Page 79 of The Valentine Agenda

She had never been given this kind of care.

James had spent so long paying attention to what she needed. Clearing the sidewalks. Fixing the heating. Making her life easier. Doing things so she wouldn't have to ask.

And this—this—was his most devoted act yet.

Her head tipped back against the pillow, moaning his name, and James groaned in response. His hands tightened against her thighs.

As if he would never stop.

As if he would stay down here forever if she let him.

The thought was almost too much.

She came shaking, gasping, with James’s name falling from her lips, and still—still—he didn’t stop.

Didn’t pull away immediately.

Didn’t let go.

Just eased her through it, holding her steady as if he wanted to make sure she didn’t break.

And when she finally opened her eyes, dazed and wrecked, James was looking at her like she was the most important thing in the world.

She had always been second choice.

She had always been overlooked.

But James—this James, the one who had spent months learning how to love her properly—looked at her like she was the only choice.

Like she was everything.

Hannah let out a shaky breath. And then, heart racing, she pulled him up, kissing him deep, grateful, hungry.

James groaned against her lips.

"I love the way you taste," he murmured, wrecked and honest.

Her whole body shivered.

"Let me give you more," James whispered, gently pushing her back against the pillows, his weight settling over her, his forehead resting against hers.

Hannah's breath caught.

Because it wasn't just this moment. It wasn't just this act.

It was everything.

James, who hadn’t noticed her for month, was memorizing her now.

James, who had left her behind, was showing up in the most intimate ways possible.

James, who had spent so much of his life chasing the next big thing, had finally found something worth staying for.

She pulled him closer, and for once, let herself be chosen.

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Moonlight spilled through Hannah's half-bare windows, casting strange shadows from the moving boxes stacked against her walls. The room felt caught between states—some things carefully wrapped and labeled, others still stubbornly in place. Like her heart, she thought. Part of her still carefully protected, part of her already given away.

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