Chapter Four - Hannah
CHAPTER FOUR
Hannah
"So," Sophie said, sprawled across Hannah's couch, "we need to do something for your birthday next month."
Hannah concentrated on updating Mr. Thompson's medical calendar, carefully noting his upcoming appointments. "About that. I was thinking we could skip it this year."
"Skip your—Hannah." Sophie sat up. "You threw Mrs. Peterson a surprise tea party. Complete with those little sandwiches you spent two days making."
"That was different. She's been feeling down since her sister moved away."
"You organized a birthday brunch for the building supervisor's daughter."
Hannah added another note to the calendar: Remind Mr. T about cardiology follow-up . "She's twelve. Twelve is important."
"You somehow got James Park's dry cleaner to deliver his shirt wrapped in birthday paper."
Hannah's hand stilled on the calendar. "I'm not even sure if he noticed that," she murmured. "He never said anything, anyway." She felt a twinge of embarrassment. She wasn't sure if he had ever really noticed her. "Anyway, I was thinking we could use that evening to help Mr. Thompson organize his medical records. His new specialist wants—"
"No." Sophie closed her laptop with a snap. "You don't get to schedule someone else's needs during your birthday."
"I'm not—"
"You've organized something for nearly every resident in this building. You know everyone's birthday, favorite cake, and dietary restrictions. Hell, you even remember their grandchildren's birthdays."
"Mr. Thompson's appointment is important," Hannah protested weakly.
"So are you." Sophie's voice softened. "Why is it so hard for you to let people celebrate you?"
Hannah stared at the calendar, at all the carefully noted appointments and reminders. At all the ways she kept herself busy taking care of others. "I just... don't need anything special."
"You spent three hours decorating the community room for Mrs. Chen's bridge club party. With paper lanterns. That you made yourself."
"She mentioned once that she missed the lantern festivals from her childhood—"
"Hannah." Sophie moved to the table, gently taking the calendar from her hands. "You remember everyone's offhand comments, their favorite cakes, their unspoken wants. But when was the last time someone asked what you wanted?"
The question hung in the air between them. Hannah thought of James in the lobby that morning, how he'd walked past without seeing her, while she noticed everything about him.
"I like taking care of people," she said finally. "It's not a big deal."
"I know you do. And you're amazing at it." Sophie squeezed her hand. "But you know what else isn't a big deal? Letting your best friend celebrate you. Just once. No medical calendars allowed."
Hannah opened her mouth to protest, to mention Mr. Thompson's upcoming appointments or Mrs. Peterson's book club schedule or any of the dozen other tasks she used to keep herself busy.
"Please?" Sophie added. "Let me do this one thing for you?"
Hannah looked at her friend's hopeful face, then at the calendar full of other people's needs. "Maybe... just something small?"
"Just something small," Sophie agreed, but her eyes sparkled with plans Hannah pretended not to notice.
Hannah nodded, already thinking about what Mr. Thompson might need that week, what Mrs. Chen might need help with, what anyone else might need that could give her an excuse to be busy. To be needed. To be anything except the center of attention.
But she let Sophie keep her plans. It was easier than explaining why doing for others felt safer than letting others do for her.
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Hannah had paused to adjust the forever-crooked painting in the lobby—Lake Superior in autumn—when Ray the superintendent emerged from the maintenance room, pushing his cleaning cart with unusual urgency.
"Did you hear?" He glanced around the lobby before lowering his voice. "About Mr. Park and his girlfriend?"
Hannah's hand stilled on the frame. "No," she said carefully, trying to keep her voice neutral. "Is everything okay?"
"They broke up. Big scene at some fancy restaurant." Ray started polishing the lobby's brass mailboxes. "My cousin works at Le Petit Jardin—you know, that French place where they charge you extra if you want your food actually cooked?" He shook his head. "Said she left him right in the middle of dinner. Even paid her own check to make a point."
Hannah's heart did a treacherous little flutter that she immediately tried to suppress. "That's... unfortunate," she managed.
"Unfortunate?" Ray snorted. "Half the women in the building are probably already planning their 'accidental' elevator encounters. You know Olivia from 12B has been watching him like a hawk since she moved in."
Hannah thought of Olivia—tall, sophisticated, exactly the type of woman James usually noticed. The type who didn't spend their mornings straightening lobby furniture or their evenings helping elderly residents with their groceries.
"Well, it's none of our business," she said, blushing slightly as she adjusted the painting one final time.
"None of our business," Ray agreed, though his tone suggested this wouldn't stop him from sharing the news with everyone else in the building. "But I will say, it's about time someone showed him the world doesn't revolve around his schedule. My cousin said he was more worried about a wine stain on his shirt than anything she was saying."
That detail should have dampened Hannah's hope—it certainly revealed something about James's priorities. Instead, she found herself wondering if he'd managed to save the shirt, then immediately felt foolish for the thought.
"I should head up," she said, gathering her teaching bag. "Parent-teacher conferences this evening."
"Sure, sure." Ray was already eyeing Mrs. Peterson coming through the front door, clearly eager to share his news.
Hannah pressed the elevator button, her reflection in the polished doors looking exactly the same as it had yesterday. Same sensible shoes, same neat ponytail, same Hannah who definitely shouldn't be feeling this spark of possibility just because James Park was suddenly single.
Stop it , she told herself firmly. He doesn't even know your name. He's never once noticed you. And anyway, you heard Ray—he cared more about his shirt than his girlfriend's feelings.
But as the elevator rose, she couldn't help remembering how James always held the door for Mrs. Peterson, even while checking his email. How he'd once helped Mr. Thompson pick up scattered mail without being asked.
The elevator dinged at her floor. Hannah stepped out, then paused. She should go straight to her apartment. Should plan for tomorrow's lessons, prepare for conferences, do anything except stand here wondering if James was home, if he was upset, if he needed—
"No," she said aloud, forcing herself to walk to her door. "Absolutely not."
Inside her apartment, she dropped her bag and leaned against the closed door. This was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. James Park's relationship status shouldn't affect her heart rate like this. Shouldn't make her imagine possibilities that would never happen.
But her fingers were already reaching for her phone, already composing a text to the one person who would understand exactly how pathetic she was being.
Hannah sent the text anyway:
You'll never believe what just happened.
Sophie's response was immediate: Unless a student finger-painted a masterpiece, I don't want to hear about your day until after wine.
James broke up with his girlfriend. Well, she broke up with him. At Le Petit Jardin.
Three dots appeared instantly. Hannah Miller. Don't you dare.
I'm not doing anything! Hannah protested. Just sharing building news.
Uh huh. Listen to me carefully: Parent-teacher conferences. Focus on those. NOT on your newly-single neighbor.
Hannah put her phone away, pulled out her conference notes, and absolutely did not think about whether Le Petit Jardin's wine stains would come out at the dry cleaner.
She managed to focus for almost ten whole minutes before catching herself wondering what color the wine had been, and if he'd been wearing that blue tie she liked.
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The building had officially gone overboard with Valentine's decorations. The latest romantic invasion was the giant Cupid cutout by the elevators, complete with a light-up arrow.
"Tasteful, isn't it?" Mrs. Chen commented dryly as Hannah helped her sort her mail. "Like being inside a candy box."
Hannah laughed, but her eyes drifted to James's mailbox. She'd started timing her own mail collection around when she thought he might appear, though she'd die before admitting that to anyone. Oddly, he'd seemed to be been checking it more regularly lately.
Like now.
"Excuse me," he said, and Hannah nearly dropped the cards. He was speaking to her. Actually speaking to her. Her heart did that ridiculous flutter it always did when he acknowledged her existence, and she silently prayed Mrs. Chen couldn't hear it hammering against her ribs.
"Do you know if the mail's been delivered yet?" Even his voice was beautiful. It was warm and rich and Hannah could feel herself blushing.
"Yes," she managed, proud of how steady her voice sounded despite the way her pulse was racing. "About an hour ago." Had that been too much information? Should she have just said yes? Was she overthinking every word like a lovesick teenager?
He nodded, already turning to his mailbox. Hannah forced herself to keep arranging cards, even as she watched his reflection in the brass mail slots. He sorted through his mail quickly, efficient as always, but she noticed him pause on what looked like a fancy invitation.
The way his fingers drummed once against the envelope made her want to press her hands to her burning cheeks.
"The Morrison's gala," Mrs. Chen said suddenly, making Hannah jump. She'd forgotten the older woman was still there. "They throw it every year. Very exclusive."
James glanced up, seeming to really notice Mrs. Chen for the first time. "Yes," James said, fingers drumming once against his envelope. "I suppose I'll be attending alone this year."
Was it Hannah's imagination, or did his eyes flick briefly to her?
"Alone is not always lonely," Mrs. Chen said in that cryptic way of hers. "Sometimes it is simply waiting."
James's brow furrowed slightly, but before he could respond, his phone buzzed. Just like that, the moment was gone. He was back to being unreachable James Park, striding toward the exit with his mail tucked under his arm.
"You're blushing," Mrs. Chen observed once he'd left.
"It's warm in here," Hannah protested. "All these decorations probably block the ventilation."
Mrs. Chen's knowing smile said she wasn't fooled. "The heart has its own temperature, dear one."
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James seemed to appear in the lobby more regularly, his previously unpredictable schedule suddenly developing a rhythm that matched hers perfectly. Their interactions were brief—a nod here, a murmured greeting there—but each one made her heart flutter like a trapped bird.
The Valentine's decorations multiplied, glitter everywhere. Tom and Maggie Abbott celebrated their anniversary with a small gathering in the community room, and Hannah caught James watching from the doorway as she helped serve cake. She could feel his eyes on her as she cut each slice.
"Young man," Mr. Abbott called out. "Join us! Plenty of cake to go around."
James looked startled, then checked his watch. "I have a meeting," he said, but he hesitated longer than usual before walking away. Hannah noticed how his eyes lingered on her.
That evening, Hannah spent far too long staring at her own reflection in the elevator doors, wondering if she should wear her hair down tomorrow. If she should wear her nicest cardigan—the one she'd noticed him noticing last week when she'd helped Mrs. Chen with groceries. If she was reading far too much into brief encounters and lingering glances, into the way he'd started saying her name like it was something worth taking time to pronounce properly.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Sophie: Remember when you promised to come to kickboxing instead of mooning over unavailable men?
He's not unavailable anymore , Hannah typed back before she could stop herself. And I don't remember promising that.
Her fingers hovered over the phone, wanting to tell Sophie about how different he seemed lately—more present, more aware, more... interested.
No. Whatever you're thinking, no. I can feel you overthinking from here.
But for once, Hannah didn't feel like she was overthinking. Something was different. The way James had started arriving at the mail room at predictable times. The way his eyes would follow her, studying her with an intensity that made her skin tingle. The way he'd almost stayed for anniversary cake.
The next morning, she wore the cardigan.
When she stepped into the elevator, James actually slipped his phone into his pocket. His eyes met hers—just for a second, but enough to make her pulse skip. 'Good morning,' he said, his voice lower than she expected, almost intimate in the small space.
The cupid cutout's arrow blinked cheerfully as the doors closed, and Hannah didn't even mind how tacky it was anymore.