Page 62 of The Valentine Agenda

"You're doing it again," Sophie warned.

"Doing what?"

"That thing where you convince yourself there are hidden depths to completely surface-level men."

Hannah set down her fork with more force than necessary. "I'm not. I just..." She gestured vaguely. "He seems different."

"Different like when he asked you to Nero's? Different like when he made you think he actually saw you?" Sophie's voice softened. "I love that you see the best in people, Han. But sometimes what looks like depth is just a really good reflection."

Hannah stood abruptly, gathering empty containers with sharp movements. "I know that. I'm not—I haven't forgotten."

But she had noticed things.

"He asked Mrs. Peterson about her arthritis," Hannah found herself saying. "Not just politely—he actually remembered which knee bothers her more in cold weather.

Sophie followed her to the kitchen. "Han..."

"And he helped Mr. Thompson. Spent an hour teaching him how to use his new phone." Hannah shoved containers into her recycling bin with unnecessary force. "Who does that just for show?"

"Someone who's very good at looking like whatever people want him to be?" Sophie leaned against the counter.

The recycling bin suddenly felt very interesting. Hannah studied it like it held answers to questions she wasn't ready to ask.

"I'm not falling for him again," she said finally.

"No?"

"No. I just..." Hannah closed her eyes briefly. "I want to believe people can change. That someone like James Park can learn to see beyond himself. Beyond status and image and..."

"And?" Sophie prompted.

"And maybe I want to believe I wasn't completely wrong about him. That first time." Hannah's laugh was shaky. "God, that sounds pathetic."

"It sounds human." Sophie pulled her into a hug. "Just... be careful, okay? Your heart's too good to be someone's redemption arc."

Hannah let herself be held, breathing in Sophie's familiar perfume. "I know. I'm not—It's not like that. I barely even see him."

But even as she said it, Hannah remembered how James had looked yesterday, bent over Mr. Thompson's crossword puzzle. How his whole face had changed when he smiled—not his usual calculated charm but something softer, more genuine.

"I'm not falling for him again," she repeated, more to herself than Sophie.

"Oh honey." Sophie squeezed her shoulders. "Just... remember what happened last time you thought James Park was more than he seemed."

Hannah nodded, but her traitorous mind was already cataloging all the small changes she'd noticed. The way he moved through the building now—not rushing past people but actually seeing them. How he remembered details about residents' lives. The quiet competence with which he fixed things, never expecting recognition.

"I'm not falling for him," she whispered one more time.

But even she didn't believe it anymore.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

James

James sat in his office, staring at the email from the school board. Hannah's community art program proposal sat open on his desk—he'd gotten a copy from the district administration. Her passion was evident in every carefully crafted word, every thoughtful detail about how art could help children process emotions, connect with elderly residents, build community.

The board's response was polite but firm: While they approved the program concept, there was no funding available.

Three months ago, James would have seen this as an opportunity. A way to prove himself changed, to win back Hannah's approval. He would have made sure everyone knew exactly who had funded the program, would have positioned himself as the generous benefactor.

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