Page 5 of You Had Me At Valentine

That might be at least half the reason I didn’t push back when Lachlan dropped this assignment on me.

Okay, there was never a scenario where I would have told my employer no. Not even knowing that I would be thrown straight into this pressure cooker. So, I’m trying to look for the positives.

Lyra pushes back her light brown hair and picks up the box full of heart strings. Defiantly. Because she wants me to see that she doesn’t need me or my help.

“I assume you’ve already lined up buyers?” she asks.

“There’s been some interest.” I grab the other end of this one before she can stop me. “The location alone—”

“Makes it direct competition for the resort?” The smile she gives me is sly. “Don’t put it past me to undercut the new owner’s prices.”

I hold up my hands. “That’s none of my business. I would assume anyone who is serious about buying would do their due diligence to determine the viability of the inn.”

Secretly, I’m cheering for her. When she gets that calculating glint in her eye, she’s breathtaking.

She must see something in my expression because her smile dims slightly. “What?”

“Nothing.” I clear my throat. “These decorations—”

“Are going downstairs,” she says with a nod to one of the boxes. “You might as well make yourself useful.”

We manage to get the boxes down the narrow attic stairs without her “accidentally” shoving me to my death, which feels like a minor miracle given the tension crackling between us.

I help her arrange the boxes in the front lobby, watching as she starts unpacking decorations with measured movements thattell me she’s trying to pretend I’m not here. She hangs the first paper heart with practiced ease in the front window.

“Your grandmother loved Valentine’s Day,” I say, because the silence is killing me.

Her hands still. “Yes, she did.”

I remember helping string these same decorations years ago, dragging her into a kiss between each strand we hung. Now I’m here to essentially dismantle everything her grandmother built. The irony isn’t lost on me.

“What’s in the other box?” I ask, nodding toward the one she already told me once is none of my business. I’m doubly curious why she brought it down since it’s so much smaller than the others. And whether or not she’ll tell me the contents this time, now that we’ve established the hierarchy around here.

“Valentines from Gran’s last party.” Lyra’s voice softens as she opens it. “I’d forgotten about these. She used to host the huge Valentine’s Day celebration every year. People would write cards and Gran would deliver them during the party. Remember?”

My heart falls off a cliff. Why, yes, I do remember. Because I wrote one of those cards. To Lyra.

I remember exactly what I wrote, too. It was during my short-lived foray into embracing the soul of the poet I’m named after. Flowery and dreadful prose graces that card, to be sure, but the words were so heartfelt.

She never saw it. Everything fell apart and then I forgot about it because Lyra’s grandmother never distributed them for some reason.

I can’t let her read that card.

It would open up so many questions, every last one with catastrophic answers. For me. For Lachlan. Even for Lyra—I can’t fathom how we could work together in any capacity if she finds out I lied when I told her I wasn’t in love with her.

And honestly a part of me doesn’t want to find out how she’ll react. She already hates me. I refuse to give her fodder to hate her father too.

She pulls out a handful of cards, and I have to physically stop myself from grabbing them from her fingers. My card isn’t on top, but it’s in there somewhere. I know it is.

“These were never delivered,” she says, examining one. Her eyes light up the way they used to right before suggesting we sneak into the resort’s indoor pool after hours or “borrow” a couple of snowmobiles. “Byron, I just had the most brilliant idea.”

“No.” The word comes out sharper than I intend.

She arches an eyebrow. “You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

“I know that look.” I try for a lighter tone. “That’s your ‘I’m about to do something crazy’ look.”

“We should deliver these cards.”

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