Page 35 of The Valentine Agenda

"Han—"

"Did you know he's been helping Mrs. Peterson with her groceries? And fixing things around the building? He even organized the large-print books in the library by genre." Hannah's voice cracked slightly. "It's like he's... studying me. Seeing all the things I do just so he can—"

"Or maybe," Sophie said gently, "he's learning from you. Learning what actually matters."

Hannah pressed her hands to her eyes. "I can't trust that. I can't trust him."

"Can't? Or won't?"

"What's the difference?" Hannah dropped her hands, revealing eyes bright with unshed tears. "Either way, I end up sitting alone at a restaurant making excuses for someone who—" She broke off, swallowing hard.

Sophie reached for her hand. "Hey. You don't have to do anything you're not ready for. Or anything at all, ever, where he's concerned."

"I know." Hannah squeezed her friend's hand. "It's just... sometimes I see him with the residents, or catch this look on his face when he thinks no one's watching, and for a second I almost believe..."

"That he's changed?"

"That he's real." Hannah's voice was barely a whisper.

Sophie stood, gathering their mugs. "Just... promise me something?"

"What?"

"Promise you'll keep your eyes open. Not just for the bad stuff—for the good too. People can surprise you."

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Hannah's arms were full of science projects when she heard a small voice from around the corner.

"Mr. Park? Did you like my painting?"

She froze. Liam—her shyest student—was talking to James in the lobby. James's hair fell naturally across his forehead, no product holding it in its usual fixed style. His corporate armour had been replaced by jeans and a soft looking sweater.

"The one about your grandfather's arthritis?" James's voice was different—gentler than she'd ever heard it, matching his softer appearance. "I think it's incredible. The way you showed the pain in those storm clouds..."

"Really?" Liam’s voice brightened. "Some kids said it was weird. That paintings should be pretty."

There was a pause, and Hannah found herself holding her breath, noticing how James knelt down to Liam’s level, the expensive denim stretching across his thighs.

"I think the best art is honest," James said finally. "And your painting helped me understand how your grandfather feels. That's not weird—that's a gift."

"Ms. Miller says that too! That art helps people understand feelings."

"Ms. Miller is very wise." Something in James's tone made Hannah's heart stumble. "She taught me that too."

"But you're a grown-up," Liam said, confused. "Grown-ups already know everything."

James laughed. "Actually, I'm learning that I knew a lot less than I thought. Ms. Miller... she sees things most people miss. Important things."

Hannah pressed a hand to her chest, trying to quiet its sudden thunder. The James she'd first fallen for would never have knelt on lobby marble to talk to a child. This version of him was somehow more devastating than any suit-clad fantasy had ever been.

"Like feelings in storm clouds?" Liam asked.

"Exactly like that."

There was genuine warmth in James's voice. This wasn't performance. This wasn't for anyone's benefit.

Hannah stood frozen, her heart racing, when Liam’s voice suddenly called out, "Ms. Miller!"

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