Lolly says, gesturing between me and Ryan.
I try not to look too alarmed. “Oh, no, we’re not married!” I say, maybe a hair too loudly. “We, uh, work together.”
“I see,” Lolly says coyly. “Well, you two look very nice together. What can I get you?”
Ryan follows my lead and orders a chai latte with extra whipped cream. While he pays Lolly for the drinks, I examine the framed newspaper clippings hung by the door. They’re slightly yellowed with age, but I remember the thrill I got the day the first one was hung. Lolly saved the Boston Globe clippings announcing that two local girls were on their way to the Olympic Trials. Jasmine and I skipped the sugary drinks that day and asked for plain tea; Lolly, who had the round, soft body you’d expect from a woman who made baked goods for a living, had rolled her eyes and told us to live a little. “This is us living,” I remember telling her, pointing to the newspaper clipping.
The story isn’t long, but it features a black-and-white photo of me and Jasmine, frozen at nineteen years old, with our arms slung around each other’s shoulders. The date on the framed article feels so far away—a lifetime ago. Next to it, there’s a bigger framed article, the paper’s front-page story from the day Jasmine returned home from London. There’s a larger, color photo of her by herself with a pile of Olympic medals splayed out across her chest. I wonder what the younger version of myself would say if she saw me here now, lying to Lolly about Jasmine, Ryan trailing behind me, out on a furtive break from Summit. I don’t think she’d understand how I got into this situation at all.
Ryan sets down the chai lattes on the table between the armchairs, then comes up behind me. He’s quiet for a moment, reading the two framed clippings.
“Ah, I see,” he says. “You took me here just so I don’t forget you’re a hometown hero.”
“I brought you to a place I loved,” I correct him. Sass floods my voice. “And, uh, was a hometown hero. Once upon a time. Not so much anymore.”
Jasmine’s photo floats in my peripheral vision, and I try to block it out.
“Your hometown must be the same way, no?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Men’s gymnastics isn’t so much of a big thing. People at home thought it was cool I made the Olympics, but they didn’t… I don’t know, ‘crown’ me, the way they crowned the women’s gymnastics team.”
He makes air quotes around the word, and I understand exactly what he means. I wonder if he felt bitter about it, too.
“So it’s not just me?” I say, almost embarrassed that I want him to agree and confirm how I feel.
There are times I’ve wondered if Jasmine’s success only looms so large for me because of how tight we were and how close I came to having it, too. I can’t see her clearly because of who she is, who we were together. I’m fairly sure she’s still a household name. But time makes fame evaporate; maybe her star has cooled long enough that now she’s just a regular person again, the kind of former athlete who can make it through her hometown’s grocery store without being stopped in aisles four and seven for autographs. But somehow I doubt that.
“Look,” Ryan sighs, kissing my forehead. “Forget about Jasmine for now. Let’s drink these lattes you love so much.”
We sink into the armchairs by the fireplace. There’s something different about the steaming beverages in the ceramic mugs, but it takes me a moment to figure it out. A heavy sprinkle of cinnamon forms a pristine heart on top of the whipped cream, and there’s a heart-shaped chocolate bonbon on the side of my saucer. I spin around; Lolly is watching us.
“I may have whipped up a little something,” she says.
“Happy Valentine’s Day?” he says hopefully, like he’s waiting for my approval.
I’ve felt like the most gooey, starry-eyed version of myself all week, but this pushes me even further over the edge. The gesture is just sweet enough without feeling too serious.
“Happy Valentine’s Day!” I say, beaming.
He exhales, relieved, and leans across the table to give me a kiss. I feel warm and golden, and I know that has nothing to do with the glow of the fireplace.
“I know this is probably the tiniest Valentine’s Day gesture ever, but I didn’t want to go too overboard,” he explains.
“No,