Page 56 of The Valentine Agenda

"Or my mom could bake cookies," Tommy added.

Hannah smiled at their earnest solutions. "We'll figure something out," she said with more confidence than she felt. "Now, who's ready to learn about cloud formations?"

As she began the lesson, Hannah caught her own reflection in the window. She did look sad, she realized. But she also looked determined.

She was good making things work, at stretching resources, at finding ways to help others even when her own heart felt heavy.

"Ms. Miller?" Tommy raised his hand. "Can I draw you a happy sun? To keep on your desk?"

Hannah's eyes burned slightly. "I would love that, Tommy."

She watched him work, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration, and felt something ease in her chest. James Park might have proven her worst fears right, but here—in this classroom with these children—she was exactly where she belonged.

Even if she had no idea how she was going to afford enough art supplies to make their dreams come true.

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Hannah hadn't expected to run into James at the grocery store. She'd promised to help Mr. Thompson with his weekly shopping—his arthritis made carrying bags difficult—but she hadn't expected to find James already there in a white button-down and casual jacket, carefully selecting produce while Mr. Thompson supervised from his motorized cart.

"The tomatoes need to be firm but not too firm," Mr. Thompson was saying. "My Caroline always knew exactly how to pick them."

James was handling each tomato with careful attention, like produce selection was as important as any business deal. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms that Hannah definitely wasn't noticing.

"Hannah!" Mr. Thompson brightened when he saw her. "Look who's helping me shop."

James looked up, a tomato still in his hand. Something flickered across his face—surprise? pleasure?—before he caught himself. "I was just—"

"Checking tomato firmness?" Hannah couldn't help smiling.

A faint blush colored his cheeks. James Park, former master of corporate takeovers, blushing over produce.

"These should work," he said, putting the tomatoes in Mr. Thompson's cart. "Unless..." He glanced at Hannah. "Did Caroline have any specific tomato-selection techniques I should know about?"

The simple fact that he asked—that he cared about getting it right for Mr. Thompson—made something in Hannah's chest squeeze painfully.

Thunder rumbled outside as they finished shopping.

"We should hurry," James said, glancing at the darkening sky. "That storm's moving fast."

They made it halfway home before the sky opened. Hannah squealed as the first fat drops hit, and James immediately shrugged out of his jacket, holding it over Mr. Thompson.

"I can't let you ruin your jacket," Mr. Thompson protested, but James just laughed.

"Mr. Thompson, I think we both know there are more important things than my clothes."

The way he glanced at Hannah as he said it made her breath catch.

They were soaked by the time they reached the building. James's white shirt had gone nearly transparent, clinging to his shoulders in a way Hannah was trying very hard not to notice. Water dripped from his hair, running down his neck.

"Let's get these groceries upstairs," Hannah said quickly, needing something to focus on besides how James looked with rain darkening his shirt.

In the elevator, she became intensely aware of the small space. Of how James's damp clothes smelled like rain and thatsubtle cologne she'd never quite forgotten. Of how his hair curled slightly when wet.

Mr. Thompson was chattering about Caroline's famous tomato sauce recipe, apparently oblivious to the tension crackling between them.

A drop of water slid down James's neck. Hannah watched its progress, remembering how his skin had felt under her fingers when she'd kissed him in the lobby. His throat worked as he swallowed, and she knew he was remembering too.

The elevator dinged. Hannah nearly jumped.

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