Chapter 13: Ally - Purrfect Valentine

The morning started with a cat bite, escalated to a Pomeranian with explosive diarrhea, and peaked somewhere around noon when Mrs. Dottsen’s ancient Chihuahua tried to take my finger off during a routine nail trim. By two o’clock, I’d bandaged three of my own wounds, coordinated seventeen spay/neuter confirmations for tomorrow’s adoption event, and fielded no fewer than twelve panicked phone calls about Valentine’s Day pet emergencies that were not, in fact, emergencies.

“Dr. V?” Denise appeared in my office doorway, looking harried. “Mrs. Aldrick is on line two. Snowball ate ribbon again.”

“How much?”

“She says ‘a lot.’ Also, it was sparkly.”

Of course it was.

I talked Mrs. Aldrick through the warning signs while simultaneously updating charts, checking lab results, and trying to remember if I’d eaten anything today besides the stale granola bar I’d found in my desk drawer. The answer was no. The answer was always no during holiday weeks.

The Heart & Paws booth was our biggest adoption push of the year. Bev and Wim handled the actual charm of the booth while I made sure every cat was healthy, vaccinated, and ready to find their forever home. It was rewarding work. It was also the kind of exhausting that seeped into your bones and made you forget basic human functions like eating and sleeping.

My phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen, expecting another client crisis. I’d renamed Corbin in my phone from “Asshole” to “Superman,” and his name popped up on the screen.

I stared at the message longer than I should have, a stupid smile tugging at my mouth. That must’ve meant Lynx finished with the mustang. Shit. He was picking me up. Like a real date. Like this was actually happening.

A second message appeared.

I snorted and typed back my address before I could overthink it. Then I shoved the phone in my pocket and forced myself to focus on the stack of charts that needed updating.

But my brain kept drifting. To the way he’d stared at me when I’d given Muffy her shot this morning. The way he’d admitted to wanting to do things properly with me. The way he’d been bringing me coffee and pastries for the last couple days. And he never demanded anything in return.

You’ve fallen too hard too fast before, I reminded myself. Remember how that ended?

But the reminder felt hollow. Like a warning I’d memorized but stopped believing.

“When did this become terrifying?” I asked one of the cats the next day—Valentine’s Day. The cat, Daisy, had followed me to my bedroom and was now sitting on my dresser, watching me rifle through my closet. “I mean, I shouldn’t be this scared to let someone in. Do you think I need therapy? I probably need therapy. There’s probably something wrong with me. Damn, there definitely is. I’m talking to a cat.”

Daisy blinked slowly. No sympathy.

I settled on a deep red sweater that made my eyes look good, dark jeans, and ankle boots with enough heel to make my legs look longer and hopefully gave me more of an ass than I actually had. I did my makeup with more care than I had in months—mascara, a little shimmer, lip gloss that tasted like vanilla.

The doorbell rang at seven sharp.

Bernie lost his mind. The other dogs joined the chorus. I waded through a sea of wagging tails and wet noses, shoving furry bodies aside until I could reach the door.

I opened it to find Corbin standing on my porch, holding a bouquet of yellow roses and looking way too handsome. He wore dark jeans, a charcoal sweater that looked far too good on his shoulders, and behind his clean glasses, he looked nervous.

Really, really good.

But nervous.

“Hi,” I said, slightly breathless from wrestling Bernie away from the door.

“Hi.” His gaze traveled over me. “You look—wow.”

“Wow good or wow I should go change because Bernie has already slobbered all over my jeans? This is Bernie, by the way.” I grunted, holding the Saint Bernard’s collar as he tried to lunge for Corbin to lick him to an early grave.

“Wow good.” Corbin’s dimples popped, and he gave me another once over. “You’re beautiful.”

Heat crept up my neck. Bernie continued to strain against me, desperate to investigate the stranger.

“I, um… thanks. You look handsome too. Bernie, stop. Down,” I told him. “Be cool. We don’t maul guests.”

Bernie disagreed. He disagreed loudly and with enthusiasm. His deep bark set off two of the other dogs, and I felt the blush deepen. My babies definitely were not making me look as put-together as I wanted to feel.

But Corbin chuckled and crouched to Bernie’s level. “Hey, big guy. Are you the welcoming committee?”

Bernie’s tail went into overdrive, and I couldn’t hold him anymore. He shoved his massive head against Corbin’s chest, leaving a streak of drool across the charcoal sweater, and Corbin... let him. Scratched behind his ears. Murmured something I couldn’t hear.

But Bernie didn’t stop there. Nope. He trampled my date. Knocked Corbin on his ass. Corbin hit the porch with a solid thud, and the yellow roses scattered across the wood like confetti.

And then—chaos.

Somehow, the door had swung wider in the commotion, and the other five dogs saw their chance. They bolted through the opening as if I’d just rung the dinner bell.

“Oh my god—no, no, guys, come on—” I lunged for Bernie’s collar, but he was already halfway on top of Corbin, tongue out, tail wagging hard enough to start a cyclone.

My beagle jumped on Corbin’s chest. My ancient terrier mix barked from his left side. The corgi, attacked his shoelaces. And the two mutts I was fostering decided this was the best game ever and piled on.

Despite it all, Corbin kept laughing.

Like, full-on belly laughing, the kind that made his glasses slide down his nose and his shoulders shake. He tried to sit up, failed, gave up, and just lay there while Bernie licked his face.

“Bernie, down! Luna, no! Harold—Steve—off!” I grabbed Bernie’s collar with both hands and pulled. “I’m so sorry, oh my God, I swear they’re usually better than this⁠—”

“They’re f-fine,” Corbin wheezed, still grinning as Bernie stepped on his stomach.

I managed to drag Bernie backward, hauling all two hundred pounds of him toward the door. The second Bernie crossed the threshold, the others followed. Harold shot past my legs. Steve trotted after him. Luna gave Corbin one last longing look before retreating inside.

I slammed the door shut and spun back to Corbin.

He was still on the ground, propped up on his elbows, hair mussed, glasses askew, sweater and face covered in fur and slobber.

And he smiled that wide, dimply smile.

“Oh my god.” I rushed over and offered him my hand. “I’m so sorry. That was a freaking ambush. Are you okay?”

“I’m great.” He took my hand, his grip warm and solid, and let me pull him up. He bent to scoop up the bouquet—stems bent, petals slightly crushed, but still intact—and handed it to me with a lopsided grin. “Happy Valentine’s Day. Ready?” Corbin asked, standing and brushing dog hair off his sweater like it was nothing.

“Yeah. Let’s do this.”

Pour Decisions was packed. String lights hung across the ceiling, and hearts decorated most surfaces. The walls were painted to match a sunrise, and the polished wood floors were gorgeous. Madison Miller beamed from beside the display holding candy jars, flushed with the success of her grand opening.

“It’s beautiful, Madison,” I said with a grin, giving her a hug.

“Thanks! And thanks for coming by for the open house.”

Corbin led me to a table near the window, ordered a bottle of rosé that tasted like strawberries, and we fell into conversation easier than I’d expected.

His foot found mine under the table. Hooked around my ankle. Stayed there.

We talked about Muffy’s progress, about the adoption event going on, about his job search, and my brother’s new work rival. The wine warmed my blood and loosened my tongue, and I caught myself laughing at things that weren’t even that funny, leaning closer than necessary, watching the way the light caught the angles of his face.

At some point, he went quiet. Watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.” He reached across the table and brushed his thumb against the corner of my mouth. “You had some⁠—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to my forehead.

The kiss was brief. Gentle. And completely, unmistakably public.

I heard someone at the next table make a soft aww. Saw Madison grinning at us from behind the bar. Felt the weight of a dozen pairs of eyes, and Corbin didn’t flinch. Didn’t look around. Didn’t seem to care who saw him kissing me.

He pulled back, and I couldn’t breathe.

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “Been wanting to do that since before your dogs assaulted me.”

I kissed him back. Quick, impulsive, right there in the crowded wine bar. His hand came up to cup my jaw, and when I pulled away, he was grinning at me.

We finished our drinks, and Corbin led me to Valentine’s Lane. Pink and white and gold lights draped from metal arches, reflecting off shop windows until the whole street glowed. The air smelled like cinnamon and pine, drifting from food stalls we passed. Slow music floated from hidden speakers.

Corbin reached for my hand.

His fingers laced through mine, and we walked without a destination. Past couples and families. Past a little girl whose heart balloon kept bonking her father in the face. Past an elderly pair sharing hot chocolate on a bench, her head on his shoulder, decades of love worn comfortable between them.

At the photo booth near Lovers’ Arch, I almost kept walking.

“Let’s take a photo,” Corbin said.

I hesitated. Photos were evidence. Something you’d have to look at later and remember, even if everything fell apart.

He tugged me toward the line anyway. “I’ll let you pick the pose.”

“That’s dangerous, Superman.”

“I trust you.”

We took multiple. One silly, with props and foam hearts. One serious, looking at each other instead of the camera. One where I kissed his cheek and caught his surprise on film. One where he kissed mine, and I was the one looking stunned.

When Corbin asked if I wanted to stay for the light festival, my stomach growled in response.

“Alright. Food it is instead,” he said with a grin, tugging me back in the direction where he’d parked his Mustang.

His car rumbled beneath me, all vintage power and polished chrome. I ran my fingers along the dash, admiring the restored interior.

“She really is gorgeous,” I said.

“Thanks.” Pride flickered across his face. “Took me quite a few years to get her like this.”

“Worth it.”

He pulled into the grocery store parking lot and killed the engine.

“Stay,” he ordered, already climbing out.

“But—”

“Nope. Time for payback. You sit in the car and decide if this is kidnapping or not, and I’ll be right back.” He shut the door, a smirk on his lips, before I could argue.

I watched him disappear inside, still smiling like an idiot. My face hurt from it. When he returned with two brown bags, I tried peeking inside.

“Nope.” He shifted them away, depositing them in the back seat.

“Come on, just a hint.”

“Patience.”

“Not really my strong suit.”

“Shocking.” He started the engine and glanced at me. “You trust me?”

I did. Somehow, impossibly, I trusted this grumpy man who’d stumbled into my town.

“Yeah,” I breathed. “I do.”

His hand covered mine on the console as he drove the rest of the way to my house.

Corbin took over my kitchen like he’d lived there for years, teaching me how to make his dad’s spicy white bean chicken and corn chili while I sat on the counter and tried not to stare at the way his shoulders moved under that sweater.

“You’re not helping,” he pointed out, catching me looking.

“I’m supervising. It’s an important job,” I said as I petted Daisy, who sat on my lap as I ate corn chips.

“It’s a useless job.”

“Someone has to make sure you don’t burn down my kitchen.”

He flicked water at me. I shrieked and nearly fell off the counter—much to Daisy’s chagrin. But he caught me with one arm, steadying me against him while laughter rumbled through his chest.

Bernie had positioned himself directly underfoot, hoping for scraps. The cats observed from their perches, deeply skeptical of this intruder in their domain. Nutter Butter thumped once from his pen, reminding everyone that he existed.

And Corbin moved through it all naturally. Like my chaotic, animal-filled life was exactly where he wanted to be.

This doesn’t feel temporary anymore.

Shit.

The thought came out of nowhere. I tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t. He had his car, and the first thing he’d done in it was pick me up for a date, not high-tail it out of Cupid Corner. Was that… Did that mean… I was so confused.

We made cookies after dinner—chocolate chip, prepackaged from my fridge. Bumping hips at the counter. Stealing dough when the other wasn’t looking. His hand on my waist as he reached past me for the cookie sheet. My fingers brushing his when I passed him a ball of edible dough.

On the couch, with the TV playing something neither of us watched, the mood shifted. His arm rested around my shoulders, and I lowered my head to his chest while he traced absent patterns on my arm.

I tilted my head farther into the crook of his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat under my ear. It was faster than it should have been for someone just sitting on a couch. Mine matched it.

He shifted slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of my head.

When I turned my face up toward him, our eyes met. He leaned down first, slow enough I could have pulled away if I’d wanted to.

I didn’t.

Our lips brushed—once, tentative, testing. His mouth was warm, still faintly sweet from cookie dough and the mint he’d popped after dinner. I sighed into it, parting my lips just a little, and he took the invitation. The kiss deepened gradually, unlike in my office. His free hand came up to cup my jaw, thumb stroking the corner of my mouth as our tongues touched for the first time—soft, exploratory, a little shy.

Heat pooled low in my belly, and I adjusted to clench my legs together. My hand slid up his chest, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweater, feeling the hard plane of muscle underneath. He made an inaudible sound in his throat, and the vibration of it traveled straight through me.

The kiss turned hungrier. I shifted closer, half in his lap now, one knee hooked over his thigh. His hand slid from my jaw to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, tilting my head so he could kiss me deeper, slower, wetter. I nipped his lower lip gently and his grip tightened.

When we broke apart to breathe, his forehead rested against mine. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. “Ally,” he said, voice rough.

I didn’t trust myself to speak. Instead, I kissed him again—harder this time—swinging my other leg over so I was straddling him fully. His hands went to my hips immediately, pulling me down until I could feel exactly how much he wanted this. The hard length of him pressed against me through denim, and I rocked forward instinctively, chasing the pressure. We both groaned at the contact.

His mouth moved to my throat—open-mouthed kisses, teeth grazing just enough to make me arch. I tipped my head back, giving him room, and he took it, sucking lightly at the spot where my pulse hammered. My fingers dug into his shoulders as I ground down again at a slower pace. The friction was maddening—too much fabric, not enough skin.

One of his hands slid under my sweater, palm flat against my lower back. Calluses scraped lightly over my skin as he urged me closer. Every ridge of his fingers, every flex of muscle in his forearm had me drifting higher and higher.

But that’s when I noticed the staring.

Six pairs of dog eyes. Five cat stares. One rabbit nose twitching in disgust.

I tried to ignore it—really tried—but then Bernie decided the back of Corbin’s neck looked particularly lickable.

A massive, wet tongue dragged from Corbin’s collar up into his hairline in one long, slobbery sweep.

Corbin jerked, breaking the kiss with a startled laugh. “Jesus—what the hell⁠—”

Bernie stood on his hind legs, front paws braced on the back of the couch, a drool string still connecting his jowls to Corbin’s neck. The other dogs were lined up like an audience—tails wagging, ears perked, clearly waiting for their turn.

I burst out laughing, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably. Corbin wiped the back of his neck with his sleeve, grimacing, but his eyes crinkled with amusement.

“Romantic,” he muttered.

“Very.” I leaned in and kissed him quick—once, twice—then grabbed his hand. “Come on.”

I tugged him off the couch. He followed without hesitation, fingers laced tight with mine. We stepped over a sprawl of dog legs and cat bodies, dodging glares—I suppose it was getting close to dinner time for them—but Momma needed to eat first. At the hallway, I glanced back—every animal head was turned, watching us go.

In my bedroom, I shut the door and flipped the lock. The click echoed in the sudden quiet. No barking. No pawing at the door. Just us.

“Why do you have to lock it?”

“Bernie and two of the cats can open doors.”

“Oh. Nice,” Corbin chuckled.

The room was dim—only the soft glow from the lamp on my nightstand. My bed was unmade from this morning, sheets still tangled.

I turned to him, my heart pounding in my chest. He was watching me, expression open, obviously waiting for me to set the pace.

So I did.

I stepped into him, rose on my toes, and kissed him again. Slower this time. Deeper. Letting myself feel it without flinching—without the usual voice in my head whispering that this was temporary, that he’d leave, that I should protect myself. I wanted him. I was an adult. I could choose this.

His hands settled on my waist, gentle at first, then firmer as the kiss heated. A low sound rumbled in his chest—half growl, half sigh—and before I could process it, he spun us around, pressing my back against the door with a thud that rattled the frame.

The wood was cool through my sweater, colliding with the heat of him pinning me there. His body molded to mine—chest to chest, hips to hips—the hard ridge of his arousal pressing insistently against my lower belly. I gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss until it was all teeth and tongue and desperation.

“Wow—” I managed when he pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead against mine. My hands fisted in his sweater, knuckles white. “You really are good at this.”

A small, almost sheepish smile crossed his lips. “Thank you. I—I appreciate you saying that.”

“What else can you do with that mouth?” I gave him a wicked grin.

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he hooked one hand under my thigh, lifting my leg to wrap around his hip. The new angle let him grind against me—slow, deliberate rolls that sent sparks shooting up my spine. I could feel every inch of him through our clothes, and the friction against my core made my head spin.

“Don’t worry. I have every intention of showing you.”

His lips trailed along my neck—kissing, sucking, nipping a path down to my collarbone. I arched into it, head thumping back against the door, fingers digging into his shoulders for leverage. The door handle dug into my hip, a minor annoyance drowned out by the way his free hand slid under my sweater, palm skating up my ribs until his thumb brushed the underside of my breast.

“God, Ally,” he murmured against my skin, voice rough and wrecked. “You don’t understand how fucking sexy you are.”

I tugged at his sweater—impatient now—yanking it up and over his head. He let me, arms lifting just long enough to toss it aside, then his mouth was back on mine.

Damn. I was definitely going to need a few minutes, or hours, to appreciate this man’s body. He had muscles, though not in a lives-at-the-gym sort of way. But enough to make the heat pooling between my legs burn hotter.

I traced the lines of him with my hands: the dip of his collarbone, the taut ridges of his stomach, lower to the trail of hair disappearing into his jeans.

He groaned when my fingers dipped under his waistband, brushing the hot skin there. In retaliation, he shoved my sweater up, exposing my bra, and bent to mouth my nipple through the cotton—wet heat soaking through, tongue flicking until it pebbled tight and aching.

“Bed.”

He understood, lifting me with his hands on my ass. I wrapped my legs around his waist, kissing and sucking on his neck as he carried me backwards, step by step. When the backs of his knees hit the mattress, he put me down and sat, pulling me onto him so I ended up in his lap. I straddled him, thighs bracketing his hips. It took only one circle of me grinding on him for him to tense, his breath catching.

“Fuck, Ally⁠—”

I kissed him to shut him up—messy, hungry—then pushed him flat onto his back. He went willingly, hands sliding under my sweater again, shoving it up and over my head. My bra was plain black cotton, nothing fancy, but the way his eyes darkened when he saw me made me feel like I was wearing lace.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. “Fucking beautiful.”

He sat up enough to kiss my sternum, then lower, mouthing the curve of my breast above the cup. His thumb traced my collarbone. Down. Over the curve of my breast. With a snap of his fingers, he unhooked my bra and tossed it to the side. His tongue flicked over my nipple, teasing, and I arched into it, fingers threading into his hair.

I rocked down against him—slow rolls of my hips that had us both breathing hard. His jeans were rough against my own, the zipper pressing right where I needed it. I ground harder, chasing the spark, and he groaned against my skin, hands gripping my ass to guide the rhythm.

“God, you feel—” His words dissolved into another kiss as I reached between us, palming him through denim. He was thick, hard, straining against the fly. I traced the outline with my fingers, squeezing lightly, and his hips jerked up into my touch.

He flipped us in one smooth motion—suddenly I was under him, his weight pressing me into the mattress.

His mouth landed on mine again while one hand slid down my side, over my hip, hooking under my thigh to pull my leg higher around his waist. The new angle let him settle between my legs fully, rocking slow and deliberate. Every drag of him against my clit sent heat spiking through me, building fast.

I slipped my hand between us again, working the button of his jeans open, then the zipper. He sucked in a breath when my fingers brushed bare skin—hot, velvet-hard length springing free. I wrapped my hand around him, stroking once, slow from base to tip, thumb circling the slick head.

“Fuck,” he breathed against my mouth, hips stuttering. “Ally⁠—”

I guided him back down, rocking up to meet him, the friction almost unbearable. He undid my jeans and slid his hand inside, all the while watching me.

“Yes?” Corbin asked, pausing right before he reached my center.

I could stop this. Pull back. Protect myself the way I always did—keep a piece of my heart locked away so the inevitable ending wouldn’t destroy me.

But I was so tired of pre-grieving. So tired of bracing for impact before anyone had even thrown a punch.

I wanted to fall without a net.

I wanted him.

Covering his hand with mine, I guided him between my legs. “Yes.”