This is stupid. I’m an adult woman. I run a business. I can handle this.
Still, my fingers curl around the envelope like it might vanish if I don’t hold on tight enough.
“It’s… nothing,” I say, then sigh. “Okay. That’s a lie.”
His expression softens. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“I know.” I lean against the counter, turning the envelope over. “But I want to.”
His attention sharpens, all teasing gone.
“Last Valentine’s Day,” I say, “there was this… thing. At the town hall. Anonymous pen pal exchange.”
He stills.
“Someone entered me without asking,” I continue. “I thought it was a prank. But then I got a letter. And then another. And another.”
“How many?” he asks quietly.
“A year’s worth.”
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
“They’re thoughtful,” I say. “Kind. They ask real questions. Not small talk.”
“Do you know who it is?”
I shake my head. “No names. No clues. Just words.”
He nods slowly. “And you write back.”
“Every week.”
Silence hums between us.
“Do you like him?” Dax asks.
The question lands heavier than it should.
“I…” I shrug. “It’s complicated.”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “Is it?”
I laugh softly. “It’s silly. Pen pals. Letters. I’m too practical for fairy tales.”
“But?” he prompts.
“But,” I admit, “he makes me feel seen.”
Something flickers in Dax’s eyes. Gone before I can name it.
“You think it could be love?” he asks.
I scoff. “What even is love?”
His mouth curves. “Careful. You sound jaded.”
“I’m busy,” I say. “I don’t have time for fantasies.”
