Page 75 of The Valentine Agenda

Hannah's hands trembled as she reached for the box. "Help me put it on?"

She turned, lifting her hair. James's fingers brushed her neck as he fastened the chain, and Hannah felt the contact like electricity down her spine. The gold apple settled perfectly beside her silver one, warm against her skin.

When she turned back, James was looking at her like she was something precious and terrifying all at once.

"Hannah," he breathed, reaching up to touch the apples resting against her collarbone. "I—"

She caught his hand before he could pull away, pressing it over both necklaces. Over her thundering heart.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For seeing me."

His other hand came up to cradle her face, thumb brushing away tears she hadn't realized she'd shed. "I see you," he said roughly. "Sometimes I can't see anythingbutyou."

They stood there in the quiet room, surrounded by evidence of his care, his hand warm against her heart. And Hannah felt something settle into place—like a painting hanging perfectly straight, like a room at exactly the right temperature, like everything exactly where it was meant to be.

James's hand slid from her necklaces to cup her face, and then he was kissing her. His kiss was achingly gentle, full of all the words he couldn't say. His thumb brushed her cheek as he poured months of quiet love into the kiss, and Hannah felt it like sunrise in her chest—warm and inevitable and perfect.

When he pulled back, she saw the sheen of unshed tears in his eyes. The sight made her heart catch—James Park, who never showed weakness, letting her see him completely undone.

He leaned in once more, pressing a final kiss to her lips. This one tasted like promise and apology and hope.

Then he stepped back, his hands falling away from her face. Without a word, he turned and walked away, leaving Hannah standing in the quiet room with two apples resting against her thundering heart.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

James

The birthday display felt different after dark. James moved silently through the room, touching nothing, just looking. Each piece held a piece of Hannah—how she made people feel, how she changed their lives through small, constant kindnesses.

He could still feel the ghost of her lips against his from hours ago. Still see her face when he'd fastened the necklace. Still feel her heart thundering under his palm.

And she was leaving.

Tommy's new storm cloud painting caught the security lights. "Ms. Miller taught me that sad feelings aren't bad feelings," read the placard beside it. James remembered sitting with the boy, helping him find words for what Hannah meant to him. All the children had been eager to contribute, to show their teacher how much she mattered.

The wall of testimonials from elderly residents made his chest tight. He'd sat with each of them, listening to stories about Hannah straightening photos, remembering tea preferences, making the building feel like home. Mrs. Chen's contribution was particularly pointed: "She taught someone else to see what really matters. Even if he learned too late."

James stopped at Sarah's glitter painting—"Ms. Miller's Smile." The little girl had spent a long time getting it right, wanting to show how her teacher's happiness lit up rooms. "Like sunshine with sparkles," she'd explained seriously.

His fingers traced the frame, not quite touching. The memory of Hannah's smile hit him like a physical blow.

How could he let her leave without telling her—

How could he let her leavewithout him? If she wanted to move, then they would move. Together. There was nowhere Hannah could go, where he wouldn't follow, happily. Gratefully.

She deserved his truth, not his perfection. She deserved everything—every messy feeling, every desperate hope, every truth he'd been too afraid to voice.

"She's worth showing up for," Mrs. Chen had said. And he'd thought he was, in all his quiet ways. But real love wasn't just about showing up.

It was about being brave enough to say it out loud.

James spun toward the door, nearly knocking over a display in his haste. He couldn't wait until morning. He needed to explain to her—really explain—what she meant to him.

The security lights caught Sarah's glitter one last time as he rushed out. Like sunshine with sparkles. Like Hannah's real smile. Like everything he couldn't bear to lose.

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James stood outside Hannah's door, heart hammering against his ribs. He'd run up five flights of stairs, unable to wait for the elevator, desperate to stop her before—

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