“Can I tell you something?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “When I met my alphas, I was convinced it would never work. They were too good. Too steady. I kept waiting for the catch.” She smiles. “Thirty years later, I’m still waiting. Turns out there wasn’t one.”
“That’s beautiful.”
“It was. It is.” She squeezes my hand again. “Those boys—Ben, Milo, Elijah—they’re good men. They’re not going to leave. But you have to let yourself believe that.”
I blink rapidly, refusing to cry at 6 a.m. in a gymnasium.
“Eat your cinnamon roll,” Marie says, standing. “And let Ben help you today. He’s been practicing his ‘supportive boyfriend’ face in the mirror all week.”
“He told you that?”
“He’s my son. I know everything.” She winks. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Tessa.”
I watch her go, then look down at the cinnamon roll in my hands. It tastes like sugar and cinnamon and the terrifying possibility of happiness.
By 7 a.m.,the community center is starting to look like something other than a disaster zone.
The balloon arch is up. The tables are arranged correctly. Elijah’s stage stands proud and beautiful at the front of the room, dark wood catching the morning light.
Elijah is up there now, securing the last of the railings. He’s been here since before I arrived, quiet and focused. Every now and then I catch him looking at me, and when our eyes meet, the corner of his mouth twitches.
His henley is folded on my bed at home. I’ve been sleeping in it every night since Tuesday. I’m not ready to give it back.
“The stage looks incredible,” I call up to him. “You did amazing work.”
“Just wood and nails.”
“It’s a work of art.”
That almost-smile again. “Thank you, Tessa.”
A commotion near the entrance makes me turn. Ben is backing through the double doors, arms full of sound equipment.
“Coming through! Hot stuff coming through! And also this very heavy speaker!”
I snort. “Did you just call yourself hot stuff?”
“Absolutely did.” He sets the speaker down and grins at me. “It’s Valentine’s Day. I’m allowed to be confident.”
“That’s not what Valentine’s Day is about.”
“Sure it is. It’s about love and confidence and telling beautiful women how you feel about them.” He’s walking toward me now, that grin softening into something almost nervous. “Speaking of which. You got a second?”
“I have approximately nine hundred things to?—”
“Thirty seconds. That’s all I need.”
I glance at my clipboard, then back at him. “Thirty seconds.”
He takes my hand and pulls me toward the side of the room, away from the volunteers. We end up in the little alcove by the storage closet.
“Okay.” Ben takes a breath. Runs his hand through his hair. “I had a whole speech planned. Practiced it in the shower. But I’m looking at you right now and I can’t remember a single word of it, so I’m just going to say the thing.”
“Ben—”
“Be my Valentine.”
I blink. “What?”
