Dear Red.
The words poured out of me because they didn’t have to face her eyes. I could be honest without consequence. Brave without risk.
I told her things I’ve never said out loud. About life. About loyalty. About what it means to show up for someone even when you don’t think they’ll ever choose you back.
She wrote back.
And then she kept writing back.
Every week became a ritual. Every letter a confession dressed up as anonymity. She told me about the café, about the exhaustion of running something alone, about the way Devil’s Peak felt like home even when it pressed in too close.
I told her I’d been to The Devil’s Bean a few times, noticed the way she laughs when she’s nervous. That I bet she smells like coffee and sugar and winter mornings. That she’s stronger than she thinks.
I never signed my name.
And every morning coffee I bought for the firehouse? That was my penance. My way of staying close without crossing the line.
Tonight, the snow crunches under my boots as I walk home from the firehouse, guilt sitting heavy in my gut.
I don’t get far before I see her.
Rory’s halfway down the street, bundled in a red coat that makes her hair look even brighter, leash looped around her wrist. Honey, her miniature poodle trots beside her, fluffy and ridiculous, tail wagging like she’s never met a stranger.
“Hey,” I call.
She turns, surprise flashing before her smile settles in. “Dax.”
Honey spots me and loses her mind, tangling herself around my legs like she’s claiming me.
“She likes you,” Rory says.
“Good taste,” I mutter, crouching to scratch behind the dog’s ears. “You’re out late.”
“She needed a walk,” Rory says. “And I needed air.”
I fall into step beside her without asking.
The night is quiet, February snow drifting down in lazy spirals, streetlights glowing soft and yellow. Devil’s Peak feels like it’s holding its breath.
“So,” I say, hands shoved into my jacket. “Big plans for Valentine’s?”
She snorts. “Please.”
“You’re meeting him,” I say anyway.
Her pace slows. “Maybe. We’ll see.”
I glance over. “Maybe?”
She shrugs. “Weather’s supposed to be bad. Roads might close.”
Relief and dread hit at the same time.
“That sucks,” I say.
She bumps her shoulder into mine. “You sound disappointed.”
“Just hate seeing you stood up.”
