Page 16 of My Bad Boy Valentine

I swallowed a mix of relief and lingering frustration. It wasn’t a full blessing, but it was more acceptance than I’d expected. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “I appreciate that.” Maybe, in time, they’d come around fully.

After the initial tension, Mom and Dad steered the conversation to safer topics—their dinner plans to celebrate Valentine’s Day, the upcoming school dance, and Mira’s new marketing projects with her boyfriend Colt. We made it through the next hour without any explosions. Then my mother, at least somewhat mollified, excused herself to check on something in the kitchen. Dad accompanied her, leaving Mira and me alone in the living room.

She arched an eyebrow at me once they were gone. “You handled that pretty well. Usually, you fold under their scrutiny. That’s a new look on you, sis.”

Heat rose in my cheeks. “I’m tired of them treating me like a naive kid.”

Mira smirked. “And I’m guessing Knox is part of that new confidence?” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I can see it. You’re…glowing, or something.”

I groaned softly. “Must you always pry?”

She laughed. “Hey, I’m on your side. And after seeing how you stood up to them, I’d say you’re definitely not the ‘little baby’ they keep imagining you are.” Her gaze softened. “For real, though—if he makes you this empowered, I fully support you.”

A wave of relief washed over me, and I impulsively hugged her. “Thanks. It helps, knowing you’ve got my back.”

We parted, sharing a grin, and that moment felt like a turning point—like I could breathe easier, no longer burdenedby the weight of my family’s disapproval.Maybe this day will go smoothly after all, I thought.Knox, Linzie, the dance… everything’s falling into place.

Shortly after, I took my leave, politely declining my mother’s offer to “stay for more tea and chit-chat,” by citing the Valentine’s Dance preparations. Dad gave me a nod that could almost be interpreted as well-wishing, and Mom pursed her lips but said nothing further. As I slid into my car, tension seeped out of my body in a wave of relief.Done. Now I could focus on the rest of the day.

Knox had agreed I’d pick Linzie up around noon to take her shopping for a new dress—one she’d chosen online earlier in the week and had placed on hold at the store, but we’d planned to get final accessories and maybe a bite to eat. I turned up the radio, letting cheerful pop music fill my car, my nerves gradually replaced by excitement. Tonight I’d be a chaperone, but I’d also be there with Knox. The thought sent a flutter through my chest. I pictured him in a suit, maybe awkwardly adjusting a tie, and it made me smile uncontrollably.

When I arrived at Knox’s cycle shop, I found Linzie waiting outside. She wore a black hoodie, as usual, but her face lit up when she spotted my car. She hopped in with a grin. “Hey,” she said, buckling her seatbelt. “Thank you again for doing this.”

“My pleasure,” I replied, pulling away from the curb. “We’ll finalize everything for tonight, then you can get ready at my place if you want.”

Linzie’s eyes widened. “Really? Like…hair and makeup and all that?”

A warm rush of affection filled me. “Yes, if you’d like. It’ll be fun.”

She nodded, excitement shining in her eyes. “I’d like that. I, uh, never had anyone show me how to do fancy stuff, you know?”

My heart squeezed. “Then we’ll do it together.”

After picking up her dress at the Juniors section of the department store, we made our way to accessories, and she zeroed in on a sparkly barrette that matched the subtle shine on her dress’s bodice. For shoes, she chose simple low-heeled pumps that wouldn’t kill her feet.

Watching her light up as she tried them on melted my heart. I thought about how she’d rarely had a nurturing figure in her life, and the honor of helping her in this role buoyed me. She seemed more relaxed, more open. Maybe all she needed was someone to believe in her—like Knox did, like I do now. It was a reminder that no matter how small an act might seem—like shopping—it could mean the world to someone who’d gone without.

After we’d collected all the items on Linzie’s list, we went to a cozy diner for lunch. The place was abuzz with couples grabbing midday bites in the Valentine’s spirit. Linzie devoured a burger and fries, and I treated us both to milkshakes. The conversation flowed easily—she chattered about her friend James Chen and how she thought he might ask her to dance, but only if he could get over his own shyness. I teased her gently, enjoying the way her cheeks turned pinker than her strawberry milkshake.

Before we left, Linzie hesitated, fiddling with her straw. “Caroline,” she said softly, “thanks for all this. I mean…I never thought a school dance could be fun. But with you and my brother cheering me on, it feels…I don’t know, like I finally belong.”

Emotion lodged in my throat. “You do belong, Linzie. We’re rooting for you. Always.”

She ducked her head, smiling. “Thanks.”

We arrived back at my apartment around four, armed with shopping bags and a couple of last-minute items from the drugstore—nail polish, extra hairpins, a bit of subtle eyeshadow. The dance started at eight, but we needed to be there by seven-thirty to help finish set-up. That gave us just enough time to transform.

I led Linzie to my bathroom, rummaging through my limited arsenal of beauty products. “All right,” I declared, “who goes first?”

She grinned nervously. “You do your stuff. Let me watch, so I can copy you.”

Laughing, I showed her how I curled the ends of my hair, then applied a smoky hint of eyeshadow. She observed carefully, asking questions about mascara wands and lipstick shades. It felt surreal, me stepping into a big-sister role. All my life, I’d been the baby in my own family, overshadowed by Mira’s boldness. But now, with Linzie looking up to me, I realized more than ever how rewarding it was to be the mentor, the caretaker.

Once my own hair and makeup were finished—a romantic updo pinned loosely at the sides—I turned to help Linzie. We curled her hair into gentle waves, pinning the sparkly barrette above her ear. She asked about eyeliner, and I suggested a soft brown pencil instead of a harsh black, to keep it age-appropriate. She giggled while I steadied her chin, carefully drawing a thin line.

By the time we finished, the transformation was breathtaking. Linzie wore her pink dress, the chiffon fabric swirling around her knees. Her hair glimmered under theoverhead light, the barrette adding a sweet touch. She gazed at her reflection, lips parted. “I look…like a different person.”

“No,” I corrected, smiling. “You look like yourself, just more confident.”

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