Page 4 of The Valentine Agenda

One dinner. That's all it would take. And really, he'd be doing her a favor. Women like Hannah Miller didn't get invited to places like Nero's every day.

CHAPTER TWO

Hannah

Valentine's decorations had already begun appearing around the building. A string of pink hearts cheerfully framed the entrance to the library nook on one side of the lobby, and Hannah could hear Ray in the community room, likely attaching more there. Once she put away her supplies, she'd come back to give him a hand.

Her arms ached under the weight of three bags of teaching supplies when Mrs. Peterson shuffled into the lobby, struggling with her walker and a sagging bag of recycling.

"Let me help you with that," Hannah said, somehow managing to balance her classroom materials while taking the recycling bag.

"Dear, you're already carrying too much—"

"It's no trouble." Hannah guided Mrs. Peterson toward the recycling room, trying not to think about the stack of papers she still needed to grade or the dripping faucet in her apartment. She wanted to try to fix it herself, and save Ray the bother.

The lobby doors whooshed open, and like always, James Park stole every ounce of her attention.

She tried to focus on Mrs. Peterson's recycling, on her teaching supplies, on anything except how his suit was the exact shade of charcoal that made the rich brown of his eyes seem even warmer, drawing out depths she tried not to get lost in. But it was useless.

She noticed everything about James Park, each detail catalogued against her will: how his tie was slightly looser than usual (early meeting?), how his hair was slightly mussed (had he been running frustrated fingers through it?), how he moved with that purposeful grace that made her—

Stop it, she told herself firmly. Her eyes tracked him anyway.

His phone was in his hand, but she'd seen him hold the door for elderly residents before even while checking emails. She always noticed James Park doing nice things. Like last week, when he'd steadied Mr. Thompson after a dizzy spell, his hand gentle on the old man's elbow despite being clearly rushed.

"Hi, James," she managed, but he was already crossing to the elevators, fingers flying across his screen. The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air, making her glad she was holding onto Mrs. Peterson's walker for support.

"Hannah?" Mrs. Chen's voice broke through her daze. "Those bags look heavy. Let me take one—"

"Oh no, I'm fine." Hannah quickly retrieved her teaching supplies, nearly dropping one bag in the process. "But could you help Mrs. Peterson with the recycling room door?"

"Always helping others," Mrs. Chen said with a knowing look. "But who helps you?"

Hannah was saved from answering by Mr. Rodriguez calling from the mailroom. "Hannah! Could you read me this letter? I forgot my glasses upstairs."

The elevator dinged and James stepped inside. He really was unfairly handsome, all sharp jawline and broad shoulders. Last month, she'd seen him coming back from a run. She felt herself flush just remembering it.

"Hannah?" Mr. Rodriguez was still waiting.

"Coming!" She hurried to help him.

"You work too hard," Mrs. Chen called after her. "Need to take care of yourself too."

But Hannah was already focused on deciphering Mr. Rodriguez's letter.

She definitely didn't think about how James's suit jacket pulled slightly across his shoulders, or how he got his coffee from the fancy chain nearby.

These little details she collected about James Park were just... professional interest. Community awareness. Nothing more.

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"He doesn't even know you exist," Sophie said, pointing her fork at Hannah with the precision of a prosecutor delivering closing arguments. They sat at a corner table at The Daily Grind, where the late afternoon lunch crowd had thinned enough thatHannah couldn't use people-watching as an excuse to avoid this conversation.

"That's not true," Hannah protested, pushing a cherry tomato around her half-eaten salad. "He says good morning sometimes."

"Grunting while collecting his mail doesn't count as saying good morning." Sophie reached across the table and stabbed Hannah's wandering tomato with her fork. "And don't think I haven't noticed you wore that green sweater twice last week. The one you usually save for parent-teacher conferences."

Hannah felt her cheeks warm. "There's just something about him. It's the way he moves, like he's completely sure of himself. Or the way his voice gets deeper when he's focused on something. The way his shirts fit across his shoulders..."

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