“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, no, anything else would’ve been too much,” I agree. “This is perfect.”

“Okay, cool. A lot of the guys I know complain about Valentine’s Day, like it’s such a hassle to do something nice for the person you’re with, or like it’s somehow less special to do flowers or dinner on a holiday. But that seems so backward to me.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.