The Valentine Box (The Box Books #3)

Senior Year of College

SENIOR YEAR OF COLLEGE

February 14

Taylor

I don’t have classes today, and Mom has recently left her job at the diner after eight years, so she’s home, too. We’re going through closets and cabinets, cleaning things out.

She’s getting remarried in two weeks and moving an hour away, near Louisville, but the little house where I’ve grown up will be mine for as long as I want it to be. Through all of Mom’s late hours at the diner, she managed to pay off the mortgage early, just before the holidays, so she could make it a Christmas gift to me. She never told me until then, or I wouldn’t have let her do it. Nonetheless, it’s reassuring to know I have a free place to live and the money from the house if I ever sell it. It’s a big gift. I think she feels guilty about leaving, and guilty about Dad’s death and other things in my life she had no control over.

I still live at home, going to community college three days a week while waiting tables and baking at the diner on other days. I graduate in May and plan to stay here until I find a good job and figure out adult life.

“You can always come live with David and me,” Mom tells me again as she hefts a box down from the living room closet shelf. “It’s a big house, there are plenty of bedrooms, and his kids only come every other weekend.”

“I’ll bear it in mind,” I say, same as always. It’s a generous offer, and David’s a great guy. He owns a gorgeous five-bedroom home in the kind of upscale neighborhood I could only ever dream of living in. But I want Mom to get the fresh start she deserves, so I need to find my way on my own. I’m about to earn a bachelor’s degree in business, which should help. Too bad the only thing I really love to do is bake. I haven’t seen too many high-paying positions on the internet for bakers.

Mom sets the cardboard box in an old recliner and opens it up to say, “Oh, look! The valentine box your dad made for you.”

When she pulls it out, I gasp. So many memories are tied up in that box, more than I ever imagined on the day he gave it to me on the way to school. I take it from her, the very sight making me miss Dad. “I forgot how beautiful this is. I should at least have it out on a table or something.” It was for a while, but as my little room became more cramped with books, a computer, and all the stuff that accumulates throughout life, I packed it away with some other tchotchkes when we decided to paint the room, and I never got any of them back out.

Feeling the urge to peek inside—because the decoupaged kids’ valentines make the interior as interesting as the exterior—I carefully unlatch the wooden lid and lift it off. But before I can even look, I’m stopped by an unexpected knock on the door.

Mom opens it to find Walt on our front stoop. In all the years we’ve known Walt, he’s never come to our house. “Walt. Hi.” As she steps back to let him in, I feel our collective concern. We’re both hoping nothing is wrong, that no one has died or the diner hasn’t gone into foreclosure or something.

After niceties, he removes a knitted winter hat from his bald head and holds it in front of him in both hands, fumbling with it uncomfortably. “I’ll get to the point of why I’m here,” he says. “I thought I owed it to both of you to tell you in person that I’m closing up shop, retiring. Business is down more than ever and Sweetwater just can’t support a diner anymore. With you leaving after all these years, Lisa, it just feels like time. I talked to my wife and we’re gonna get a little cabin out in the country, and maybe a camper—do a little traveling.”

The truth is, Walt is probably pushing seventy, so this makes all the sense in the world, for many reasons, but I’m certain I look just as shocked as Mom.

“I know this leaves you in the lurch, Taylor,” he goes on, “and I’m very sorry. That’s my one regret, that you and Geneva and the rest of the staff will be out of work. Planning on the end of May, by the way. I hope that gives you time to make some other plans, and I know that’s when you’re graduating.” He’s still fiddling with his hat so much that I’m afraid he’ll wear a hole in it.

“Anyway, I’m calling Dupree Realty tomorrow, and it’ll be priced to sell if you know anyone who’d want an old diner in an old town no one comes to anymore.” He ends on an ironic, unsmiling sort of laugh.

And that’s when a probably crazy question enters my mind. But I’m literally holding a heart in my hand, so maybe that makes it less crazy. Because all these years later, I still see them everywhere—in clouds and tree bark and rocks and even oil stains in the street.

Though maybe this doesn’t count as a sign—even if Dad made the heart, it’s a heart that’s supposed to be a heart; it’s not something I’m seeing where others might not. It’s just a coincidence.

Even so, as I glance down at it between my hands, I hear myself ask, “How much?”

“How much what?” Walt replies.

I tilt my head, smiling inwardly. Walt simply never was much of a businessman—he just liked running a diner. “How much would you sell it for?”

Now it’s Walt tipping his head to one side. “You know someone?”

I scrunch up my nose, shake my head. I’m a little embarrassed. “No, I’ve just…always wished I could open a little bake shop somewhere.”

Walt looks sad as he informs me, “Not sure Sweetwater is the place for it, kiddo. I love ya and that’s why I’m being honest, lookin’ out for ya. Afraid it’d be a losing proposition, no matter how delicious all your sweet treats are.”

I just let out a sigh. “Yeah, I know. A girl can dream, though, right?”

He nods. “Listen now—don’t let an old man crush your ambitions. Just dream about that shop someplace else.” He ends on a wink.

After more apologies and some hugs, Walt leaves. And Mom and I plop down on the couch, digesting this information. My stomach churns. “The one thing I thought I could depend on was my job at the diner.”

Mom reaches over and grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze. “Don’t worry—we’ll figure it out. You know David has offered to get you an admin position at his company. He told me just last night the offer still holds.”

He’s an executive at a large corporation that makes apparel for restaurants—like the embroidered polo shirts and aprons we wear at the diner. It seems full circle—for Mom anyway. And I guess it could be for me, too. An easy answer.

Only I was hoping for something that felt more…me. Something I’d feel excited about.

But I suppose everyone hopes for that—and probably not a lot of people get it.

“I’ll think about it,” I tell her.

Up to now, that’s just been lip service, but without my job at the diner, maybe I need to consider it more seriously. Our little river town has become less and less populated, and the impending closure of the diner feels like one more nail in its coffin.

At some point, I lowered the valentine box to the coffee table, the lid off but tilted against it to one side. Although my mind is in other places right now, I reach over and pick up both pieces, drawing the box into my lap. I study the childish valentines pasted on the bottom and inner sides, overlapping one another randomly. I spot one from Caroline; another from Luke Montgomery. Woof you be my valentine?

I guess I haven’t looked in this box since high school, but something I always thought would be a sweet memory has now become a bitter one. I never found out why he was so mean after the sweetheart dance. I never saw him again after that weird, ugly incident in the diner. But the look on his face that night haunts me even now.

Then I flip over the lid to study the old valentines decoupaged there, as well. Only…what am I seeing? A small slip of white paper appears stuck there, near the slot, protruding from beneath the corner of a valentine not quite glued all the way to the wood. I reach for it, but it’s definitely attached.

“What’s that?” Mom asks.

“I’m not sure. Maybe one of those heart wishes I used to sell for the paper. I remember some getting sort of stuck the last time I used the box.”

“Hadn’t we just glued all the old valentines inside?”

I think back, trying to remember. “Yeah—I don’t think it had dried properly. I guess someone never got their wish delivered.” Tugging gently at the folded slip as I speak, I finally free it, though one edge rips, leaving a small bit behind.

I open the piece of paper.

From: Luke to Taylor

My wish: Is that you’ll be my date to the sweetheart dance even though it’s not your thing. Meet me by the trophy case at 7:15. We’ll have fun, I promise.

“Oh my God,” I mutter. I just stare at it. “This can’t be real. Can it?”

Mom is looking over my shoulder as I blink, twice, and read it again to make sure it says what I think it says.

“I think it’s real,” Mom replies. Then adds another, “Oh my God.”

I look at her, mouth gaping. “I can’t believe it. He asked me to the dance. He asked me to the dance and I didn’t go.”

Mom blows out a sigh, but lifts both hands in a wait-a-minute gesture. “To be fair, though, he didn’t exactly go about it in the most direct way. I mean, did it never occur to him that you might not see it? That it could get lost or mixed up with all the other slips of paper?”

“Apparently not,” I answer, remembering that horrible look he gave me. Now I understand, though, why that kiss he planted on Jasmine seemed almost designed to spite me. “But this sure explains a lot.”

“If you want to know what I think,” Mom says, “it was dumb of him to leap to conclusions.”

I can’t disagree. Though what I’m still stuck on is, “I can’t believe he really wanted to take me to that dance. I can’t believe he thought I totally ignored it!”

“You could Google him,” Mom suggests. The Montgomery family indeed all left town the next day and we haven’t heard anything about them since. Their farm never sold, and some out-of-town company takes care of the lawn and the house, and from what I’ve heard, no one in Sweetwater has had any contact with them other than an occasional sighting of Mrs. Montgomery at the property. Luke’s old friends are probably still in touch with him, but they’re all away in school and their parents just aren’t people I chitchat with.

As for why I’ve never Googled him before, I was leaving the past in the past. But the past just became mired with a missed invitation. So I set the valentine box aside and pick up my cell phone as Mom peers over my shoulder.

The upshot is that a number of guys named Luke Montgomery come up when I search, but none of them are him. Dr. Montgomery remains at a practice in Cincinnati, and when I search on Luke’s brothers, they, too, appear—one’s become an attorney and the other also seems to be pursuing a law degree, at Emory in Atlanta. But no Luke.

I keep looking, though—and part of me hates that I’m doing it, taking Googling to the deep-dive level, but Mom says nothing to stop me. I guess, given what I’ve just discovered, she understands why I’d want to find him.

Then I take a slightly more extreme step—I start Googling his old friends. I find TJ as a senior at UK, as I would have expected Luke to be right now. Same for the other guys I look for, and a few come up on social media, but none of their posts mention Luke.

And that’s when I break down and type into the search bar: Jasmine Dupree.

Behind me, my mother makes a hissing noise—her way of asking without asking: Are you sure you really want to go there?

I’m not sure at all, but I do it. And I end up on Jasmine’s social media. And I see the worst thing I could possibly imagine: a picture of a still-flawless Jasmine with a still-handsome Luke. As always, he could use a haircut, but these days he looks more rugged than athletic, sporting a thin, light brown beard. And he’s wearing a cowboy hat.

The caption: Visiting my hot boyfriend in Utah. Have to leave tomorrow—wah! But I’ll be back on spring break! The view out here is stunning, and I don’t mean just the landscape. Be jealous, ladies, because he’s all mine.

I barely know what to make of it. A cowboy hat? Utah? A beard? All reminders that I never really knew him very well.

And as for this whole being-Jasmine’s-boyfriend business, it wrenches my stomach—partly because maybe it wouldn’t be like that if I’d found his invitation and gone to the stupid dance.

But, okay, maybe it also would. Because whatever’s happened between then and now, last I knew, they were going off to the same college in the same “friend group,” so maybe it was just meant to be.

“Well, that’s that,” I mutter. I shut down the app, set down my phone, and wipe my palms one over the other a few times, washing my hands of the whole affair.

My mom says nothing for a moment, but as my gaze drops to the valentine box once more, she offers up, “Well, if you were thinking he’d ever come back, this makes it seem less likely. I’m not saying you were—I have no idea. But if that weighs into it at all, we can talk to David about possibilities for you after graduation.”

I take a deep breath, blow it back out. Was I? Thinking he might come back someday? I honestly have no idea. But if I was, she’s right—this kind of seals it. Utah might as well be the moon.

And Walt’s leaving. And Mom’s leaving.

Maybe I should leave, too.

After all, why would I want to stick around this dying old river town?

It’s odd, though—something happened that I never expected. Despite everything I’ve hated about living in Sweetwater through the years, somewhere along the way, it became home.