Chapter 20: Ally - Purrfect Valentine

Bernie lost his mind.

“Bernie, no—down⁠—”

Too late.

I’d barely cleared the threshold before two hundred pounds of Saint Bernard rocketed past me and slammed into Corbin’s chest. The flowers hit the floor in a shower of petals, and Corbin went down hard, his back connecting with my coat rack, my jackets, and eventually my hardwood with a thud that made me wince.

Bernie didn’t care. Bernie was too busy trying to climb inside Corbin’s skin, tail going so hard his entire back half wiggled, tongue finding face and neck and the tiny furious kitten trying to escape the chaos.

“Muffy—ow—Bernie, your paw is on my—” Corbin wheezed out a laugh, pinned beneath the onslaught. “A little help?”

I leaned against the wall. “I don’t know,” I said, examining my nails. “Seems like you earned this.”

“Ugh, Bern, your breath reeks.” He managed to get one hand on Bernie’s collar, not that it did any good. “And you’re squishing my cat.”

Muffy finally freed herself from his jacket and made a break for it, scaling the back of the couch looking like a fluffy white and tan cactus with her tail all poofed and her back arched.

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. The sound bubbled out of me, and I covered my mouth with my hand.

Corbin’s head turned toward me, and Bernie took the opportunity to lick directly into his ear.

“Glad you’re enjoying this.” He shoved at the Saint Bernard’s chest. “Bernie, bud, back off. I mean it.”

Bernie did not, in fact, back off. But he did ease off enough for Corbin to sit up.

I pushed off the wall and offered Corbin a hand. He took it, and I hauled him to his feet—or tried to. He was heavier than I expected, and his legs didn’t seem to be cooperating.

“Jesus.” I steadied him when he swayed. “When’s the last time you slept?”

“Define slept.”

“Unconscious. Horizontal. Eyes closed.”

“Then... two nights ago. With you.”

Up close, he looked worse than I’d realized. Dark circles. Pale beneath the flush from Bernie’s assault. His sweater was soaked through, and not just from dog slobber—he’d sweated through it completely. His shoes squelched when he shifted his weight.

“What the hell happened to you?” I asked.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again. “It’s a long story.”

“Then sit down before you fall down, and tell me.”

I steered him toward the couch—Bernie trailing behind, unwilling to let his favorite human out of sight—and Corbin sank into the cushions with a groan. Muffy climbed onto the arm of the couch to supervise. The other animals emerged from their hiding spots: Luna pressing against my legs, Harold and Steve circling the coffee table, the cats materializing on various surfaces to observe the proceedings.

I sat on the opposite end of the couch, tucking my feet under me, and waited.

Corbin stared at the ceiling for a long moment. Then he looked at me.

“Well?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “You look like death warmed over.”

“If death warmed over looks like someone who sprinted four miles and then biked across town in loafers.” He sank back into the cushions and rubbed his temples. “My legs might actually fall off.”

“You said your car broke down again, right?”

“It did. Turns out it didn’t want to leave Cupid Corner either.”

“And you ran back?”

“I did.” He met my gaze. “For you.”

He told me everything. About the AirBNB that smelled like mildew. Andi refusing to let Muffy in the bedroom, so he’d locked her in the bathroom and listened to her cry all night. About lying awake while his ex reached for him and feeling nothing but hollow. About the café that morning—handing Muffy to Bev while she cried and fought and reached for him, her tiny claws catching on his jacket.

He told me about driving out of town behind Andi, growing numb with every mile. The car breaking down. Finding Muffy’s toy mouse wedged in the seat.

“And then Andi called you… well, she said something terrible,” he said, his jaw tightening.

“She called me a bitch, didn’t she?” I raised an eyebrow, and he nodded. Shrugging, I smirked. “Well, in all fairness, I called her the same thing to my brother last night.”

Corbin chuckled, and ran a hand through his hair. “Anyway, something in me snapped.” His voice became rough. “I may have gotten in her face about it.”

“Define ‘got in her face.’”

“I… um… I backed her against her car. Told her to lose my number. Told her I never wanted to see her again.” He paused. “I might have growled.”

“You growled?”

“I think so.”

“You are so strange and wonderful,” I said with a small grin.

“I ran, Al. And I didn’t look back.” Muffy had migrated to Corbin’s lap, kneading his thigh with her tiny murder mittens.

“One question,” I said finally.

He tensed. “Yeah?”

“Did you at least flip her off?”

Corbin stared at me. Then his face cracked into a grin—the real one, with the dimples. “Hell yes, I did. Over my shoulder while I was running away.”

Whatever tension was left shattered as I leaned over the couch and high-fived him. Both of us started laughing until we were both wheezing on my dog-hair-covered couch like idiots.

“That’s fantastic,” I managed. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I think I’m proud of myself too.” He said, stroking Muffy’s back. “I should’ve done it a long time ago.”

Another thought crossed my mind, and I frowned. “What are you going to do about work? If you’re staying, I mean.”

“I am staying.” He shrugged, and the gesture looked more natural on him than it had three weeks ago. “And I can find remote work anywhere. Software development doesn’t care where I’m located.” He paused. “I’m planning to sell my place in the city and find a place to rent here. I don’t want to rush you into anything. After everything I put you through⁠—”

“Corbin—”

“I mean it.” His hand covered mine on the couch cushion. “I’m not asking you to pretend the last twenty-four hours didn’t happen. I hurt you. I know that. And it’s going to take time to⁠—”

“Yeah.” I cut him off before he could finish. “It is.”

He went still.

“It’s going to take time,” I repeated. “You left.” My voice cracked, and I hated it. “I thought—I thought you’d chosen her. I thought I was going to have to get over you while watching Muffy wonder where her person went.”

“Ally—”

“Let me finish.” I pulled my hand back, not because I didn’t want him touching me, but because I needed to say this without the distraction. “I love you. I do. I figured that out somewhere between the karaoke disaster and the chili lessons and watching you build blanket nests for a cat you claimed you were allergic to. But loving you doesn’t mean I’m not still hurt.” I met his gaze. “It’s going to take time for me to trust that you won’t leave again. That the next time something hard shows up, you won’t freeze and run out of town.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” He shifted closer, and Muffy grumbled at being jostled. “Because the next time something hard shows up, I’m going to remember what it felt like to drive away from you. I’m going to remember Muffy crying in that bathroom and the look on your face when I couldn’t find the words to introduce you. And I’m going to choose differently.”

“Pretty words.”

“I’m not good at pretty words.” He reached for my hand again, and this time I let him hold it. “But I’m good at walking on mountain roads that lead me to you. I’m good at showing up. And that’s what I’m asking for—a chance to show up. Every day. To prove I meant what I said on your porch.”

I studied our intertwined fingers. His were still shaking, probably from the run. Or adrenaline. Or both.

“You know, I’m really busy with work,” I said. “Twelve-hour days, sometimes more. Emergency surgeries at three in the morning. I’m not going to change that.”

“I know.”

“I have approximately seven million animals in this house at any given time.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“And I sing in the shower. Badly.”

His mouth twitched. “I’ve also noticed.”

“You still want to show up for that?”

“Alyssa Vanderspelt.” He tugged on my hand until I looked at him. “I love that you work too hard. I love that your house is a zoo. I love your terrible singing and your jokes and the way you talk to the critters like they understand every word.” His thumb traced circles on my wrist. “I’m not asking you to be less. I never was. I love who you are. If you changed any of that, you wouldn’t be you. “

The last wall I’d build came tumbling down. The one I’d built in the dark while lying on my floor surrounded by animals.

“Okay,” I whispered.

“Okay?”

“Okay, you can show up.” I leaned closer. “But if you ever make me feel like that again⁠—”

“Bernie’s stinky asshole. I remember.”

I leaned across the couch and kissed him. I grabbed the front of his disgusting sweaty sweater and pulled him to me, and when our mouths met, I poured everything into it—the hurt and the anger and the relief and the love I’d been trying not to feel since he’d shown up on my porch with flowers and soup and a kitten in his coat.

His hands slid into my hair, ruining what was left of my braid. I climbed into his lap—Muffy fleeing to safer ground—and his arms wrapped around my waist.

“I love you,” he said against my mouth. “I love you. I should have said it days ago. I should have⁠—”

“Shut up, Superman, and kiss me.”

He shut up.