Chapter 30 #2
Max pushes his chair back so quickly that it hits the man in the chair behind hard enough that he jerks forward. “Sorry,” he shoots out before the stranger reprimands him.
I glance at the table of his untouched hot chocolate and half-eaten cinnamon bun, which he normally devours. “Maxy, are you done?”
“It’s too pink.” That’s his only explanation, and next to me, I feel Story’s shoulder shaking with laughter. “Please, Daddy, can we go now?”
My brow arches at Story. “This is what a Saturday morning looks like, just so you know.”
Her hand brushes along the back of my arm, and she leans in. “Seems pretty idyllic to me, but we might need more coffee.”
Glancing at the queue, which is now snaking out of the door and looping around the corner with Agatha’s, we come to the same decision.
“Coffee cart outside.”
“Lead the way.” I sweep my hand in front of me. “Max, remember it’s busy, so you have to stick close. And please walk, not run,” I add quickly.
He turns to the door, then to Story, and thrusts his hand at her. “Would you like to hold my hand?”
“Of course.” She grins down at him. “I haven’t forgotten you’re my favorite hand holder.”
Max and I have been in The Beanery for less than an hour, but in that time, the number of visitors to Valentine High Street has tripled. It’s quite a sight.
Groups of people are clustered at the top and bottom of the street, where they’ve walked around the corner and seen the festivities for the first time.
Phones are out, and everyone’s taking pictures of the decorations threaded from lamppost to lamppost, or of the light-up heart installations, perfect for selfies.
Actors stand on strategically placed boxes hosting impromptu poetry sessions, and halfway down is a poet who’ll write you a sonnet on the spot based on any set of words or subject you give them.
It’s the busiest time of year for Valentine Nook, and the season it thrives in. And you can’t help but be swept up in the joy and cheer, the infectious happiness that love brings you.
Therefore, we take our time to ease through the crowds, soaking in everything around us.
Halfway down, Max’s free hand slips into mine, and from then on, Story and I walk with Max between us.
I try to concentrate on where I’m going, but my attention frequently drifts to them.
Max is chatting away while Story listens intently, and it’s hard to believe I’m not in a dream.
It’s everything I ever wanted.
Up ahead, I see the stripes of the kissing booth roof before the rest comes into view.
Big pink hearts, the curtains scooped to the side, and the heart-shaped cutout window designed for visitors to have their photo taken.
Eddie’s currently manning it. He should be taking the pictures, but I suspect the couple took one look at him, his deep frown lines and drooping mustache, and decided they could do a better job.
“Where are the dogs?” Max demands before saying hello. “Are they here?”
“Not here yet, little man. Come back after lunch.” Eddie ruffles his hair, then his attention lands on Story and me. His finger points back and forth between us. “What’s going on here, then?”
Story shrugs, but when she looks up at me, her eyes flash knowingly. “Just enjoying Valentine’s together.”
“Oh yeah?” Eddie’s eyes narrow, and he stares, waiting for us to say more. But while that might have worked on us when we were ten, it doesn’t any longer. And our official line, until we’re ready to tell Max, is that we’re spending time together. “Better than seeing you arguing, I s’pose.”
“Our thoughts exactly,” I add, only to find my son frowning at me like it’s my fault the dogs aren’t here. “I told you, but we’ll come back later. By the time you’ve finished your concert, the dogs will have arrived. Then you’ll see Honey.”
“But what are we going to do until then?” he huffs.
“I have an idea,” Story says, pointing at the booth. “Did you know your daddy and I built this?”
Max looks so skeptical it’s almost insulting.
“I can build things, I’ll have you know,” I grumble in jest, but poke his ribs, which is guaranteed to make him laugh. Pulling my phone out, I hand it to Eddie. “If I could trouble you . . . I want a photo with my son and his teacher.”
“Make it a good one, Eddie, because we’re not leaving until you do,” Story adds, slapping him on the shoulder, only to follow up with a kiss on his cheek.
The window is designed to keep the subjects close together, which is fine by me, as the three of us squash into the space. Max, being Max, almost puts his head into the hole, while Story and I stay a little farther back.
I find Story’s hand again, lacing our fingers together while I have the opportunity.
“Are you okay?” she whispers.
“I’m perfect,” I reply. “Are you?”
She doesn’t speak, only leans in as gently as possible and angles her cheek toward me, to which I oblige.
And that’s the photo we get—Max between us in the foreground while I’m kissing Story.
There’s so much to see, and the morning passes quickly, especially with Max dragging us from stall to stall.
We manage to avoid being targeted by the overly enthusiastic Cupids, and Max requests a poem about butts, which sets him off giggling for the rest of the day. On our second trip past Agatha’s shop, she rushes out and, before we can stop her, hugs us tight.
“Wonderful. So wonderful. The reunion we’ve all been waiting for.” Her hand cups Story’s cheek, and it takes all my willpower not to laugh at the expression on her face. “I told you that spell would work. All you needed was a little faith and trust in magic.”
“Sure.” Story smiles sheepishly. “Thanks, Agatha.”
Agatha takes my hand along with Story’s and squeezes hard. “You’re welcome, you’re welcome, my darlings. Come back this week, and we can make a little potion to set your journey off with success.”
She rushes back into the store as quickly as she left. She’s not out of sight before I spin around to Story, who’s already wincing.
“What spell?”
“Nothing.” She waves me off, but unlucky for her, I know when she’s lying.
“Story MacIntosh, what spell?”
She rolls her eyes. “What? Agatha gave me a spell to summon what my heart desired most. It’s not a big deal because it didn’t work.”
“Um . . . yes, it is. And Agatha seems to think it worked. When did you do this spell? Am I under it right now?”
“I never said it was about you.” Brown eyes narrow at me.
I waggle my eyebrows, enjoying the annoyance on Story’s face. “But it was, though, wasn’t it?”
She’s on the verge of stomping her foot. “It was ten years ago, Hendricks. It didn’t work.”
Barking out a laugh, I sling my arm around her shoulders and pull her in close enough that I can drop a kiss on her temple. “I’ve always been under your spell, Story MacIntosh.”
Her body softens into my side. “You’re so cheesy.”
“But you love it,” I whisper.
She doesn’t reply, but as she starts to walk ahead, I hear her chuckling.
I wait, and watch, and when she spins around, I’m hit with the full weight of her smile.
It’s spectacular, and for a second, I can’t breathe.
I survived too many years without it, and in this moment, I honestly don’t know how.
“Max”—she holds her hand out—“it’s time to go to the concert. Come with me, and Daddy can watch in front of the stage.”
He glances up at me, eyes begging to get him out of it. “We’re all going to be watching and cheering, Maxy. I’ll be standing next to Granny and Uncle Lando.”
“All right,” he grumbles and takes Story’s hand.
She leads him off, and I head for the stage, wondering how the hell I’m going to find the rest of my family in the crowds.
But Lando is the first person I see, arm around Holiday, who’s wearing the biggest pair of sunglasses, a beanie, and a thick winter coat with the neck pulled high.
Locals are getting used to having a Hollywood star around the village, but there are so many people here today that she’s decided to come in disguise.
“Where’s Story?” he asks, after pulling me into a hug, followed by Holiday.
I point at the stage. “Directing the rabble. Where’s Mum?”
“Front row, obviously.”
“Obviously.” I laugh with him.
Lando and Holiday push through the crowd ahead of me, and it takes us no time to find our mother.
Clementine is with her and acknowledges me with nothing more than a tight smile, which I’d imagine has something to do with Miles standing on her other side.
Haven and Alex, who’s carrying a very wrapped up Everly, are next to him.
“How long does this thing last?” Miles asks me.
“I don’t know, twenty minutes? Why?”
“I’m flying out later.”
“Where?”
He looks straight ahead when he replies, “Aspen,” because he knows I know why he’s going, and that I think it’s a fundamentally bad idea.
I don’t get the chance to object verbally because Story and her colleague, Celeste, march onto the stage. Everyone in earshot falls silent.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming to watch the Valentine Nook Valentine’s concert, put on by the pupils of Valentine Prep . . .” begins Celeste, before Story takes over.
“Our reception classes have been working very hard over the past month, learning and preparing for this moment, so please cheer loudly and put your hands together . . .” Her hand sweeps to the side as the first pupil walks on.
Miles’s whistle deafens everyone within a two-foot radius, and when Max arrives, it’s even louder.
Whatever nerves or reticence he had about the concert seem to vanish the moment he spots us all in the front row, along with the size of the crowd behind us.
His hand shoots in the air. “Daddy. Hello . . . Hello, Daddy . . . Uncle Miles, Granny . . .”
“Hello, darling.” She waves back.