February 13
Luke
A s I pull Dad’s SUV to one of the curbside spots lining Main Street, it’s more crowded than usual, and a glance at the Sweetheart Bake Shop tells me the place is hopping. Which makes sense—it’s the day before Valentine’s Day and, as she’s made very clear to me, this is her busy time.
Well, it doesn’t matter whether or not I see her today—either way, I’m just here to drop the little envelope in my pocket into the heart-shaped box on the counter.
Even so, as I push through the door, my heart pounds like a drum against my chest. Damn, you’ve got it bad for this girl. I’m only glad I figured it out, with a little help from my friends, in time to try to do something about it.
Glancing around the diner—or, wait, bake shop—I see people waiting to place or collect orders, Geneva boxing up a heart-shaped cherry pie, Kyra ringing out customers, and a couple of booths taken by patrons snacking on cupcakes or cookies. But no Taylor. She must be in the back, baking.
The letdown washes through me in a wave that nearly knocks me off balance. I guess I really did want to see her, want to make eye contact across the shop, want her to spot me putting something in the box. Again, I’ve got it bad for Taylor Mulvaney.
But this is okay. I knew she might be busy in the kitchen. So I proceed with the plan.
When an older woman leaves the counter, pink box in hand, I step up. Kyra has already glanced toward Geneva to say, “I see Mrs. Brown parking, here for the Girl Scout troop cupcakes. I’ll help you as soon as I get a minute.”
I use the time to insert my small envelope into the box, flashing back to valentines I slid through the same slot years ago. Funny, I’d thought those days were long over.
That’s when Kyra turns to me to say, “How can I help—oh, it’s you. Hi.”
Keeping my voice low, I ask, “Can you do me a favor, like once before? Can you make sure Taylor looks inside this box by tomorrow.”
“Oh. Absolutely ,” Kyra replies, her eyes suggesting she’s grasped that something romantic’s afoot.
“Promise me you won’t forget,” I insist. “It’s important.”
She flashes a conspiratorial grin to say, “No worries—you can count on me.”
Taylor
“Hey, Taylor!”
I lift my head from where I’m rolling out peanut butter cookie dough to meet Kyra’s gaze in the pass-through window. “Yep?”
“Be sure to look in your heart box later, okay?”
This seems out of the blue. “All right. What’s in there?”
“I don’t know. But just look inside.”
I shrug. “Okay, sure.” Whatever that’s about.
“Hey, Taylor.” This time it’s Geneva through the window.
I shift my gaze to her. “Yeah?”
“We’re getting short on peanut butter cookies.”
I answer with a quick nod. “Working on that now. Anything else running low?”
“Cupcakes are flying off the shelves,” she tells me.
I nod again and blow out a tired breath. “I’ve got six dozen coming out of the oven in…” I glance at the timer. “Two minutes. If you get a break, you can frost them. If not, I’ll get to them ASAP.”