Page 17 of You Had Me At Valentine

Because maybe that’s the real problem. Not that I don’t trust him, but that I do. Despite everything, despite knowing better, some part of me still believes in the power ofus.

Where did thatcomefrom? I thought I was going to hate him until the day I died. Here it is barely a few days into our reluctant partnership, and I’ve already sprinted past forgiveness. I’m well on my way toward reconciliation.

I don’t know how to feel about that.

“Help me look through these?” I ask instead of all the other questions crowding my throat. “There has to be something we can use.”

He nods, and we work in companionable silence for a while. But his question echoes in my head: What happens if I succeed?

The inn or the resort.

In my head, I let myself imagine choosing the inn. Walking away from the resort. Standing up to my father and saying no, this isn’t what I want.

The thought is terrifying. And exhilarating.

And against all odds, Byron is the one who’s nudging me toward it.

Six

Byron

I’ve spent the last hour watching Lyra dig through boxes of old vinyl records while pretending I’m catching up with work on my phone. The truth is, I haven’t processed a single email.

My eyes keep straying to her. How is it possible that she grew so much more beautiful over the years? Even in the last few days, she’s taken on a glow that’s difficult to explain.

“I can’t believe Gran kept all of these.” She pulls another stack of albums from a dusty box I brought down for her from the attic. “Look at this one?the handwriting on the sleeve says it’s from the Valentine’s party in 1972.”

I set my phone aside, grateful for the excuse to move closer. She’s been avoiding my eyes all morning, probably still processing our conversation from last night. The one where I forced her to think about choosing between the resort and the inn.

The one where I watched her start to see things differently.

It’s a slippery slope, one I never thought I’d be sliding down, butdang. It’s really hard to be here again, remembering how it used to be. Wondering how it could be now if she could step out of the shadow of her father and reach for my hand.

It’s a pipe dream. But one that has gained a little more clarity than I would have expected.

“Your grandmother kept everything,” I say, careful to keep my tone light despite the voice in my head telling me to hold up a mirror because I’m one to talk about keeping things.

The thin silver filagree pendant in my pocket weighs as much as a garbage truck.

I’ve carried it with me every day since I arrived. I’m still not sure why. At first, it was like a talisman or a good luck charm. A reminder that I had something wonderful once and could possibly again.

Last night, I envisioned actually giving it to Lyra. After all this time, just…here’s this piece of jewelry that represents everything I feel about you but can’t say.

And now I can’t stop thinking about doing exactly that.

“Oh, my goodness.” Lyra’s voice changes, and I know before I look. “Remember this one?”

The album in her hands might as well be a time machine. It’s the Righteous Brothers, which of course came out before either of us was born, so it could have all sorts of associations for a multitude of people from countless generations.

But it only has one association for me and Lyra. One glimpse of the cover and I’m seventeen again, dancing with her at the winter ball, Unchained Melody swelling over the speakers.

“I can’t quite recall it,” I say and her laugh warms places inside that I’m only starting to understand have been cold for quite some time.

Since that night I ended things.

“Liar.” She slides the record from its sleeve. “You used to say it was our song.”

I did. That song inspired the words on the Valentine she still hasn’t found. My heart kicks against my ribs, but the innocence in my expression would hold up under hours of interrogation. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Maybe you should play it.”

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