed.

He hit the floor with a thud and a grunt that knocked the air out of him, taking half the blankets with him in a tangle of long limbs and fabric. Muffy let out an indignant chirp at the disruption, and I⁠—

I laughed.

The sound burst out before I could stop it. I clapped a hand over my mouth at how completely inappropriate my laughter was given the circumstances. But the image of this giant, grumpy man tumbling off a twin bed like a startled teenager was too much. His head appeared over the edge of the mattress, dark hair sticking up in twelve different directions, no glasses on his face, and I laughed harder.

“Are you—” I tried to get the words out between giggles. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” The word came out strangled. His cheeks had gone red, and he glared at the ceiling instead of looking at me. “I’m fine. Great. Everything is completely normal.”

“You fell off the bed.”

“I’m aware.”

“I wish I could’ve filmed that.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” He untangled himself from the blankets and sat against the wall, one hand pushing through his disastrous hair. His glasses sat on the bedside table, and the collar of his t-shirt had twisted so the tag showed at his throat. He looked ridiculous. Rumpled and embarrassed and soft-eyed without the scowl he usually wore like armor.

He looked nothing like the grumpy asshole who’d stomped into the Cat Café a week ago.

He looked... kind of adorable.

God, I needed to get a grip.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice made something twist in my chest. “I didn’t mean to—I mean, nothing happened, but the bed was too small, and I should have taken the floor, and⁠—”

“Corbin.” I sat up, tugging his henley down over my thighs. My skull throbbed in protest at the movement. “We’re adults. I was too drunk to drive. You were a gentleman about it. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

He finally looked at me, and the weight of his attention made my skin prickle. “Are you okay?”

“Other than my skull staging a violent coup? Fantastic.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. God, he’d smiled last night, and it’d been magical. My gaze dropped to his lips as he spoke. “How much did you drink last night?”

“I lost count somewhere after the shots.”

“That explains the dancing.”

I dropped my face into my hands. “Oh God. Please tell me I didn’t dance.”

“You definitely danced.”

“On a table?”

“The regular floor. Mostly.”

“Small mercies.” I peeked at him through my fingers. “Did I embarrass myself completely, or only partially?”

His almost-smile grew into a smirk. “You were...” He paused, searching for the right word. “Enthusiastic.”

“That’s a very kind way to say ‘train wreck.’”

“I was going to say charming.”

My face heated, which was absurd.

Muffy chose that moment to stretch, tiny paws kneading the pillow before she walked directly across my lap. She settled there like she owned me, purring loud enough to rattle my hungover brain.

“Maybe she doesn’t hate me anymore,” I said, petting her back as she settled more.

“I think it’s because you smell like me because of the shirt,” Corbin said, watching the kitten.

“Where did the name Ragamuffin come from?” I scratched behind her ears.

“Well, Trash Monster seemed mean.”

“It is,” I chuckled.

I glanced around and spotted my white blouse hanging over the chair, still damp from where I’d rinsed it last night. At least drunk-me had been practical. And I’d texted Kristina, my neighbor, while Corbin was getting ready for bed and before passing out—a plea for her to feed my foster animals since I wouldn’t be making it home. She’d sent back a thumbs up.

“So.” I cleared my throat. “Coffee?”

“God, yes.”

We drove to Cupid’s Cat Café because Corbin’s room didn’t have a coffee maker and I wanted Wim’s coffee. My car was still in the Inn’s parking lot, but driving felt ambitious given my current state, so I surprised both Corbin and myself by passing him my keys. Unlike him, I had no issues getting the passenger door open.

Muffy rode inside Corbin’s jacket, her face poking out like a queen surveying her kingdom. The morning sun stabbed at my temples, and every step towards the front door reminded me why I normally stayed away from alcohol. A woman I recognized from the clinic gave me a knowing look as we passed. I was still wearing the same thing I was last night, and I wondered if there would be anyone in the shop who noticed.

I made it exactly one step inside before Bev’s voice rang out.

“Well, well, well!”

Shit.

Bev and Wim stood behind the counter, both wearing matching expressions of delighted mischief.

“Look who decided to grace us with their presence,” Wim said. “Together. In the morning. From the direction of the Sweetheart Inn.”

“It’s not what it looks like,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“It never is, honey.” Bev winked. “Black coffee, extra strong?”

“Please. And whatever painkiller you have behind that counter.”

“Coming right up.” She was already moving. “And for Mr. Kent? Let me guess—embarrassing amount of sugar, too much cream, something that would make a real barista weep into their pour-over?”

Corbin’s ears went pink. “It’s a personal preference.”

“It’s a crime against coffee is what it is.” She started making our drinks. “Karaoke last night?”

“Yeah. Corbin was being helpful.”

“Oh, I bet he was being very helpful.” Wim’s eyebrows wiggled up and down. “All night long.”

“Seriously,” I said, stroking Cupid when he jumped up onto the counter and bumped his head against me. “Nothing happened.”

Corbin stood back, watching as Eros, a sleek black cat and one of the permanent residents at the café, wove between his legs. “She’s telling the truth.”

“Of course, nothing happened.” Bev set my coffee on the counter, steam curling up from the dark surface. “That’s why you’re both blushing like teenagers.”

I choked on my first sip. “We are not⁠—”

“You are.” She grinned, unrepentant. “Now go sit. Drink your coffee. We’ll pretend we’re not watching.”

I grabbed my mug and retreated to a table near the window, as far from the counter as possible. Corbin followed with his sugar monstrosity, and Muffy immediately tried to climb from his jacket to the table.

“Stop. That fat one wants to eat you,” he muttered, tucking her inside.

“Cupid is not going to eat her.” I rolled my eyes again.

“He might.” Corbin raised an eyebrow, and then flashed those cute dimples in a quick smile. It disappeared as he stared out the window and sipped his coffee. If you could call it coffee after all the cream I saw Wim pour in there.

For a few minutes, we sat in silence. I let the coffee do its work, feeling the caffeine slowly push back against the headache, the fog, the mortification.

The café was surprisingly quiet this early. A few other customers scattered at tables with their own morning beverages. Cupid had relocated to a cushion near the window. Aphrodite, the Siamese, had apparently decided we weren’t worth watching and was grooming her paw with pointed disinterest.

“So,” I said finally. “How did you sleep?”

Corbin’s mouth quirked again, and my heart leapt in my chest at the thought of getting to see him smile again. But he didn’t. “Sure you want to talk about that here?” He jutted his chin towards Bev and Wim, who were clearly trying to eavesdrop.

“Just talk quietly and cross your fingers they haven’t learned to read lips,” I whispered.

“Alright. I’m not sure ‘sleep’ is the accurate word for what happened in that bed.”

“Too small?”

“Among other things.” He took a long drink of his coffee. “It’s been a while since I shared a bed with someone. I forgot how to... navigate it.”

He seemed reluctant to admit that, and his face darkened. I didn’t like it.

I should have left it alone. Should have changed the subject, made a joke, kept things light. But something about the way he’d said it—vulnerable in a way he usually wasn’t—made me press.

“You have someone back at home?”

He was quiet for a long moment. His fingers tightened around his mug, knuckles turning white, and I watched him decide whether to answer. Whether to let me in.

“Yes.”

My heart fell off a cliff.

“And no.”

My heart caught the edge of said cliff and clung to it for dear life.

“What does that mean?” I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer, but I also knew I needed it.

“Andi and I were together for two years,” he said finally. “Long distance, mostly. She was in a different city. We saw each other on weekends when schedules aligned.” He shrugged, the movement stiff. “She broke up with me. Over text.”

“That’s brutal.”

“It was.” His jaw tightened. “But I wasn’t there. I was busy with work, busy with planning—” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter now. Well, maybe it does. I don’t know anymore.”

“Meaning?”

He sighed, biting his cheek and glancing down at Muffy, tucked against him. “I was driving through here on my way to win her back when my car broke down.”

“Oh.” The word came out smaller than I’d intended.

His gaze met mine. “I thought I could convince her to be with me again. Had a whole speech prepared. A plan to show up and tell her I could change, that I could be what she needed.” His laugh was hollow. “I’m not sure what I was actually chasing. The relationship? Or the idea of it? Either way, she won’t answer my calls or my texts. I told her I was here. She clearly doesn’t care.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, his fingers tapping on his mug. “I am too. I loved her.”

My spine straightened. My shoulders pulled back. The familiar armor slid into place—the one I’d built after multiple men had looked me in the eye and told me I cared more about my animals than I’d ever care about them. That I was too busy, too focused, too something to make room for a genuine relationship.

Maybe they’d been right.

“I’m sorry she left you. People always leave,” I said, glancing down at the scratches in the table. “That’s been my experience, anyway. They say they’ll fit into your life, they promise they’ll stay, but eventually they decide you’re too much. Or not enough. Or the wrong kind of enough.” I laughed, but it scraped my throat. “I found it’s easier when you stop expecting them to stay.”

Corbin’s brow furrowed. “Someone told you that? That you were too much?”

“Not enough, actually. Multiple guys have said my job came first. That I didn’t have room for a relationship.” I shrugged, aiming for casual and probably missing by a mile. “They weren’t wrong. The animals need me. I can’t always drop everything for dates and vacations. So I learned. Like my foster babies, some people aren’t built for being chosen. Easier to figure that out early.”

Corbin watched me with a frown, still tapping his mug.

“That sounds lonely,” he finally said in a whisper.

“I’ve never been worried about being a crazy cat lady. My pets keep me company, and I have lots of friends.”

“That’s good. I don’t.”

“You have Muffy.” I offered a small smile. “And I’m your friend, whether you like it or not.”

He snorted, then looked me up and down. “I like it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I opened my mouth to say something. Closed it. Because he liked being my friend. And maybe that was all we’d ever be. I could be okay with that. Maybe. I hoped, because if he was still in love with this Andi woman, I didn’t want to be involved more than friends. I certainly didn’t have the time to put the pieces of my heart back together when it eventually got broken.

Without warning, Corbin reached across the table. His hand moved like he was giving me time to pull away, time to stop him, time to retreat behind the walls I’d so carefully constructed.

His fingers brushed my temple. Tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

I stopped breathing.

His touch was warm. His fingers lingered at the curve of my ear, barely there. I wanted to lean in. Despite the walls I’d just erected, I wanted to close the gap and taste his mouth and forget every sensible reason I had for keeping distance. My heart hammered against my ribs, loud enough that he had to hear it.

His gaze dropped to my lips.

“Ahem.”

The sound came from behind the counter. I jerked back, pulse racing. Bev and Wim watched us with identical expressions of gleeful interest. They weren’t even pretending to be subtle about it. Bev had her chin propped on her hands, watching us like her favorite soap opera.

“Don’t mind us,” she said. “We’re very happy for you. Please, continue.”

“We weren’t—” I started.

“Doing anything,” Corbin finished, voice strained. He’d pulled his hand back, both palms wrapped around his coffee cup. His cheeks had gone bright red.

“Of course not.” Wim nodded sagely. “That was clearly a very platonic hair-tucking. Happens all the time between colleagues.”

“We’re not colleagues.”

“Friends, then.”

“Yes, friends. Just friends,” I said. God, I needed to get out of here. “I should—” I stood abruptly. “The cats. I should check on the cats. The café cats. Make sure everyone is doing okay. Which I do. As a vet.”

Smooth, Ally. Very smooth.

I retreated to where Eros was prowling near the cat tower, crouching down to scratch behind his ears. He purred and butted his head against my palm, oblivious to my internal crisis. Behind me, I could feel Corbin’s gaze on my back—the weight of his attention that I was trying very hard to ignore.

He was leaving Cupid Corner. He’d said so himself. He was here temporarily. As soon as his car was fixed, he’d be gone, off to win back his ex. Back to his real life.

Good. Then I could go back to mine.

There was no point in feeling anything about the almost-moment. No point in examining the way my skin still tingled where he’d touched me. No point in the flutter that had taken up residence in my chest and refused to leave, no matter how hard I told it to.

I busied myself with the cats. Checked Aphrodite’s ears. Let Cupid drape himself across my lap like the dramatic orange blob he was. Pretended my heart wasn’t still racing from a touch that had lasted all of three seconds.

When I finally risked a glance back at the table, Corbin was watching me. That unreadable expression. Those stupid glasses.

I looked away.

The flutter persisted.

No matter how hard I told myself it shouldn’t.