Valentine’s Day is a scam.

That’s the thought running through your head as you sit at the café table, pretending to listen to your friends talk about their plans for the night. Flowers, chocolates, overpriced prix fixe dinners—it’s all ridiculous.

And then there’s Spencer, who has been watching you with that smug. Spencer, who somehow always manages to get under your skin without even trying.

You snap. “What?”

His smirk widens. “Nothing.”

“You’ve been looking at me like you know something I don’t.”

“Maybe I do.”

You narrow your eyes. “Spit it out, Reid.”

Instead of answering, he reaches into his bag, pulls out a small, neatly wrapped box, and slides it across the table toward you.

You stare at it. Then at him. Then at the box again.

“What is this?”

“Why don’t you open it and find out?”

Your friends are still distracted by their conversations to know what’s happening.

Suspicious, you unwrap the package. Inside is a book—an old, well-loved copy of a novel you once mentioned months ago. Your stomach twists, but before you can react, you spot the small slip of paper tucked beneath it. A note, written in his neat, careful handwriting:

“Happy Valentine’s Day. Try not to overanalyze this too much.”

Your throat goes dry.

You look up at him, heart pounding, but he just raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

“Well, what?” you say, voice coming out more defensive than you intended.

He tilts his head. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

You blink. You should say something— but your brain is short-circuiting because Spencer Reid got you a Valentine’s gift.

And then he speaks again.

“You should have dinner with me tonight.”

Your stomach drops. “What?”

“Dinner,” he repeats, as if you didn’t hear him the first time. “You. Me. Tonight.”

Your heart is racing, but you can’t let him see that. “Is this some kind of bet? Did someone put you up to this?”

Spencer actually laughs at that. “Nope.”

You hesitate. “But… why?”

He shrugs. “Why not? It could be nice. So pick you up at seven?”