Chapter Six - Hannah
CHAPTER SIX
Hannah
Hannah waited until James disappeared through the revolving door before pressing her hands to her burning cheeks. The paper hearts she'd been hanging fluttered forgotten to the floor as reality slowly sank in.
James Park had just asked her to dinner.
James Park. Had just asked her. To dinner.
At Nero's. On Valentine's Day.
A laugh bubbled up that was half giggle, half squeak. She clapped a hand over her mouth, but couldn't contain the ridiculous grin spreading across her face. She had to lean against the wall, not caring that she was crushing the Valentine's decorations she'd just arranged.
"Did that just happen?" she whispered to herself. "Did that actually just happen?"
Her phone was in her hand before she could think, fingers shaking as she typed.
SOPHIE. EMERGENCY. JAMES PARK JUST ASKED ME TO DINNER. VALENTINE'S DAY. NEROS. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
The response was immediate: WHAT?????
Hannah slid down the wall to sit on the floor, not caring how unprofessional it looked. Another text from Sophie: CALL ME RIGHT NOW
But Hannah couldn't talk yet. She was too busy replaying the moment in her mind. The way he'd said her name. How he'd seemed almost... nervous? James Park, nervous about asking her out? The thought made her feel light-headed.
Her phone exploded with more texts: HANNAH MILLER ANSWER YOUR PHONE ARE YOU DEAD FROM SHOCK DO I NEED TO COME OVER WHAT ARE YOU WEARING??
The last question snapped her back to reality. Oh god. What was she going to wear? She had exactly twenty-four hours to find something appropriate for Nero's. Something that would make her look like she belonged at a table across from James Park in his perfect suits with his perfect hair and his perfect—
"Hannah?" Mrs. Chen's voice made her jump. "Why are you sitting on the floor?"
"James asked me to dinner," she blurted out, then immediately blushed harder.
"I heard." Mrs. Chen's expression didn't change. But something in her eyes did. "At Nero's."
Hannah nodded. "For Valentine's Day." Even saying it out loud made her stomach flip with excitement.
Her phone buzzed again. Sophie was now sending dress options from online stores. Hannah's hands were still shaking as she stood up, gathering the fallen paper hearts.
"I should... I need to..." She gestured vaguely toward the elevators, unable to form complete sentences.
"Yes, you have much to prepare." Was that concern in Mrs. Chen's tone? But Hannah was already halfway to the elevator, her mind racing with possibilities.
What if he held her hand across the table? What if their fingers brushed reaching for the wine glass? What if he walked her home after and leaned in to—
The elevator dinged and Hannah realized she'd been standing there without pressing any buttons, just grinning at her reflection like an idiot. She jabbed the button for her floor, then immediately pulled out her phone again.
SOPHIE I NEED HELP WITH EVERYTHING. WHAT DO I DO WITH MY HAIR? SHOULD I GET IT CUT? DO I NEED NEW SHOES? WHAT IF HE WANTS TO KISS ME? WHAT IF HE DOESN'T WANT TO KISS ME? HELP.
Her heart raced with possibilities, her mind already flying ahead to tomorrow night. To candlelight and wine and James Park looking at her—really looking at her—across a table at the most romantic restaurant in the city.
Her phone buzzed one more time. Sophie: I'm coming over RIGHT NOW. Don't move. Don't breathe. Don't do anything until I get there.
Hannah hugged her phone to her chest, still grinning. For once in her life, something magical was happening to her instead of someone else.
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"Absolutely not," Sophie declared, vetoing another dress. "You are not wearing your cousin's wedding outfit from 2019. He asked you to Nero's, not a garden party in Connecticut."
Hannah's studio apartment looked like her closet had exploded. Every piece of clothing she owned lay scattered across her bed, spilling onto her armchair. Each item dismissed for being too casual, too teacher-like, or not fancy enough for Nero's. She'd never even walked past Nero's—the kind of place where even the waiting list had a waiting list.
She surveyed her tiny living space, where her bed took up most of the room, at the secondhand armchair she'd wedged into the corner.
"Then what am I supposed to wear?" Hannah collapsed onto the only clear spot on her bed. "Everything I own screams 'makes macaroni art for a living.'"
"Which is why we're going shopping." Sophie was already grabbing her purse. "No arguments. This is a fashion emergency."
A knock at the door made them both jump. Hannah opened it to find Mrs. Chen holding a tea tray.
"Pre-date jitters need proper tea," the older woman announced, sweeping in like she'd been invited. Her eyes took in the clothing carnage with practiced wisdom. "Ah. The eternal question—what to wear when your heart is wearing hope?"
"Mrs. Chen..." Hannah started, but Sophie interrupted.
"Please tell her she needs a new dress. She's been trying to convince me that her parent-teacher conference blazer could work with the right accessories."
Mrs. Chen set down her tray on Hannah's small table—currently pushed against the wall to make space for their impromptu fashion show.
"A new dress, yes. But not too new. The best armor is still comfortable." She poured three cups of tea with practiced precision. "When my husband first asked me to dinner, I borrowed my sister's fancy dress. I was so nervous about spilling on it, I could hardly eat."
"This is different," Hannah protested, though she accepted the tea gratefully. "James is... I mean, he's..."
"I think," Mrs. Chen cut in smoothly, "that tea leaves can only show their true flavor in hot water." She stirred her cup thoughtfully. "Just as people show their true selves in warm moments... or cold ones."
Hannah frowned. "What does that mean?"
"It means you should wear the new dress we're about to buy you," Sophie said firmly. "And maybe not speak in tea metaphors on your date."
But Mrs. Chen wasn't finished. "You know why I bring soup to Mr. Thompson every Wednesday? Because he tells me about his regrets. About the chances he didn't take…and ones he wished he hadn't." She fixed Hannah with a gentle but piercing look. "Sometimes the heart sees what it wants to see. But the eyes... the eyes must see what is."
"Mrs. Chen," Hannah said carefully, "it's just dinner."
"Is it?" The older woman stood, adjusting her cardigan. "Then why does your smile look like a question mark?" She patted Hannah's cheek. "Wear something that feels like you. Not like who you think he wants you to be."
After she left, Sophie broke the thoughtful silence. "Well, that was cryptic and vaguely ominous."
"She's just being protective." Hannah tried to sound more confident than she felt. "You know how she is."
"Yeah, wise and usually right." Sophie grabbed her coat. "Come on. Let's find you a dress that splits the difference between 'craft project supervisor' and 'trying too hard.'"
Three hours later, Hannah stood in front of her mirror in a patterned dress. Simple, but beautiful. Like herself, but better.
"There," Sophie said with satisfaction. "Now you look like someone going to dinner at Nero's, not someone serving dinner at Nero's."
Hannah smoothed the fabric nervously. "You don't think it's too much?"
"I think..." Sophie paused, choosing her words carefully. "I think you look beautiful. And I think James Park better deserve it."
"He asked me to dinner," Hannah said softly. "He noticed me."
"Yeah." Sophie's reflection met hers in the mirror. "Just make sure he sees you. The real you. Not just what he wants to see."
Hannah touched the delicate necklace she had bought herself for Christmas—a silver apple pendant that somehow worked perfectly with the dress. "I know what I'm doing."
"Do you?" Sophie's voice was gentle. "Because, as Mrs. Chen would say, your smile still looks like a question mark."
Hannah turned away from the mirror, but not before she caught her own expression—hopeful, nervous, and uncertain.