Chapter 12: Corbin - Purrfect Valentine

I’d been awake since four in the morning, staring at the ceiling of my room in the barn at the Sweetheart Inn, replaying the same scene on a loop: Ally’s office, her body pressed against mine, her sounds in my ears, and then—nothing. Yes, I’d cleaned up the mess we’d made. Yes, I’d left a note.

At the time, it had seemed like the right call. She was busy. She’d looked exhausted even before I’d pinned her to her desk. I’d wanted to do this right—to have a real conversation, not jump straight to sex. But wow, I could already tell it would’ve been amazing sex.

Somewhere around 5 a.m., doubt had started creeping in. By 6, it had brought friends. And by the time the sun finally crawled over the mountains, I’d convinced myself that We’ll talk tomorrow was possibly the worst thing I could have written, short of Thanks for the memories.

Muffy stirred against my chest, her claws flexing through my t-shirt. She’d been restless all night too—probably feeding off my energy, or maybe she sensed something was wrong. At 3am, she’d run around the room doing gymnastics off my head while yowling at the top of her lungs. At least she seemed to be feeling better.

“I messed up, didn’t I?” I muttered, scratching behind her ear. “I guess I should go see if I’ve completely destroyed my chances with her.”

The bike ride to Heart & Paws felt longer than usual. Every minute gave me more time to spiral, to rehearse what I’d say, to imagine Ally’s face when she saw me. Would she smile? Would she be angry? Would she pretend nothing had happened and treat me like any other client with a sick cat?

That last option was somehow the worst.

I pushed through the clinic door with Muffy tucked inside my jacket, her warm weight a small comfort against the cold dread settling in my stomach.

The waiting room was quiet. A woman with a carrier sat in the corner, scrolling through her phone. The reception desk was empty. And standing in the hallway that led to the exam rooms was Denise—the tech whose voice I’d heard when Ally and I were interrupted last night—wearing an expression I couldn’t read.

“Mr. Wright.” She smiled. “Muffy’s here for her shot?”

“Yeah.” I glanced past her toward Ally’s office. The door was closed. “Is Ally⁠—”

“I’ll take her.” Denise held out her hands. “Dr. V asked me to take care of it.”

“Oh,” I scratched the back of my head, my gaze flicking to Ally’s office again before it landed on Denise. I nodded. “Okay.”

I handed over the kitten. Muffy yowled in protest, twisting to keep her eyes on me as Denise carried her toward the back. The sound scraped against my chest.

“I’ll bring her right back,” Denise called over her shoulder. “Shouldn’t take long.”

The minutes crawled. Muffled sounds came from the back—voices, the clink of metal, Muffy’s indignant screech. That sound never got easier. Ally always did her best to be gentle with Muffy. What if Denise didn’t? God, I was stuck in the lobby while someone other than Ally caused my cat pain.

My cat. When had that happened?

The door swung open and Denise reappeared, Muffy already settling in her arms. The kitten’s gaze found mine immediately, and she started squirming.

“All done.” Denise handed her over. “She’s getting feistier. That’s a good sign.”

“Thanks.” I tucked Muffy back into my jacket, where she burrowed against my chest with a shuddering sigh. “Is Ally—Dr. Vanderspelt—available? I wanted to talk to her about⁠—”

“She’s pretty slammed today.” Denise cut me off. “But we’ll see you again tomorrow.”

“Right.” I nodded as if that made sense. Like Ally hadn’t specifically requested that someone else deal with me. “Could you tell her I stopped by?”

“Of course.”

I was halfway to the exit when I saw her.

Ally stood at the end of the hallway, chart in hand, talking to someone I couldn’t see. Her hair was pulled back in that messy clip, pink ends escaping around her face. She laughed at something—that bright, easy sound that had been echoing in my head since last night—and then she turned.

Our gazes met.

The laugh died. Her expression shuttered into something polite and distant, and the warmth I’d gotten used to seeing—the teasing, the spark—vanished like it had never existed.

“Mr. Wright.” She nodded once. “Everything okay with Muffy?”

“Fine. She’s… fine.” I took a step toward her. “Do you have a minute? I wanted to talk⁠—”

“I really can’t right now.” She was already backing away, chart pressed to her chest. “Crazy day. I’m sure you understand.”

“Ally—”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She disappeared through a door marked Staff Only, and I stood in the hallway with my mouth open and my heart somewhere around my shoes.

Muffy chirped against my chest. I looked down at her.

“Yeah,” I said. “I guess I did fuck up. Well shit, now what do we do?”

The ride to Cupid’s Cat Café gave me too much time to think. I’d dropped Muffy off at the Inn and sat on the bed long enough to realize that was not the right move. I needed to do something.

So I rode to the café, and the entire way there, I kept replaying it—not the kiss, not the heat, but the moment I’d decided to leave. Standing in Ally’s empty office, surrounded by the mess we’d made, convincing myself that cleaning up and slipping out was the considerate thing to do. The mature thing.

My mother had left a note, too. I was fourteen. She’d put it on the kitchen counter, right next to my cereal bowl, like she’d wanted to make sure I’d find it before school. I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. Please don’t hate me.

I’d read it three times before I understood what it meant. Then I’d sat at the kitchen table and waited for my dad to wake up, because I didn’t know what else to do.

And Andi—Andi had sent a text. Two years together, and she’d ended it with a paragraph on a screen.

No conversation. No warning. No chance to respond.

I’d sworn I hated that. Sworn I’d never do it to anyone else.

And then I’d left Ally a note.

We’ll talk tomorrow.

“Fuck.” The word echoed off the storefronts. A woman walking her dog gave me a wide berth.

I pushed into the café, and the familiar smell of coffee and cats hit me. Cupid lay sprawled across the counter, orange fur everywhere. Aphrodite watched from her perch. And Bev looked up from the espresso machine, took one look at my face, and set down the milk pitcher.

“Wim. Superman’s got a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Wim emerged from the back, lavender hair slightly askew. Her gaze landed on me and widened. “Oh, honey. You look terrible. Sit.”

I sat. Cupid lifted his massive orange head and turned his attention to me. Before I could think about it, I reached out and scratched behind his ear. He purred. The sound vibrated through my fingers, and something in my chest loosened—not much, but enough to breathe.

“Well, well.” Bev’s voice was warm. “Look who finally learned to pet a cat.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

She slid a mug across the counter—my usual sugar catastrophe, as they so called it, topped with enough whipped cream to give a dentist nightmares. “Okay, fine. Tell us what happened.”

“Nothing really happened.”

Wim snorted. “Kent, you walked in here looking like someone canceled your favorite show and sat on your birthday cake. Something happened.”

I wrapped my hands around the mug. The warmth seeped into my fingers. Cupid had moved to my lap at some point—two million pounds of orange fur and tuna, purring like a motorboat.

“I visited Ally last night at her office,” I said, carefully choosing my words so that the whole town didn’t get all the private details. “We were…talking…and were interrupted. While she went to check on the interruption, I left a note and went out the back.”

Silence.

I glanced up. Bev and Wim exchanged one of their wordless conversations.

“You left a note,” Bev repeated.

“I was trying to be considerate. She was busy, and I didn’t want to hover, and I thought—” I broke off. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. She won’t look at me now.”

“Can you blame her?” Wim’s voice was gentle but direct. “You were there, and then you weren’t. All she had was a piece of paper. That’s not exactly a polite way of leaving.”

“I was going to talk to her today. That’s what the note said.”

“And how was she supposed to know that meant something good?” Bev leaned against the counter. “For all she knew, you panicked and ran. You’ve been wanting to leave for ages, after all.”

“That’s not⁠—”

Wim sighed. “Honey, disappearing—even if you had the best intentions—still feels like abandonment. Especially to someone who’s been left before.”

Abandonment.

I’d felt it. Twice. My mother’s note. Andi’s text. Decisions made without me, about me, that changed everything.

And I’d done the same thing to Ally.

“Shit. I need to fix this.” I was already standing, dislodging Cupid, who gave me a look of profound betrayal. “Can I get a black coffee? And some of those pastries she likes?”

“The cheese danish?” Wim was already moving. “She always gets two.”

“Two, then. And whatever else you think she’d want.”

Bev handed me a paper bag and a to-go cup. “Her lunch break’s usually around one. Catch her before she buries herself in charts.”

“Thank you.” I headed for the door.

“Kent.” Bev’s voice stopped me. “Don’t screw this up. She’s a good girl with a big heart.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“You better not hurt her. We like her more than we like you.”

Despite everything, I almost smiled.

The clinic was quieter when I returned. The waiting room was empty, the reception desk still unstaffed. I walked past it without stopping, heading straight for Ally’s office.

The door was half-open.

She sat behind her desk, surrounded by charts and file folders stacked in precarious towers. A half-eaten sandwich sat at her elbow—something sad and beige from a plastic container. Her hair had escaped its clip, falling around her face in messy waves.

She looked exhausted. She looked beautiful. She looked like she wanted to throw something at me when she glanced up.

“No.” Her voice was flat. “I told you I’m busy.”

“I know.” I stepped inside without waiting for an invitation and set the coffee and pastries on her desk. “I brought snacks. And an apology.”

“I don’t need⁠—”

“Please. Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

Ally stared at me for a long moment. Then her gaze dropped to the coffee cup, and she sighed.

“Fine.” She leaned back in her chair. “Talk.”

I sat in the chair across from her, but the words I’d rehearsed all morning vanished.

“I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left last night. Not without, you know, talking to you first.”

“No.” Her voice was steady. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I thought I was being considerate. You were busy, and exhausted, and I didn’t want to make things harder. So I cleaned up and left a note.”

“It wasn’t.”

“I know that, and like I said, I’m really sorry.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Listen, my mom left when I was fourteen. She just left a note on the kitchen counter. And Andi broke up with me over text—same thing. I’ve spent years hating when people make decisions about my life without me.”

Ally’s expression shifted. Still guarded, but listening.

“Last night, I did the exact same thing. I decided leaving was the right call. I made a choice that affected you without asking what you wanted.” I met her eyes. “Ally, I’m so sorry. I just—I just don’t want to screw this up with you. But I’m afraid I already did.”

“I came back, and you were gone.” Ally’s voice was soft. “The office was clean. Everything was back where it belonged. And all I had was a note that told me nothing.”

“I know.”

“I’ve been left before, Corbin. I’ve had people look at my life—the long hours, the animals, this town—and decide I wasn’t worth the effort.” Her jaw tightened. “Coming back to an empty room and a note felt like confirmation that I’d made another mistake.”

“You didn’t. We didn’t.” I leaned forward, close enough to see the gold flecks in her hazel eyes. “I want to do this right with you, though. Things were moving fast, and while I would’ve loved to continue our escapade, I don’t want this to just be sex. I’m not—I’ve never been that kind of guy.”

She studied my face for a long moment. Searching for something—I didn’t know what.

“You hurt me,” she said finally.

I held her gaze. “I can’t promise I won’t screw up again—I’m pretty good at screwing up—but I can promise I won’t disappear without saying anything. No more notes. No more decisions without you.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close.

“Look, I saw a sign while I was out yesterday. That candy shop was turned into a wine bar. I think it’s called Pour Decisions. They’re having this, like grand opening thing, or something. It’s on Valentine’s Day,” I said. “It’ll probably be overpriced. Definitely crowded.”

“I know. I was planning to check it out.”

“Go with me.” Man, I’d lost my touch. I used to be charming, and now I sounded like a stumbling fool. “Let me take you on a real date. One where I show up and stay and do this right.”

Ally raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking me out?”

“I’m trying to. I’m out of practice.”

“I noticed.”

“But?”

She reached for the coffee I’d brought, took a long sip, and set it down. The ghost of a smile played at her lips—the first actual warmth I’d seen since last night.

“Okay. Fine. I’ll pick you up at seven,” she said. “And Corbin? If you leave me another note instead of talking to me, I’m letting my foster dogs pee in your car.”

“Noted.”

She smiled then—full sunshine, finally. The relief that flooded through me was staggering.

“Now get out of my office.” She reached for one of the cheese danishes. “Some of us have actual work to do.”

I stood. “So I’ll get to see you tomorrow when I bring Muffin?”

“God, do you actually call her that?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Would you prefer I call her Ragbutt? Because I’ve started calling her that too.”

“Please no. But yes, I’ll see you two tomorrow.” Her gaze met mine, and the warmth in them made my chest tight. “And I’ll be the one handling it.”