The Valentine Box (The Box Books #3)

February 2

Taylor

I t’s Groundhog Day and according to the news, Punxsutawney Phil predicts another six weeks of winter. But me, I couldn’t care less because as I walk up Main Street toward Sweetwater Drugs, I’m still warmed by the memories of Luke’s kisses last night. I lost track of how long they lasted, but we stopped only when Maggie began to whimper—her way of saying, Let’s go home— making me feel like a bad dog mom.

“Sounds like somebody’s getting impatient,” he said on a sigh.

“It’s past her dinnertime,” I realized out loud. But I was mainly thinking how amazing it was to be that close to him, one arm looped around his neck, his face only a few inches from mine.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he told me with a sexy grin.

Parting from him, physically, was harder than I could have anticipated. It felt like finally being in the place you were always meant for.

But today I’m practically floating on air. I told Caroline and Geneva a little while ago. “He kissed me,” I announced over coffee at Caroline’s usual table. “In Riverside Park. For a long time.”

Caroline gasped, then leaned close to dreamily inquire, “How was it?”

“Best kisses of my life,” I said. “Not that he had dozens of other guys to stack up against, but still. Absolutely amazing.”

Wiping down the display case, Geneva was all smiles. “It’s about time.”

“Yes,” I replied, nodding to myself. “It is. I’m only sorry it’s not like that old Groundhog Day movie, that I didn’t wake up this morning where I was yesterday, knowing I could look forward to it all happening again.”

Geneva merely shrugged. “Maybe you can anyway.”

Now I’m cheerfully delivering the cupcake Jeff just called to request I bring down since he’s alone in the store today.

“Seriously, do not tell my wife,” he insists as usual as I step up to the counter. As I slide the cupcake to him, he in turn slides me a bag of Maggie’s heart-shaped doggie treats. Fairly even trade, so we don’t bother with a transaction.

“You seem in a good mood today,” he observes as I pluck up the bag. “Great news about Luke’s decision, huh?”

“Yes, the best,” I say. But I’m really thinking about kissing, of course. I may never think about anything else again.

“Way to go, coming up with that plan for the Montgomery farm.”

I just give him a happy, playful shrug. “I do what I can.”

Sauntering merrily out the door, doggie treats in hand, I’m taking in the sky, which somehow seems extra blue today—and were white puffy clouds always this pretty?—when a grating voice cuts through my bliss. “Watch out!”

I pull my gaze back down to find I’ve nearly collided with Jasmine on the sidewalk. Talk about a killjoy. Guess I have to think about something besides kissing, after all.

The fault is mine, and I’m actually about to say I’m sorry out of sheer habit in such moments—when she glowers at me to declare, “You’re not his type, you know.”

Uh oh. It’s Sweetwater High all over again. My stomach roils.

Only…I’m really not that scared girl anymore. Somewhere along the way, things have truly changed. And I won’t be mistreated any longer. “What’s between Luke and me is none of your business,” I tell her very calmly. “And sorry to disappoint you, but I’m no longer intimidated by you and your ugly behavior.”

She blinks, the shock in her gaze telling me I’ve thrown her off her game. Yet she regroups with an eyeroll. “Oh my God. Could you exaggerate the past any worse? Get over it already.”

As she makes a move to go past me on the sidewalk, I actually step into her path, bringing her to a halt. I refuse to be gaslighted, even by someone as self-centered and small-minded as Jasmine Dupree. “First of all, if you don’t think you were ugly to me, and ugly to others, for no reason whatsoever, you’re deluding yourself. Or maybe there was a reason.” I’m actually raising my voice now, angered by the past. “You needed to feel more important than you were. So you found girls who already had a tough time fitting in and you made it tougher. And now you’re still trying to be important, to a guy who’s just not into you, and you’re still being ugly. But we’re not kids anymore, and it’s not working this time.”

The problem with all this is…for the entire duration of my speech, a heart floats in the sky behind her head. One of those puffy white clouds has indeed turned into a perfectly-shaped heart. And I know instantly what it’s telling me: that I should be the bigger person.

The one time I stood up to Jasmine, the special box from my dad was at stake. But now, I don’t need to be a mean girl just because that’s what she’s always been.

And Geneva was right—Jasmine might not know it, but I have a better life than her. In the big picture, I’m happy. Maybe I have to worry about my business, but that might change for the better soon. Maybe I don’t have love, but…Luke’s mouth on mine last night made it seem only a heartbeat away. And maybe I don’t live in a fancy house with a fancy address, but who cares? Despite how unhappy I was to be planted in Sweetwater once upon a time, I’ve become a part of the place in a way I wouldn’t trade.

That’s when I realize she’s simply standing there like a deer in headlights. And her lower lip is quivering a little. I think I’ve actually frightened her. And I kind of want to enjoy that—but I can’t. I remember all too well what it’s like to be the girl who’s quivering.

“And second,” I go on—more calmly again, “I am over it. I’m content to leave the past in the past if you can be a little nicer in the present.”

She still looks frozen in place, like she doesn’t know what just hit her. I barely do myself. But finally she says, in little more than a complacent whisper, “Sure. Whatever.”

Wow. Jasmine Dupree just made peace with me. Kind of anyway.

I’m tempted to alert the media, but instead, I remember that I know how to be a nice person, and maybe she just doesn’t, and maybe I need to show her. “Listen,” I say, “it’s none of my business, but…I think you’re going through a hard time right now, and I truly hope things get better for you.”

“I’m fine,” she insists so quickly that I know it’s a knee-jerk reaction.

“Okay,” I say. “I’m glad. Take care, Jasmine.”

And with that, I step around her and start back toward the bake shop.

“Taylor.”

Stunned to hear her call my name, I stop and look back.

“Thanks,” she says.

I just nod, then go on my way.

She and I will never be friends. But it feels shockingly nice to walk away no longer enemies.