Page 1 of Never Your Valentine

Chapter 1

Annabelle

Early this morning, I decide I’ve had enough.

Enough of folding myself into the corner of my best friend’s couch, trying not to take up too much space in her life. Enough of carrying my doubts around like a second set of luggage, stuffed with the boxes in my SUV. Enough of scrolling through happy couple photos I should’ve deleted weeks ago.

If moving on were as simple as packing up and driving, I’d already be halfway to Echo Creek. Oh wait, it is. So I go.

I can’t get the keys to my building until tomorrow, but there’s a hotel in town with a room available. I make the reservation, hug Kat goodbye, and point my car north.

Six hours and two pit stops later, I’m standing in the cutest small town I’ve ever seen. Cedar Street is a runway for cozy, with two-story brick buildings sporting candy-colored trim and windows frosted like they’re in a baking competition. Strings of warm lights zigzag above me, twinkling in the snowy backdrop. Apparently here, they leave them up after Christmas, which they totally should. Any minute now, a man with a bandana-wearing golden retriever is going to hand me a cup of cocoa to welcome me to town.

Everyone is bundled in puffy jackets. It’s starting to snow, soft and sparkly, and I swear I smell cinnamon. I’m going to find the bakery it’s coming from. This is my quest.

I poke in and out of shops until I find The Lovey Dove bakery, which has an overwhelming treat case. I take pictures of everything while I’m in line, loving the pink walls, the aqua blue countertop, and the white gingerbread trim.

Dove herself is behind the counter. She’s older, and overweight in a comfortable way, with mostly gray hair braided in short rows. She slides me a complimentary cupcake to go with my hot chocolate, chatting about how unexpected it is to see a new face this time of year. “Once the lake freezes, the town shrinks to its regular size.”

“I guess I’m part of the regular version,” I say. “I’m moving here.”

“Hope you brought a job with you. Winter’s no time to arrive empty-handed.”

“Kind of? I’m working for myself.”

“Photography? I saw how many pictures you took.”

“That was inspiration. I’m a greeting card designer.” I’m trying the words out, and I like how they sound when I say them out loud. “I’ve never seen a bakery this cute,” I tell Dove.

She brushes a hand down her apron. “If you want to make The Lovey Dove famous, go ahead.”

“I don’t know about that, but can I make you a card?”

She points me to an empty table. “You go right ahead, hon. Let me know if you need a refill on that cocoa.”

The cupcake is carrot cake, my favorite. I sit at one of the dainty tables and get a seven-by-ten piece of cardstock out of my bag. I fold it in half and pick out pink and blue pens to match the vibe of the bakery. By the time I’ve finished my snack, the card is done.

Front of card: a cartoon cupcake with a tiny, smiling carrot perched on top, waving hello. The cupcake sits on a pink checkered napkin, surrounded by sparkles and floating coffee beans.

Front caption: The Lovey Dove makes a day extra sweet!

Inside caption: You baked joy into my day.

I sign it: With frosting-level gratitude, Annabelle

Dove is busy with a rush of customers, so I silently pass the card to her and wave goodbye as I head out into the cold.

I’ve got my to-go cup in one hand, my phone in the other, and I’m trying to get the door with my hip when it swings open. The man holding the door is tall, with broad shoulders, chiseled features, and a bit of stubble on his strong jaw. He’s wearing jeans and a barn coat. Boots. A navy-blue beanie. It’s practical and somehow perfect. He’s perfect, and I find myself looking around for his golden retriever.

No, I tell myself. Hallmark movie fantasies are not good for you. This man doesn’t even have a dog, and besides, I’ve already got a cup of cocoa in my hand.

“I’ve got it,” I say.

“The door?”

“The cocoa.” I’m still in the depths of an unrealistic movie cliché. “I, um, bought this myself.”

“And I hope you enjoy it.” His voice is low and rich. Snow glitters in the streetlights. The flakes kiss his shoulders. I’m still staring.