Page 2 of You Had Me At Valentine

I always thought I’d take over for Judy when she retired. Because it was always going to happen way, way in the future—after I figure out how to tell my father that managing the resort is not my dream job.

Spoiler alert: I still don’t know how to disappoint him.

The attic is a time capsule, a welcome distraction. Trunks, boxes, and a collection of random furniture crowd the space, dust particles floating in the sunlight streaming through the small window. Every corner of this inn feels like my Gran, down to the faint scent of lavender that’s somehow seeped into the wood. Even up here.

I flick on the light and skirt boxes that shouldn’t still be here in the attic of a former home-turned-bed and breakfast. I’m gladno one ever moved this stuff out, though. I used to love playing up here.

Last year, I decorated the inn with leftovers from the resort. I’m not sure what made me decide to see if Gran’s stuff is still up here. A bout of nostalgia, I guess.

Over near the window, I see a stack of boxes that likely hold what I’m looking for. Written on the top in Gran’s neat handwriting are the words Valentine’s Day Party.

I remember those. She stopped throwing them when I was in high school. I never knew why.

Curiosity prickles as I pull open the top box, which indeed holds the Valentine’s Day decorations I’m looking for. At the bottom is a smaller box made of heavy cardboard.

It’s full of cards. Dozens of them. Some are elegant, others simple, all clearly handmade and handwritten. I pick one up, reading the sweet message from someone named Annie to her fiancé.

A smile tugs at my lips.

“What are you doing up here?”

A voice I still recognize even after all these years makes me jump. My arms flail and I knock over the stack of boxes. Turns out the top one also contains a big jar of glitter. With a broken lid.

It rains down on me. And the interloper near the door. I turn toward the voice which belongs to Byron Hale. Who could now star in a Twilight movie as the better looking, more sparkly vampire cousin of the Cullens.

Good grief. The boy I knew grew up. Gone is the slightly lanky teenager with longish hair that swept down over his eyes the exact right way to illicit much swooning.

Now his hair is artfully styled, his jaw is covered in sexy stubble, and he looks like he just walked off a runway for a designer who knows how to cut a suit for maximum effect.

How did Byron Hale geteven hotterin the last decade?

Which is saying something because he’s pretty much always been the gold standard for men. Dang it.

“Byron,” I say, fighting to keep my tone neutral when it wants to lash out. “What are you doing here?”

“Practicing to be a Mardi Gras parade float?” He pauses, his lips quirking as he spreads out his glittery arms. “How’s it going so far?”

“You drove all the way from Denver to try on some glitter?” I cross my equally sparkly arms and treat Byron to the glare he deserves. “You should have called ahead. I could have given you directions to the nearest Hobby Lobby.”

His gaze falls to the box of Valentines. “What’s that?”

“None of your business.”

He doesn’t move, just watches me with that calm, unreadable expression that always drove me crazy in high school. “Everything in this inn is my business. Or didn’t your father tell you?”

First Judy, and now Byron? Why does everyone want me to talk to my dad?

The back of my neck heats as I internalize that something is going on, and I’m the last one to know about it. Byron is not only the boy who broke my heart, he’s also my father’s lawyer. Because my life is a cliché apparently.

And I’m going to like what Byron has to say even less than what Judy said, I can already tell.

“Why don’t you just cut to the chase and say whatever it is that you’re not saying so I can send you on your way?”

He pulls the strap of his messenger bag from his shoulder and sets it down on the attic floor. Also known as not queueing up by the door so I can shove him out of it.

“Your father is selling the inn,” he says, his expression unreadable.

“What?” I snap. “None of those words belong in the same sentence, especially not coming from your mouth. Try again.”

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