The Valentine Box (The Box Books #3)

February 1

Luke

A s people arrive at the school gym—where TJ arranged for us to meet again—I welcome them, but stay tight-lipped, because I don’t want to have to explain this ten times. It’s difficult, though, since I’m excited about the news. I only hope they will be, too.

Beside me stands an easel propping up a large piece of foam board—covered with a tablecloth until I’m ready to reveal what’s underneath.

Soon everyone is seated on the bleachers. I’ve got Jasmine mooning at me from the front row in some designer dress more suitable to Beverly Hills than the Sweetwater High gymnasium. And Hank scowls at me from just behind her—he might be my toughest nut to crack here tonight. The Little Dipper Holcumb family is here, along with Billy, Stan the Barber, Jeff from the drugstore, and others. But when I spot Taylor in her cute little Sweetheart Bake Shop (Not a Diner!) tee, something in my chest expands.

Maybe I’m remembering that last kiss we didn’t quite have. Frustrating, sure. But the electricity that sizzled between us, the look in her eyes afterward, and that ‘Don’t stop trying’—it all has that same current vibrating in the air between us now, even with twenty other people here.

After I thank everyone for coming, I dive right in with, “I know you’re all eager to hear what we’ve decided regarding the Northcutt Drywall deal. I have a lot to say, so before taking any feedback, let me fill you in on the whole picture.

“First of all, we declined the Northcutt offer.” At this, a few gasps sound, and I sense mostly relief echoing through the small section of bleachers in front of me. But not from Hank—the lines etched into his weary face seem to set harder and deeper. Because it was an all-or-nothing deal, Hank told me to just agree to it or not and then let him find out along with everyone else, saying his heart couldn’t take the ups and downs. But I know he was among the few hoping for a different answer.

“Obviously, it’s a lot of money to pass up. And, as we discussed, an influx of traffic that would likely bring new business to Sweetwater. But no matter how Mom and I looked at it, it didn’t seem right for the town or the people who live here.

“However, because we know Sweetwater definitely needs some kind of boost to keep it from dying completely, we’re doing something else with the farm that will hopefully enhance rather than detract from the area’s charm. And so I present to you preliminary plans for the Sweetheart Horse Park and Sanctuary.” Like a magician in his ta-da moment, I whisk the tablecloth from my easel as another soft gasp echoes through the crowd.

“We’ve secured a loan to convert our family farm into a sanctuary for horses in need of rehoming or a place to retire. The business aspect of this is the park component—we’ll offer rides, a horse visiting and viewing area, lectures, and more.” I pick up the pointer TJ uses to explain football diagrams to his players and use it to tap my rudimentary map. “We’ll build a second barn here. And a gift shop here. Over here will be a concession booth and some picnic tables. And we’ll add a parking lot here.

“The hope is to make it a Kentucky destination, and in the long run, that’s ultimately good for everyone running a business in Sweetwater.” I conclude then with, “Okay, that’s it. What do you guys think?”

Answers come all at once.

“No huge factory is a good thing. That plus a new draw to the area is a great thing.”

“So happy the farm will stay!”

“What an incredible idea.”

Then my mom’s hairdresser, Wanda, speaks up. “How does your mother feel about this, Luke? She’s just buried your father, and now her home is changing into a park?”

I give the older woman a kind smile. “I understand and appreciate that concern, Wanda, but she’s all in. In fact, I suspect this project is going to become her new passion in life. We’ll place a plaque memorializing Dad for first making the farm a place to provide sanctuary for horses, and she’s very dedicated to honoring him that way. She has a lot of grieving to do yet—we all do. But I think this is going to be exactly what she needs.”

Billy throws up a hand to ask, “How many horses are you thinking the farm can support?”

“That’s a great question, Billy,” I reply. “Comfortably, we can handle up to about twenty as it stands, even sacrificing a little space to the new structures and parking area. That’s a dozen more than we have right now. But I would love to acquire more acreage so that we can potentially take that number higher.”

“Buy my place,” Hank yells out. “Give me fair market value and you can have the whole kit and caboodle.”

I toss him a glance. “You want to talk with me afterward, Hank?”

“Ain’t nothing you can say to me in private that I mind folks hearing,” he shoots back.

“All right then,” I answer. “I was planning to offer on about half the inn’s grounds if that interests you. I’m hoping you’ll stay open, though—give us a chance to get up and running—because with any luck, the park will draw some overnight visitors. It’s possible we might even host a week-long horse camp for kids— with chaperones, of course—and the campers would need a place to stay. Ultimately, I think the town will need an inn again. Plus it would be a great place to hold official meetings, fundraising luncheons, things like that. But if you’re still ready to shut the doors, I’ll buy the inn from you, too, and make it part of the park.”

I can see the wheels turning in Hank’s head the whole time I’m talking, and after a moment, he scrunches his mouth up this way and that before finally saying, “Well, if you really think people’ll come, I’ll try to stay open.”

“Good,” I reply with a smile. “The place wouldn’t be the same without you.”

Paul Holcumb raises his hand then to say, “Luke, I want to thank you for thinking outside the box on this. I know you gave up a big payday and could have just taken the money and run. Most people would have. I give you a lot of credit for putting the town before yourself and your family. Takes a lot of integrity to do that. And a lot of creativity and dedication to come up with a plan like this.”

I give the man a solemn, grateful nod. I guess he’s right, but leaving my hometown worse than I found it was a much bigger factor for me than the cash. “Well,” I answer, “rest assured that it was ultimately Mom’s decision and she’s very happy about it. I am, too.” I suffer a little pang of guilt toward Hank then, since my family is fortunate the money wasn’t vital to us, but I try to push it aside since I honestly think even he will ultimately be happier this way.

“As for the creative aspect, I have to give credit where it’s due,” I go on. Then I look toward the pretty redhead in the stands. “The basic idea for changing the farm into a destination was all Taylor’s. I just took it and ran with it.”

Widened eyes turn in her direction with murmurings of, “Good job,” and “Thank you, Taylor!”

“Oh, and one last idea—something Mom came up with just last night,” I add. “We want to start an annual horse festival, something that can expand through the whole town.” Then I look back to Taylor. “I’m thinking a good name might be ‘Hearts and Horses.’”

“Oh, that’s cute,” Janet Dupree says, apparently unaware that her daughter sits next to her flinging daggers at me with her expression. Underneath all the glitz and exaggerated confidence, Jasmine is like a little lost puppy growling at everyone she encounters. But does she truly still think there’s something between us? I ignore the scowl on her face—Taylor-related, I’m assuming—and thank everyone for coming.

People seem to want to talk with me as the small crowd disperses, mostly with words of relief or gratitude—but when I spot Hank skulking toward the gym doors, I hastily excuse myself to catch up with him. “Hank,” I call from a few steps behind.

He looks back.

“This is gonna be good, I promise. And like I said, if it’s not, I’ll make things right with you.”

He appears doubtful, though. “Not as right as Northcutt was gonna make it.”

He’s still mired in the deflating news that he’s not an instant multi-millionaire. And I get it. “Well, afraid I don’t have pockets that deep. But I hope you can understand that we’re trying to do what’s best for the biggest number of people and work for the greater good.”

The big sigh he lets out comes with a conceding nod. “Believe it or not, there’s a part of me that feels the same as everybody else—glad we’ll still have our pretty shoreline. I just gotta soak it all in, and…hope for the best, I guess.”

“Thanks for being open to the idea.”

“And I’ll think about selling you some acreage.”

“That sounds good, Hank—I appreciate it.” I shake his hand and give his shoulder a bolstering squeeze as I send him on his way.

That’s when Taylor and her friend Caroline pass me on the other side, leaving—and I don’t want to let her get away tonight, either. “Taylor.”

They both stop, and she offers up a small smile with a cute tilt of her head. “You didn’t have to give me so much credit, you know. I’m just happy things are working out.”

“Me, too,” I say, stepping closer. And maybe I mean that in more ways than one. Coming home, I never expected the perk of reconnecting with Taylor Mulvaney. And kissing her still remains very high on my to-do list. “Hey, are you busy now? Could we go somewhere and…chat?” I really mean make out, but I’m happy to start with some chatting.

“I need to go back to the shop for a little while, but you could meet me there when you’re done here.”

“It’s a date,” I tell her.

“Um, how did I never notice this dog before?” I ask a little while later. Taylor’s little white furry companion—she says it’s a poodle, but it doesn’t look much like one to me—walks beside her on a leash as we head toward the old Riverview Park just behind her shop on Main. We’re both in our winter coats, but temps have grown unseasonably mild the last couple of days—it’s in the forties, even after dark.

“Well, she’s old and quiet,” Taylor replies, her voice filled with affection for the pup, “which is pretty much what makes it okay for her to come to work with me. I leave her at home if it’s super stormy out or something, but it makes her sad, and I like giving her as full a life as possible.”

“So she can’t see anything, huh?” Taylor mentioned it while leashing her up at the shop.

As we turn the corner that leads to the river, she nods. “She learned her way around my house, though, and when she’s on the leash, she knows to just go straight unless I guide her to the left or right. She might be old and blind, but she’s a smart girl.”

“And…it’s okay,” I narrow my eyes on her curiously to ask, “to have a dog in your bake shop?”

“Well, since we keep her very tidy and in one area, and poodles don’t shed, they let me claim she’s an assistance animal.” Her eyes tell me that even she knows that’s a stretch, but that she’s grateful for the latitude.

Our way is lit by dilapidated streetlamps that have seen brighter days, but recent snows have all melted, so the way is clear for both us and the dog as we follow Riverview Drive the short distance to the park.

“About telling everyone at the meeting the horse park was your idea,” I say then, “I just thought they should know.”

“All I know,” she answers, still sounding as humble as before, “is that you made a lot of people very happy tonight, and a lot more optimistic about the future.”

“Mom and I are both optimistic, too.”

She looks up at me as we walk. “How did your brothers take the news?”

I tip my head back, remembering two unpleasant phone conversations. “Not great. At first. Especially Tom.” I slant her a glance. “Word of the day: Tomfoolery . Which is what I’ve been putting up with from him.”

She lets out a short laugh.

“But I think, deep down, they know they can’t complain too much about decisions they weren’t here to help make. Not to mention decisions that make Mom happy and give her a sense of purpose. And one thing that helped, even with Tom and Aaron, was knowing how much Dad would approve.”

“You know,” she says, “when you mentioned a plaque honoring him, it’s the happiest I’ve heard you sound when talking about your father…ever.”

Even though I still don’t like discussing my relationship with Dad, I’ve found Taylor easy to confide in. So I confide a little more. “My mom claims he was just bad at expressing his feelings. And…I actually found this little scrapbook he’d kept—everything from my high school sports stuff to articles about my business—and…I don’t know…maybe it helped a little.”

“Luke, that’s great,” she says, then grabs onto my hand and squeezes it.

I squeeze back and don’t let go.

Taylor

And just like that, we’re holding hands. When I took his, it was instinctive, purely without thought—but now I feel swept up in the simple connection, like my whole world centers on the spot between us where my hand fits into his, and nothing else matters but the ribbon of sensation fluttering up my arm and down through my body. Neither of us is wearing gloves tonight, either!

We walk in silence and my heart beats harder, merely from his touch. Does he feel it as intensely as I do? Or is that silly of me? To think a guy like Luke Montgomery, who has surely had so many more relationships than me, could be experiencing the same tingling pleasure I am, just from holding hands?

When it comes to the guys I’ve dated, mostly from outside Sweetwater, I usually break up with them after a month or so because I’m just not that into them. With Luke, though, every second, every sensation, is amplified. Just like in high school.

“About your dad,” I say, deciding we should talk again before I get caught up in any old emotions still lingering inside me, “back at the meeting, you almost actually said you were grieving. And grieving isn’t fun, but…at least it means you had something worth grieving, right?”

Beside me, he just shrugs, still squeezing my hand. “Guess that’s true.”

He still sounds a bit wooden on the topic, so maybe I shouldn’t push it. But this feels like forward movement, healthier than when he came home acting like his mother was the only one who’d lost somebody.

“Speaking of things that aren’t fun,” he says, “this park really needs to be revamped, doesn’t it?”

I glance around the narrow stretch of land behind the Main Street shops that hasn’t changed much since I moved here over twenty years ago, and it was already rundown then. A shabby basketball court is missing nets and suffers from badly cracked concrete, with weeds growing up through the fissures even in winter. An old picnic shelter sports broken-down wooden tables and an ancient grill that pokes up from the ground on a rusty pole. Beyond that lies the remains of a playground that now consists only of an old swing set with just two questionable-looking swings left, and one bouncy animal on steel springs where there were once four. The survivor is so badly faded I can’t tell what it originally was.

Peering at it in the glow of the streetlights, I tilt my head to ask, “Do you think this was an elephant?” I’m basing that mainly on the fact that it’s gray. “Or it could be a rhino.”

Luke studies it, too, finally replying, “Elephino,” and I hear myself giggle, remembering the old joke: What do you get when you cross an elephant with a rhinoceros?

After we share a short laugh, Luke goes on about the park. “Maybe now that the horse sanctuary is in the works, the town could apply for a grant to upgrade the place. I can easily see the whole area redone. Benches along the river. A new shelter, or more than one. Maybe a walking path, and definitely a new playground. All horse-themed.”

Still holding his hand, which I never want to let go of, I suggest, “Or heart-themed.” Yes, he’s beyond hot, and yes, I’m on board with the horse stuff, but I’m still not letting go of our Sweetwater hearts.

He turns to face me with a teasing grin. “I thought we agreed that horses and hearts could co-exist peacefully together. Maybe even complement one another. Ya know,” he says, tilting his head, “sometimes two things that seem very different can go together just fine.”

Like us, he means. “Maybe so,” I have to agree. I always felt our two worlds, even in the same small town, were just too far apart—but maybe that’s changing.

When he releases my hand to take a seat on the elephino, I miss the touch immediately. Yet then he gazes at me from his new perch to say, “Sit down with me.”

I’m about to ask where—it’s definitely a one-seat animal—when he pats his knee.

Does he see me swallow past the nervous lump that’s just materialized in my throat? Thank goodness the lighting from the lamps is dim at best. “That seems like…a risky proposition.” Maybe for more reasons than one. But on the practical side, it’s a fairly small elephino.

“Don’t worry,” he replies. “I’ve got you.”

Okay then. Part of me wants to run from this moment, this invitation to intimacy—an old part that I understand but also want to let go of so badly. So I lower myself, slowly, gingerly, onto his lap, Maggie’s leash looped around my wrist.

It’s warm there, warmer than the weather should allow for, and even more so when he eases one arm around my waist, the other reaching to close over my outer thigh to hold me in place.

“We’re lucky this thing hasn’t gone crashing to the ground,” I tell him. His strong arms support me completely and he smells like leather.

“Feels fine to me,” he promises, his face near mine, voice dropping lower, eyes shaded.

And that’s when he leans in to kiss me. And this time nothing interrupts us.

It’s only a soft meeting of mouths that lasts a few seconds, but it oozes through me like hot lava, stealing my breath.

“I’ve been waiting almost fifteen years to do that,” he whispers deeply.

The words increase my already-thudding heartbeat, and I whisper back, “Was it…worth the wait?”

“Oh yeah,” he says. “And in fact, I’m gonna do it again.”

This time it’s a deeper kiss, and the sheer pleasure dissolves every ounce of nervousness inside me. Luke Montgomery is kissing me at last, kissing me the way young girls dream of. Older girls, too. And yeah, it was so worth the wait.

As it continues, I begin to forget about things. Where we are, that it’s chilly out, that there’s a dog roaming around below our feet, that we’re sitting on an unrecognizable, decades-old piece of playground equipment where I’m pretty sure no one ever had as much fun as we’re having right now. It consumes me.

It consumes me…except for one niggling notion. If kissing him feels this amazing, how much is it gonna hurt when he’s gone? But I push that aside, same as yesterday, because I’m embracing Geneva’s advice, right? Have fun with him tonight and don’t worry about tomorrow.