Chapter Fifteen - James
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
James
James wasn't watching Hannah. He was simply aware of the people in the room. From behind his laptop. In the corner. For the third day in a row.
"The clouds are angry today," Hannah was saying to a group of elderly residents, holding up what appeared to be a child's painting. "Tommy made this to show how arthritis feels. See how the dark colors swirl here?"
She gestured with her free hand, and James definitely wasn't noticing how her whole face lit up when she talked about her students. Or how a strand of hair had escaped her practical ponytail, curling against her neck. Or how her simple apple pendant caught the light in a way that made her look...
No. He was not doing this.
"Beautiful interpretation," Mrs. Chen nodded at the painting. "The boy understands pain."
"He has a lot of empathy," Hannah said, and her smile—
James forced his attention back to his laptop. He had emails to answer. Meetings to schedule. Important things that had nothing to do with the way Hannah's voice softened when she talked about her students, or how her eyes crinkled at the corners when she really smiled—not the polite smile, the real one she saved for...
For people who deserved it.
"James?" Mr. Thompson's voice made him jump. "Since you're already here, would you mind helping us hang these? Hannah's not tall enough to reach."
Hannah was already waving Mr. Thompson off. "I'll get the stepladder from the—"
"I can help." The words came out sounding too eager.
Hannah looked flustered. "That's not necessary. Really".
But he was already moving toward her, desperate to prove... something. She handed him the painting without meeting his eyes, and he caught the faintest scent of whatever shampoo she used—something simple and clean, nothing like Vanessa's expensive perfumes.
Not that he was noticing.
God, was this what he was reduced to now? Inhaling her shampoo like some lovesick teenager? He could have been standing beside her properly, learning about her students' art, earning those small smiles she gave when she was genuinely pleased.
Instead, he'd stupidly thrown away any chance of Hannah being his friend. Now he was grateful just to be in the same room.
"A little higher," Hannah directed, her professional mask firmly in place. "To the left. No, your other left."
James's ears burned as he adjusted the painting, hyperaware of how everyone was watching this interaction. How Hannah stepped back from him while still directing the hanging. He glanced at her over his shoulder.
The professional mask she wore didn't quite hide the fire in her eyes—if anything, it highlighted it, like watching storms gather behind glass.
She was beautiful when she was angry.
The thought hit him with such force that he almost dropped the artwork.
She wore sensible shoes and department store clothes. Her makeup was minimal, her hair usually pulled back without any real style. She was...
She was laughing at something Mrs. Chen had whispered, her whole face transforming, and James felt the air leave his lungs.
She seemed to glow from within. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, her entire being radiating joy. The afternoon rays caught her profile, and James forgot what he was supposed to be doing with his hands.
If he'd thought she was beautiful in anger—all controlled fire and precise movements—it was nothing compared to this.
"The painting, dear," Mrs. Chen said sweetly. "Unless you'd prefer to stand there staring?"
"I wasn't—" But he had been. Just like he'd been staring yesterday when she'd helped that young mother with her stroller. And the day before when she'd organized the book club's lending library. And every day for the past week when she'd done a hundred small, kind things that he'd never noticed before.
"I think that's enough help," Hannah said firmly. "I'm sure you have important emails to send."
She turned away, already focused on something else, dismissing him completely.
But as he retreated to his laptop, his eyes kept drifting back to her. To the gentle way she touched Mrs. Peterson's shoulder. To how her smile reached her eyes when she really meant it. To the simple grace of her movements as she arranged art supplies and listened to stories and existed in a way that made the whole room feel warmer.
"This is ridiculous," he muttered to himself. He needed to leave. Needed to focus on work. Needed to stop noticing how the light caught her hair or how her laugh made something in his chest ache.
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"As you can see from the projections..." James's voice trailed off as his mind registered a flash of brown hair in his peripheral vision. Not Hannah—just someone with vaguely similar hair. His fingers tightened on his presentation clicker.
"Mr. Park?" One of the board members leaned forward. "The Q3 projections?"
"Yes." He forced his attention back to the spreadsheets. Numbers. Clean, simple numbers that didn't remind him of the way Hannah's eyes crinkled when she smiled at her students' artwork. "As you can see—"
The woman from Marketing shifted in her chair, her blazer catching the light. A perfectly ordinary blazer that shouldn't have reminded him of Hannah's practical cardigans, of how soft they looked, how they bunched around her elbows as she leaned in to help residents with their crafts...
"James?" Mike's voice cut through his thoughts. "You okay, man?"
No. He wasn't okay. Because he kept seeing her everywhere. In the way the morning light hit the conference room windows, reminding him of how it caught her hair. In the admin assistant's gentle laugh. It wasn't anything like Hannah's real laugh—the one that bubbled up from somewhere genuine and made everyone want to laugh too.
"Just need some coffee," he muttered, escaping to the break room. But even here, she invaded his thoughts. The coffee station reminded him of how she always remembered everyone's preferences—not because she had to, but because she actually cared.
"This is not happening," he told his reflection in the chrome coffee machine. But his reflection looked disheveled, uncertain. Un-James-like.
"Rough morning?" Mike appeared in the doorway. "You seemed distracted in there."
James straightened his tie, trying to recover his usual polish. "Just tired."
"Right." Mike's eyes narrowed. "Nothing to do with the fact that you checked your phone six times when someone mentioned community outreach?"
"I did not—" But he had. Because the words 'community outreach' made him think of Hannah, of how her whole face lit up when she talked about helping others, of how she moved through rooms, of how she was breathtakingly…
Beautiful.
"Damn it." The words escaped before he could stop it.
"Want to grab drinks after?" Mike offered. "That new place on 52nd—"
"Can't." The response was automatic. "There's a... thing. At the building."
Mike's eyebrows rose. "A thing?"
"Community... something." James couldn't even pretend it wasn't about her anymore. Because everything was about her now. The way she made every space feel warmer just by existing in it. How her simple, practical clothes somehow looked perfect on her. How her entire presence made him feel...
"You're in trouble," Mike said, not unkindly.
James stared at his reflection in the window. His tie had been loosened hours ago, now hanging defeated around his neck. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, the crisp white cotton wrinkled where he'd pushed up his sleeves. His hair was a mess from constantly dragging his fingers through it.
Everything about him looked completely undone.
"The board's waiting," Mike prompted.
Right. The board. His presentation. His perfectly ordered world that suddenly felt completely meaningless because it didn't include the sound of Hannah's laugh or the grace in her movements or the way she made everyone around her feel seen and valued and...
“You can finish it,” James said abruptly. "I have to go.”
"The meeting's not over—"
"I know." But he was already gathering his things, unable to sit through another hour of pretending he cared about quarterly projections when all he could think about was whether Hannah was teaching her students about weather patterns today, if her eyes would light up when she explained the difference between cumulus and nimbus clouds, if she would be smiling.
In the elevator, his reflection stared back at him with accusation: he wasn't just noticing Hannah anymore.
He couldn't stop thinking about her.