Page 51 of The Valentine Agenda

Silence stretched between them, heavy with everything unsaid. James had pushed his sleeves to his elbows—when had he started doing that?—and Hannah tried not to notice how the fabric bunched at his forearms, or how his hair was slightly mussed, or how he smelled of coffee and late nights and—

"Hannah—"

"Don't." She stacked her papers with sharp movements. "Please don't."

He took a step toward her, then stopped when she tensed. "I just—"

"What?" Now she did look up, and immediately wished she hadn't. Because James Park in jeans and sweaters was infinitely more dangerous than James Park in his perfect suits with his perfect smile. "What could you possibly have to say that would make any difference?"

The raw honesty in his expression made her breath catch. "I miss you."

Hannah stood abruptly, gathering her things. "You miss the idea of me. The version of yourself you thought you could be when you were with me." The words tasted bitter. "But we both know that's not real."

"Isn't it?" His voice was rough. "Because I can't stop noticing things. How the lobby feels empty without you straightening pictures. How quiet a room is when you're not here. How—"

"Stop." Hannah's hands were shaking as she shoved papers into her bag. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to standthere looking all... rumpled and sincere and tell me you miss me. Not when you're the one who walked away. Twice."

James ran a hand through his hair, messing it up further. "I know. I know I ruined everything. I just—" He broke off, looking lost in a way James Park never looked. "I don't know how to stop… caring about you."

The words hung in the air between them, too honest for either of them to handle. Hannah shouldered her bag, needing to escape before she did something stupid like believe him.

"Try harder," she said, proud of how steady her voice sounded. "You can be very good at not caring about things."

She moved past him, careful not to let their arms brush. But his quiet "Hannah" stopped her at the door.

"What?" She didn't turn around, couldn't bear to see his expression.

"I—" He hesitated, then said softly, "Be careful walking to work tomorrow. It'll be icy."

Hannah closed her eyes against the sudden burn of tears. Because of course he'd noticed the weather. Of course he'd worry about her. Of course he'd find ways to care about her in these small, devastating moments that made her wonder if maybe, just maybe—

"Good night, Mr. Park."

She left before he could say anything else, before she could let herself hope again. Her footsteps echoed in the emptyhallway, and Hannah tried not to think about storm clouds or rolled sleeves or the way James's voice had sounded when he said he missed her.

She had a class to teach tomorrow. Papers to grade. A life to live that had nothing to do with James Park or his ability to break her heart with two simple words.

Even if those words kept echoing in her mind, softer and more dangerous than any grand declaration could have been:

Be careful.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

James

James stared at his laptop screen without seeing it. The Sinclair merger was going well, but all he could think about was how Hannah's hands had moved as she explained weather patterns to Mrs. Peterson's grandchildren. How her entire face had lit up when the youngest one finally understood the concept of warm fronts and cold fronts meeting.

"Mr. Park?" Angela's voice made him look up. She stood in his doorway, clutching folders to her chest with an expression he'd never seen before—concern mixed with determination. "Do you have a moment?"

He nodded, grateful for the distraction from thoughts of Hannah showing a little boy how to draw lightning. Who knew lightning could feed the earth? Who knew anger could be productive if you understood it properly?

"There are whispers that the board is asking questions," Angela said carefully, closing the door behind her. "About your recent... priorities."

"My priorities?" The word caught him oddly. When had his priorities shifted? When had mergers and acquisitionsstarted feeling less urgent than helping Mr Thompson with his crossword?

"You've missed three meetings this week." Angela consulted her notes like they might hold answers. "The Sinclair documents are ready to file. And yesterday you left in the middle of the Mitchell acquisition call to—" she paused, frowning slightly, "—help an elderly resident with her groceries?"

"Her arthritis," James heard himself say. "The unsettled weather makes her joints stiff."

---