Page 38 of The Valentine Agenda

Hannah studied him for a moment that felt eternal. "That depends. Are you planning to stay for the entire meal this time?"

The question could have been bitter, but it wasn't.

He couldn’t stop the smile that broke across his face. “I am," he said.

"Well, in that case." Hannah turned back to Mrs. Peterson's knitting. "I suppose I could be persuaded."

It wasn't until he was back in the elevator that James realized he was still grinning like an idiot. He caught his reflection in the polished doors and hardly recognized himself.

He was wearing jeans, the sleeves of his sweater were pushed up carelessly. Even his hair fell naturally across his forehead, free of product. Nothing like the polished executive he'd spent years perfecting.

He looked... happy.

How strange that the most genuine smile he'd worn in years had nothing to do with business deals or social status or any of the things he'd always thought mattered.

All it had taken was a yes from a woman he had been walking straight past for months.

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By the following week, it had become a quiet routine. Coffee at The Daily Grind. A walk through the park. Then, today, the bookstore.

It was exactly the kind of place James normally wouldn't notice—narrow storefront, windows dusty with age, books piled in seemingly random patterns. But Hannah navigated the stacks like she was walking through her own home, trailing fingers along spines, greeting the orange cat sleeping on the counter.

"Mr. Whiskers," she explained, scratching behind the cat's ears. "He's the real owner. Mrs. Chen brings him treats every Tuesday."

James watched her move through the shelves, pulling out books with practiced ease. Her whole demeanor changed when she talked about children's literature, she was so alive.

"This one," she was saying, holding up a battered volume, "teaches emotional intelligence. I've been using weather metaphors. Like how anger can feel like lightning, but also how lightning converts nitrogen into nitrates—“

She broke off, looking embarrassed at her enthusiasm.

James wanted to know more. About weather metaphors and children's emotions and everything else that made Hannah's eyes light up like that.

His phone buzzed again. He didn't even feel it.

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James sat in his office, staring at his laptop without seeing it. All he could think about was how Hannah's face had lit up explaining why children needed stories about difficult emotions. How her fingers had traced book spines with such care. How she'd known exactly where to find each title, as if the cramped shelves held a map only she could read.

His phone buzzed. James ignored it, remembering instead how Hannah had apologized to the bookstore cat for disturbing its nap. The same gentle consideration she showed to everyone.

He'd learned more about her in that hour among the books than in all the months of lobby encounters. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when talking about something she loved. How she remembered not just the elderly shop owner's name, but asked about his grandson's college applications.

How beautiful she had looked when the light—

"Mr. Park?" Angela's voice came through the intercom. "The Sinclair Group is waiting."

Right now, James Park—successful businessman, corporate power player, master of mergers and acquisitions—was doing something he'd never done before.

He was falling in love.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Hannah

Hannah hadn't meant to say yes when James suggested an evening walk. She definitely hadn't meant to enjoy it. But the spring air was soft with possibility, and James was wearing the softest looking cashmere, the casual dishevelment of someone forgetting to maintain perfection.

"So Tommy is expanding into different emotions?" James asked as they turned down a quiet street lined with blooming cherry trees.

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