Balemtimes Ebe

For Balentimes Day, Barry had decided he was done waiting for lub to magically find him.

If lub was coming, it was going to hab to walk right up to his tiny wooden table and introduce itself properly.

He’d spent all morning preparing.

The gold “B” marquee light (borrowed) glowed behind him like he was the star ob his own romantic special. Paper hearts floated in the air — some taped, some glittered, somef suspiciously held up wiff dental floss. Rose petals were scattered dramatically, though Fish had tried to eat three ob them because “they looked artisanal.”

He practiced his lines.

“Hello. I am emotionally available.”“No rush. I can wait.”“I enjoy quiet cafes and respectful eye contact.”

Ebery now and then someone would pass by. Barry would straighten up, place both paws politely on the edge ob the table, and give his softest, most dignified smile.

One bold admirer leaned in.

Barry’s whiskers twitched.

There was a tiny nose boop.

A gentle kiss.

Barry froze. Then blushed so hard his ears practically matched the roses.

He dropped a coin into his own tip cup. “For ambiance,” he whispered.

As the city lights twinkled behind him, Barry realized something important:

Lub doesn’t hab to be loud. It doesn’t hab to be fireworks.Sometimes it’s just a small table, a warm glow, and someone willing to sit wiff you.

And maybe… just maybe… A second kiss.

Balentimes Ebe was officially a success.