Page 32 of The Valentine Agenda

"James?" Mr. Thompson's voice made him jump. "Since you're already here, would you mind helping us hang these? Hannah's not tall enough to reach."

Hannah was already waving Mr. Thompson off. "I'll get the stepladder from the—"

"I can help." The words came out sounding too eager.

Hannah looked flustered. "That's not necessary. Really".

But he was already moving toward her, desperate to prove... something. She handed him the painting without meeting his eyes, and he caught the faintest scent of whatever shampoo she used—something simple and clean, nothing like Vanessa's expensive perfumes.

Not that he was noticing.

God, was this what he was reduced to now? Inhaling her shampoo like some lovesick teenager? He could have been standing beside her properly, learning about her students' art, earning those small smiles she gave when she was genuinely pleased.

Instead, he'd stupidly thrown away any chance of Hannah being his friend. Now he was grateful just to be in the same room.

"A little higher," Hannah directed, her professional mask firmly in place. "To the left. No, your other left."

James's ears burned as he adjusted the painting, hyperaware of how everyone was watching this interaction. How Hannah stepped back from him while still directing the hanging. He glanced at her over his shoulder.

The professional mask she wore didn't quite hide the fire in her eyes—if anything, it highlighted it, like watching storms gather behind glass.

She was beautiful when she was angry.

The thought hit him with such force that he almost dropped the artwork.

She wore sensible shoes and department store clothes. Her makeup was minimal, her hair usually pulled back without any real style. She was...

She was laughing at something Mrs. Chen had whispered, her whole face transforming, and James felt the air leave his lungs.

She seemed to glow from within. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, her entire being radiating joy. The afternoon rays caught her profile, and James forgot what he was supposed to be doing with his hands.

If he'd thought she was beautiful in anger—all controlled fire and precise movements—it was nothing compared to this.

"The painting, dear," Mrs. Chen said sweetly. "Unless you'd prefer to stand there staring?"

"I wasn't—" But he had been. Just like he'd been staring yesterday when she'd helped that young mother with her stroller. And the day before when she'd organized the book club's lending library. And every day for the past week when she'd done a hundred small, kind things that he'd never noticed before.

"I think that's enough help," Hannah said firmly. "I'm sure you have important emails to send."

She turned away, already focused on something else, dismissing him completely.

But as he retreated to his laptop, his eyes kept drifting back to her. To the gentle way she touched Mrs. Peterson's shoulder. To how her smile reached her eyes when she really meant it. To the simple grace of her movements as she arranged art supplies and listened to stories and existed in a way that made the whole room feel warmer.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered to himself. He needed to leave. Needed to focus on work. Needed to stop noticing how the light caught her hair or how her laugh made something in his chest ache.

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"As you can see from the projections..." James's voice trailed off as his mind registered a flash of brown hair in his peripheral vision. Not Hannah—just someone with vaguely similar hair. His fingers tightened on his presentation clicker.

"Mr. Park?" One of the board members leaned forward. "The Q3 projections?"

"Yes." He forced his attention back to the spreadsheets. Numbers. Clean, simple numbers that didn't remind him of the way Hannah's eyes crinkled when she smiled at her students' artwork. "As you can see—"

The woman from Marketing shifted in her chair, her blazer catching the light. A perfectly ordinary blazer that shouldn't have reminded him of Hannah's practical cardigans, of how soft they looked, how they bunched around her elbows as she leaned in to help residents with their crafts...

"James?" Mike's voice cut through his thoughts. "You okay, man?"

No. He wasn't okay. Because he kept seeing her everywhere. In the way the morning light hit the conference room windows, reminding him of how it caught her hair. In the admin assistant's gentle laugh. It wasn't anything like Hannah's real laugh—the one that bubbled up from somewhere genuine and made everyone want to laugh too.

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