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Chapter 1

Emily

Pink and red hearts assault my vision the moment I step outside my apartment building. Some overeager shop owner has plastered their entire storefront with gaudy Valentine's decorations, complete with cherubs that look more demonic than romantic in the early morning light.

"Really? It's still January," I mutter, pulling my jacket tighter against the winter chill.

The coffee shop next door hasn't escaped either. Through the window, I spot heart-shaped cookies and pink-frosted cupcakes. A barista arranges a display of "Love Potion Lattes" while wearing felt cupid wings.

I duck inside, needing caffeine to face this madness. "Just a regular black coffee. No hearts, no sprinkles, no love potions."

"You sure? The Valentine's special comes with—"

"I'm sure."

Twenty minutes later, I'm settling into my studio chair at WKXT, adjusting my headphones and checking the clock. My producer gives me the signal through the glass.

"Good morning, Chicago! You're listening to 'Hart to Heart' with Emily Hart, where we tell it like it is. Speaking of telling it like it is – who else noticed the explosion of pink and red taking over our city? That's right, folks, it's that time of year again. The season where chocolate prices triple, restaurants get impossibly booked, and everyone pretends true love can be measured in overpriced roses and teddy bears."

I lean closer to the mic. "Now, I know what you're thinking – Emily's just bitter. And you know what? You're absolutely right. I've seen behind the curtain of this commercialized circus we call Valentine's Day. Trust me, those candy hearts might say 'Be Mine,' but they should really say 'Be Warned.'"

"Let's take some calls. Who else is tired of this Hallmark holiday holding us hostage? Line one, you're on the air with Emily Hart..."

The phone lines light up like a Christmas tree – ironically, another holiday I have issues with, but that's a rant for December.

"Line three, you're on with Emily Hart."

"Emily, you're so wrong about this. My husband proposed on Valentine's Day five years ago, and—"

"And let me guess – he spent three months' salary on a ring because a diamond company's marketing campaign told him to? Next caller."

"Line five, go ahead."

"Valentine's Day saved my marriage. We were going through a rough patch and—"

"Fascinating how it took a corporate holiday to remind you to appreciate your spouse. Line seven?"

My producer frantically waves through the glass, pointing at line four. I ignore him – he's been trying to get me to tone down the cynicism for weeks.

"Line two, what's your take?"

"Actually," a smooth voice cuts through my headphones, sending an unexpected shiver down my spine. "I'm curious why someone so opposed to Valentine's Day has dedicated an entire show segment to it. Seems like giving it more power, doesn't it?"

I sit up straighter. "And you are?"

"Derek. Just a guy wondering why you're letting one day of the year live rent-free in your head."

"Listen, Derek, when this holiday stops pressuring people into performative romance—"

"Is it the holiday doing the pressuring, or are we just blaming heart-shaped chocolates for our own issues with vulnerability?"

Heat creeps up my neck. "My issues? That's really presumptuous of you, Derek."

"Just observing that for someone claiming to be above it all, you seem pretty invested in tearing it down. Maybe the real question isn't why Valentine's Day exists, but why it bothers you so much?"

"I prefer to think of it as a public service announcement. Someone needs to warn people about this mass delusion."

"Warn them about love?"

"About commercialized, artificial, mandatory romance."

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. "How about a challenge then?"

"I don't do challenges from random callers."

"Afraid I might change your mind?"

My fingers tighten around my coffee cup. "I'm not afraid of anything, Derek. But since you brought it up, what exactly is this challenge?"

"Simple. A couple of dates. If I can't show you a genuine, pressure-free Valentine's Day experience, you win."

"And what exactly would I win?"

"The satisfaction of being right. Plus, I'll donate ten thousand dollars to any charity you choose."

Harper leans forward, practically bouncing in her seat. "And if he wins?"

"Then you admit on air that maybe, just maybe, you were wrong about Valentine's Day," Derek says.

"That's it? No strings attached?"

"Unless you're counting heartstrings."

I roll my eyes. "Did you seriously just—"

"Oh come on, Emily," Harper cuts in. "Our listeners would love this! Right, Chi-town?"

The phone lines explode.

"I don't date random callers," I say.

"Good thing I'm not random. I'm Derek from line two."

"Cute. But for all I know, you could be—"

"An axe murderer? A troll? Or just someone who thinks you're letting one bad experience poison your view of something beautiful?"

"You don't know anything about my experiences."

"Then educate me. Over dinner."

Harper waves frantically, pointing at the clock. I ignore her.

"Let me guess – dinner at some overpriced restaurant with mandatory prix fixe menus?"

"Now who's making assumptions?"

The studio door bursts open. Jace strides in, tablet in hand, grinning like he just won the lottery. He scribbles something on a notepad: 'RATINGS THROUGH THE ROOF. KEEP HIM ON.'

"We'll be right back after these messages," Harper jumps in, hitting the commercial break. "And when we return, Emily will give Derek her answer. Stay tuned!"

"I will not—"

"Emily," Jace says the moment we're off air. "This is gold. Pure ratings gold. We haven't seen numbers like this since that celebrity scandal last summer. Do what you can to milk this for all it's worth."

I roll my eyes, swiveling in my chair so I can no longer see him. Arrogant prick.

The red "ON AIR" light blinks back to life. I adjust my headphones, trying to ignore Harper's eager grin and Jace's threatening glare.

"Welcome back to 'Hart to Heart.' For those just tuning in, we have Derek on line two, who's proposed a Valentine's Day challenge that our listeners can't stop talking about. Let's hear what greater Chicago thinks. Line six?"

"Emily, you have to do it! I've been listening to your show for years, and honestly, girl, you need this."

"Thank you for that unsolicited therapy session. Line eight?"

"Don't do it! Men like that are just trying to get attention. He's probably—"

"Still here," Derek chimes in. "And still waiting for an answer."

"Our text line is blowing up," Harper says, scrolling through her tablet. "'Emily deserves love!' 'Don't trust him!' 'Team Derek all the way!' Oh, this one's good – 'If she doesn't want him, can I have his number?'"

I drum my fingers on the desk. "Fine. One follow-up call. Tomorrow's show."

"Playing hard to get?" Derek asks.

"Playing smart. I don't agree to dates with disembodied voices."

"Fair enough. Same time tomorrow?"

"Unless you chicken out."

"Not likely. Looking forward to changing your mind, Emily Hart."

"Looking forward to that charity donation, Derek No-Last-Name."

The line clicks dead. Harper squeals, actually squeals, while Jace gives me a thumbs up through the glass.

"There you have it, Chicago," I say. "Tomorrow, we'll either expose another Valentine's Day opportunist or... well, let's be real, we're definitely exposing another Valentine's Day opportunist. Keep those opinions coming, because this is far from over."

The phone lines light up like a slot machine hitting jackpot. I've created a monster, and his name is Derek from line two.

Harper trails me into the break room, practically vibrating with excitement as I pour myself a fresh cup of coffee. The machine gurgles and sputters like it always does at this time of day, desperately needing a cleaning that no one ever bothers to give it.

"His voice, Em. Did you hear that voice? Like honey drizzled over—"

"Over what? Common sense?" I dump a packet of sugar into my cup, then another for good measure. Today feels like a two-packet kind of day. "He's probably some wannabe influencer trying to go viral. Another TikTok star looking for his fifteen minutes of fame."

"Or he could be your soulmate." Harper leans against the counter, giving me that dreamy-eyed look she gets whenever she thinks she's stumbled onto a real-life rom-com moment.

"There's no such thing." The coffee burns my tongue, matching the irritation burning in my chest. I blow on the steaming liquid, trying to cool both it and my temper. "Besides, did you hear those lines? 'Unless you're counting heartstrings?' Please. Who actually talks like that in real life? It's like he swallowed a Hallmark card."

Harper perches on the counter, swinging her legs. "I thought it was cute. And he challenged you. When's the last time anyone managed to get under your skin like that?"

"He didn't get under my skin." I lean against the fridge, avoiding her knowing look. "He got under Jace's skin with those rating numbers, which is the only reason I'm entertaining this ridiculous challenge tomorrow."

"Sure, keep telling yourself that. But I saw you smile when he called you out about living rent-free—"

"I did not smile."

"You did! Just a tiny one, but it was there."

"That was indigestion from those heart-shaped donuts you brought in."

"Which you said you wouldn't eat, yet mysteriously, two disappeared from the box."

I point my coffee cup at her. "This conversation is over."

"Like your love life?"

"I hate you."

"Love you too, Em. And I think Derek might—"

"Don't even finish that sentence."

He's just another clueless Valentine's day idiot.