Page 49 of The Valentine Agenda

"About market trends?"

"About this." She gestured between them. "You seem very nice, but—"

"But you're not over someone," David finished, not unkindly. At her startled look, he smiled. "I've been there. The way you keep looking at the door? Like you're expecting someone else to walk in?"

Hannah felt her cheeks warm. "I'm not—"

He leaned back, surprisingly understanding. "Sophie mentioned there might be... history."

"Sophie needs to stop trying to fix my life," Hannah muttered, but there was no heat in it.

David stood, gathering his coat. "For what it's worth? Whoever he is, he's an idiot if he let you go."

The bell above the door chimed as he left, and Hannah sat there, staring at her cooling coffee. Pete called out from behind the counter: "Want your usual instead?"

She nodded, grateful he didn't comment on her failed date. As he made her fresh coffee—splash of cream, no sugar—Hannah caught her reflection in the window. She looked exactly the same as she had weeks ago, when she'd sat in this very spot with James, watching his face light up as he learned about barista competitions and local dairy farms.

Everything was the same. The coffee shop. The mismatched chairs. Her boring shoes and practical clothes.

"Here you go." Pete set down her proper coffee with a sympathetic smile. "On the house today."

Hannah wrapped her hands around the warm cup, breathing in the familiar scent. "I'm fine, you know."

"Course you are." Pete started gathering what was left of the hazelnut lattes. "But sometimes being fine isn't the same as being happy."

Hannah watched the steam rise from her coffee, carrying away possibilities that had never really existed. "I know," she said softly. "Trust me, I know."

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"He was nice," Hannah insisted as they walked home, their breath fogging in the evening air. "Very... professional."

Sophie shot her a sidelong glance. "Professional? That's what you're going with?"

"What's wrong with professional?"

"Nothing, if you're hiring an accountant." Sophie linked their arms, steering them around a patch of ice. "But for a date? Come on, Han."

Hannah focused on navigating the slippery sidewalk, grateful for the excuse not to meet her friend's too-knowing eyes. "He was interested in my job."

"Was he?" Sophie's tone was gentle but pointed. "Or did he just nod politely while checking his phone under the table?"

Hannah's step faltered slightly. "You talked to Pete."

"Didn't have to. It's written all over your face." They paused at a crosswalk, and Sophie turned to face her friend properly. "You're not actually over him, are you?"

"Of course I am." The response came too quickly, too sharply. "James made his choice. Twice, actually."

"Hmm." Sophie studied her for a moment. "Then why are you wearing the green sweater?"

Hannah wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly conscious of the soft fabric. She'd told herself she'd worn it because it was warm. Practical. Not because James had once said it brought out her eyes. Not because—

"It's just a sweater," she said, but her voice sounded weak even to her own ears.

"Right. Just like you just happened to walk through the lobby six times yesterday."

"I had errands—"

"Han." Sophie's voice softened. "You're allowed to not be okay."

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