My Accidental Valentine

Chapter 1. The Re

My best friend Emilia was born on Valentine’s Day, which is why, instead of getting fucked by some hot, brooding guy, right now, I’m standing on the porch of her house, knee-deep in snow, holding a massive bouquet. Not that anyone was lining up to fuck me anyway—it’s been eight months after I broke up with Tim, my boyfriend of three years, and I’ve been chronically single ever since. So this year, while everyone else in our group comes in pairs, I’m coming alone. No pun intended.

The guest list for Emilia’s birthday is always the same: Emilia Lee herself—also known as Millie, my ride-or-die with her main character energy—and her golden retriever boyfriend, Peter Stein; Peter’s smart, hilarious sister, Tina Stein, and Tina’s loving girlfriend, Amira Saule; my sister, Chara Warren, who absolutely adores Emilia (and the feeling is mutual); Chara’s boyfriend, Sean Portman, a sweet, family-rich guy with a gaming habit that keeps him up all night and in bed until noon; and, of course, me—Sam Warren.

So when the front door of Millie’s house swings open, my mind goes completely blank—because there, standing on the threshold, is Adam Payne .

Of all the people in the world, he’s the last person I expected to be here.

You see, Adam Payne is Peter’s best friend, and the four of us—me, Emilia, Peter, and Adam—used to be in high school together. Adam and Peter were upperclassmen, one grade ahead of us. That’s how we all first met, and Emilia and Peter have been together ever since. And because Adam is Peter’s best friend and I’m Millie’s, we naturally crossed paths at their birthdays. Adam also happens to be my long-standing high school crush. The problem is, Adam Payne hates my guts .

It’s a little embarrassing, really, because Adam and I only ever interacted in group settings, and even then, our conversations never went beyond awkward small talk—with me doing all the heavy lifting to keep them alive.

I always knew I didn’t have a chance with him romantically. For one, he’s completely out of my league—the smart, sexy ex-high-school chess champion who was also a star football player for three years, now a lead scientist at a machine learning startup specializing in dental technology, with the face of Brandon Walsh from Beverly Hills, 90210 and the body of a Greek god—and for another, he’s almost definitely straight. We went to high school together, so I saw him date plenty of girls.

But even with this unrequited crush on a straight guy, I loved seeing him twice a year. It was something I looked forward to, a chance to indulge the butterflies in my stomach. That was until I spoiled everything.

It happened less than four years ago, right after Peter’s birthday, though I didn’t find out about it until a week later. That’s when I accidentally discovered—much to my shock and disappointment—that Adam Payne refuses to attend Emilia’s birthday party if I’m there.

Here’s how it happened.

It was just four days before Emilia’s birthday. We were at her house, lounging around with mugs of coffee, casually chatting, while I scrolled through her photo gallery, looking for that picture from the night we got wasted at the local bar and ended up doing karaoke with the bartender.

Then, a message from Peter popped up on her screen: “Yup, Adam’s not going to your b-day since Sam’s going…”

I froze. The words didn’t fully register at first—like my brain needed an extra second to process the blow. To say I was shocked would be an understatement. I felt heartbroken, humiliated, and confused all at once, even before I had any clue what I’d done to deserve this. It was like being dropped into a pool of molten lava, everything in me burning at once.

When I asked Millie about the message, she looked genuinely sorry, guilt written all over her face. She admitted she’d been hoping Adam might change his mind so she wouldn’t have to tell me, and that she’d been dreading the conversation because she knew how big of a crush I had on him.

As it turned out, two days earlier, Adam had told Peter he probably wouldn’t be going to her birthday party and initially refused to explain why. But when Peter pressed him, Adam reluctantly admitted it was because I, Sam Warren, would be there. Peter claimed he’d promised Adam not to share any details but hinted it had something to do with what had happened on Peter’s birthday. Despite Emilia’s best efforts—pushing and even resorting to emotional blackmail—Peter remained firm and refused to say anything else.

You can imagine how mortified I was when I found out, especially since I’d gotten so wasted at Peter’s party that most of the evening was a blur. I did, however, remember one key detail: deciding to approach Adam for a conversation. In my drunken logic, I’d convinced myself it was time for us to be friends. I mean, why not? He was cute. His dark, deadpan jokes always cracked me up, and even though nothing romantic could ever happen between us, being friends felt like a perfectly reasonable idea.

The next morning, I woke up with the worst hangover of my life but felt oddly accomplished. Sure, I was a tiny bit embarrassed, but mostly, I was proud of myself. I thought I’d finally broken the ice between Adam and me. In my delusional mind, I pictured us as part of a close little group from then on—me, Emilia, Peter, and Adam—going to the movies together or hanging out like the great friends we were about to become.

But apparently, in reality, I’d done something so mortifying that Adam decided he never wanted to see me again.

For months after, I couldn’t stop obsessing over what might have happened—or worse, what I might have done. My theories ranged from embarrassing to outright mortifying. Maybe I’d told him the story about the time I got a boner in class while watching a documentary on top US male athletes. Or, even worse, maybe I’d tried to kiss him or done something equally stupid, like cornered him or touched him inappropriately. That’s not something I’d ever do—I value consent like it’s sacred—but I’ve always had this irrational fear of being the creepy unreliable narrator from a thriller who turns out to be the villain all along. So, yeah, the paranoia kind of tracks.

Millie, of course, tried to calm me down. She insisted I probably hadn’t done anything wrong, swearing she’d seen me for most of the night. She even remembered me talking to Adam one-on-one in the kitchen and said we actually seemed like we were having a good time. She was confident I hadn’t harassed him or done anything inappropriate. And even if I had tried to kiss him, she pointed out, Adam wouldn’t have felt threatened—he’s taller, stronger, and way more physically powerful than I am—so, at worst, it would’ve been an awkward attempt at seduction.

That gave me some comfort, but my anxiety refused to go away.

In a desperate attempt to recover the memory, I even went to a hypnotist—but I just ended up wasting a hundred bucks on what felt like an old man ASMR session and got absolutely nothing. My brain seemed to wipe the whole thing clean to spare me the embarrassment of reliving it. For a while, I thought about confronting Adam and asking him what really happened, but the shame and humiliation were so overwhelming that I did what any mature thirty-year-old man would: avoided him entirely, pretended it never happened, and buried the memory so deep it only resurfaced when I was alone—forcing me to physically shake my head just to make it go away.

Since Peter’s birthday—easily one of the most humiliating days of my life—I haven’t seen Adam. He’s been skipping Millie’s birthdays ever since, and I started skipping Peter’s, just to avoid the chance of running into him. So when the door swings open and Adam Payne is standing there, looking right at me, I’m completely blindsided.

Heat rushes from my neck to my ears so fast it feels like I’m transforming into pure embarrassment—like Mystique from X-Men shifting into her scaly form. My legs go wobbly, barely able to hold me up, and for a moment, I’m convinced I might faint if I don’t sit down. I can’t even imagine what’s written on my face, because my mind is racing with a million thoughts at once.

But then, to my utter surprise, Adam just says, “Hi,” his face completely neutral, and steps back to hold the door open for me.

I don’t know what I expected—for him to yell at me, punch me, or kill me—but I feel an overwhelming sense of relief as I step past him into the house, the flowers in my hands trembling just slightly.

I step into the hallway, doing my best to avoid looking at Adam as I wipe my boots on the mat. He’s just standing there, as if he’s waiting for me to say something, but I keep my gaze fixed anywhere else, willing my face not to burn. Then I hear faint noises coming from the living room and seize the chance to escape.

“Hey, Sammy!” my sister’s voice rings out before I even see her. Tina and Amira are in the room too, all three busy decorating. Chara and Tina are standing on chairs, taping a string of lights to the ceiling while Amira holds the other end steady.

“Hi, Sam!” Tina and Amira greet me warmly, and all three of them rush in for a hug. “Hi,” I reply, though my mind is still spinning from the hallway encounter with Adam freaking Payne, who just let me in.

Chara glances down at my feet, one eyebrow arched. “Hey, shoes off!”

“Right, sorry,” I mumble, handing her my backpack and the bouquet as I step back toward the hallway. But before I can make my escape, I bump into something solid. Something solid, warm, and smelling faintly of fresh laundry and shaving cream.

As I awkwardly turn around, already knowing I’ll be face-to-face with Adam, his hand briefly grazes my shoulder before he lets me go. God, I thought I was over him—especially after that humiliating day four years ago, and even more so after dating Tim—but clearly, I’m not.

“Sorry,” I mutter, keeping my eyes down as I try to step around him. But Adam’s so big he completely blocks the exit, so he has to step back toward the doorframe to let me through. As I squeeze past, our chests accidentally brush, and it takes everything in me not to bolt straight out of the house.

In the hallway, I fumble with the laces of my boots, doing an embarrassingly bad job of untying them, just to stall for time. Before I’m fully recovered, Peter strides down the stairs, a broad grin lighting up his face as he spots me.

“Hey, Sam, what’s up?”

“Hey, Peter,” I say, finally managing to tug off my boots and standing up to give him a quick hug. “Sorry I’m late. Got stuck in traffic.”

“No worries.” Peter grins, patting my back before stepping away. “Let me take your jacket.”

As I wrestle with my jacket, trying to shrug it off, I catch a glimpse of Adam out of the corner of my eye. He’s back in the hallway, leaning casually against the doorway as if he’s part of the conversation. His gaze rests on me, and suddenly, my skin feels like it’s on fire.

I hand my jacket to Peter and, doing my best to sound cheerful and nonchalant, ask, “How can I help?”

Peter pauses, considering. “We’re almost done with the decorations, and the catering service will be here in thirty minutes, so we’re mostly set. But if you’re up for it, you could pick up the cake from the bakery in an hour. I’ll need to go get Millie, so it’d be a big help if you could handle that.”

“Sure, I’ll do it,” I say, relieved at the excuse to get out of the house—and away from Adam—for a bit.

“Thanks, man,” Peter says, then throws a quick glance at Adam before turning back to me. “Want something to drink? We’ve got beer and wine.”

“God, no!” I blurt out, heat rushing to my cheeks. The thing is, ever since my blackout at Peter’s birthday party—or rather, ever since I found out something happened but had no idea what—I’ve avoided alcohol like the plague. I never thought I had a problem with it before, but after that, I swore it off completely and haven’t touched a drop since.

“Thanks, I, uh…don’t drink,” I say quickly, trying to smooth over my outburst.

“Oh, right,” Peter says, his expression softening with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I forgot. We’ve got juice and Coke too.”

“And non-alcoholic beer,” Adam says suddenly, turning to look at me again. It twists something inside me—an irritating mix of tension and want that buzzes beneath my skin.

For the first time since I arrived, I really look at him—take him in—and God, he’s even more gorgeous than I remember. He’s more muscled now, his biceps straining against the sleeves of his T-shirt in a way that does dangerous things to my pulse. His hair is short, dark, and curly, and it looks so soft I catch myself wanting to run my fingers through it—maybe even smell it. And his eyes, that impossibly deep green, look almost unreal, like he’s wearing contacts. But I know he’s not.

Our eyes meet for a split second, but his expression is impossible to read. I usually pride myself on being a decent empath, but I have no idea what he’s thinking. Is he angry? Disgusted? Does he hate me? My breath catches, and my stomach twists into knots.

“Cool,” I manage to say, sounding anything but cool.

“Do you want some beer, then?” Peter asks.

“Yeah,” I reply, my voice coming out hoarse. I clear my throat quickly. “Thanks.”

“I’ll bring it to you in a moment,” Peter says before heading off to hang up my jacket and disappearing into the kitchen.

I make my way back into the living room, brushing past Adam again. I swear he gives me a sidelong glance as I pass, sending a wave of heat straight through me.

“Hey, do you need help?” I ask as I step into the room, spotting Chara, Tina, and Amira. They’re putting the chairs back in place, the string lights glowing softly above them.

“Not really—we’re pretty much done,” Chara says.

Tina picks up a stack of napkins from the cloth-covered table. “But if you have time, can you show me how to make the swans again?”

“Sure,” I say, relieved to have something to keep my hands busy. My napkin swans are always a hit, and every year I show Tina how to fold them—but she always forgets. I don’t mind, though—I actually find the process kind of meditative.

I sit down at the table and start folding, doing my best not to look toward the hallway, where I might catch sight of Adam. Still, after a moment, I can’t help but sneak a quick look—but he’s gone. I breathe a little easier.

“So, Sam, how’s the new job?” Amira asks, sitting down beside me.

“It’s good,” I say with a shrug. “A bit tough, but I’ll get the hang of it in a couple of weeks, I hope.”

“They made him sign an NDA, so he can’t talk about it,” Chara chimes in, giving me a pointed look.

“Wait, what’s your new job?” Tina asks, her brows furrowing. “Are you with the FBI or something?”

I laugh. “No, I’m a project manager. I can’t share much about my current project, but I promise it’s not as exciting as it sounds.”

“That’s exactly what an FBI agent would say,” Tina teases with a smirk.

I smirk back, but I’d much rather talk about Adam than my new job. Still, I can’t just bring him up out of nowhere, so I steer the conversation toward something adjacent. “Hey, where’s Sean?” I ask, turning to Chara.

“He couldn’t get the day off,” she says. “But he’ll be here tomorrow.”

“She’s secretly thrilled to have the whole bed to herself,” Tina teases, grinning.

“I’m not,” Chara snorts. “I hate sleeping alone. Sean’s basically my portable heater.”

Bringing up Adam now might seem a bit random, but it’s not a huge leap. I lean in slightly, lowering my voice after a quick glance toward the hallway. “By the way,” I ask, aiming to sound casual. “Do you know what Adam’s doing here?”

“He’s Pete’s bestie,” Tina says, picking up a napkin and attempting to fold it into a swan like mine. “What, do you have something against him?”

“No,” I say quickly—maybe too quickly. “I just haven’t seen him in, like, a while. That’s why I’m asking.”

“Oh, right,” Tina says, still fiddling with the napkin. “Yeah, I used to see him all the time when Pete lived with us, but not so much anymore. He’s a good guy, though.”

“He’s unreadable,” Amira whispers, glancing over her shoulder.

I nod, maybe a bit too eagerly. “I know, right? That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

But we don’t get to continue, because just then, Peter walks into the room with a bottle of non-alcoholic beer. We instantly fall silent, pretending to focus on the intricacies of napkin folding.

“Swan napkins!” Peter says enthusiastically as he approaches the table and hands me the bottle. “Nice!”

We spend the next half hour in the living room, catching up. Tina and Amira talk about their “millennial garden”—a windowsill packed with pots of mint, basil, rosemary, and thyme they’ve been nurturing. Chara shares stories from her trip to Denmark with Sean, laughing as she recounts how they accidentally ordered fermented fish sandwiches and tried to eat them with the awkward commitment of Mr. Bean tackling steak tartare.

The conversation eventually drifts to Peter’s new tattoo, a birthday gift to himself. When he rolls up his sleeve to show off the Ouroboros inked on his wrist, I silently pray no one steers the conversation toward Peter’s birthday. The last thing I need is Tina asking why I wasn’t there. The official excuse is that my mom’s birthday is on the same day, but my sister could easily blow that lie to pieces.

Before anyone has a chance to bring it up, I quickly change the subject. “Hey, Peter, can you give me the address of the bakery?” I ask, keeping my tone light.

“It’s The Cinnamon Cat in the town center,” Peter says, watching as I fold another swan. Then he adds casually, “Adam has the address.”

I blink, caught off guard. “Should I ask Adam for it?”

Peter shakes his head. “No. Adam’s going with you. He has a car.”

I freeze. “Sorry?” I manage, blinking like an idiot.

Then, from the doorway, I hear that calm, familiar voice. “I’m ready to go.”

I look up and see Adam standing there, car keys in hand.