The intensity in his voice makes my heart skip a beat.
"Good to know," I say softly.
We stand there for a moment, the air between us thick with things neither of us is quite ready to say out loud.
Then Maddie bounds over, breaking the tension. "Piper! Do you want to help me make decorations for the festival booth?"
I crouch down to her level. "I would love to. What are we making?"
"Paper hearts," she says seriously. "Because it's the Heart-to-Heart Festival and everyone needs hearts."
"That is very logical," I say.
She grabs my hand and pulls me toward her little table, where construction paper and safety scissors are scattered across the surface. I glance back at Dylan, who is watching us with an expression so soft it makes my chest ache.
I spend the next hour cutting out lopsided hearts with Maddie while Dylan works on the cake. She tells me about her favorite colors, her best friend at school, and the time she tried to bake cookies by herself and accidentally used salt instead of sugar.
"Daddy was not mad," she says. "He just laughed, and we made new ones together."
"Your daddy is pretty great," I say.
She nods solemnly. "He is the best daddy in the whole world. But sometimes he gets sad."
The observation catches me off guard. "Yeah?"
"He tries to hide it," she says, lowering her voice like she is sharing a secret. "But I can tell he misses Mommy."
My throat tightens. "I'm sure he does."
"Do you think he will be happy again?" she asks, looking at me with big, earnest eyes.
I glance over at Dylan, who is carefully piping delicate feathers onto the phoenix wings, his expression focused and calm.
"I think he is already happier than he realizes," I say gently. "And I think you are a big part of that."
She smiles and goes back to cutting hearts, satisfied with the answer.
When Dylan finishes for the day, he walks over to inspect our work. "This is impressive, you two could start a paper heart business."
"We could," Maddie says. "But only if Piper stays."
The statement hangs in the air, it’s innocent and weighted at the same time. Dylan meets my eyes, and I see the question there.
"We’ll see," I say softly, not willing to make a promise I don't know if I can keep.
But even as I say it, I feel the pull of this place. The warmth of this bakery. The sweetness of this little girl and the steady, quiet strength of this man who is slowly dismantling every wall I've built around my heart.
By the time I leave for the day, the sun is setting, and it’s beautiful. The sun is vibrant and paints the sky in beautiful oranges and reds. I walk back to my rental house with my camera bag heavy on my shoulder and my mind full of Dylan's hands, Maddie's laughter, and the way this town is starting to feel less like an assignment and more like something I don't have a name for yet.
I upload the footage to my laptop and start editing the interview segment. Dylan's words play through my speakers, honest and raw and beautiful.
"I hope they feel seen. I hope they feel like their pain mattered, but so does their survival."
I pause the video, staring at his face frozen on the screen. The vulnerability in his eyes. The strength in his jaw. The gentleness in his voice, and I realize, with a clarity that steals my breath, that I'm in trouble.
Not the kind of trouble that comes from making bad decisions or being reckless. The kind that comes from falling for someone when you know you are supposed to leave.
I close the laptop and sit in the growing darkness of my rental house, listening to the quiet sounds of Valentine settling in for the night. Somewhere across town, Dylan is probably putting Maddie to bed, reading her a story, and kissing her forehead goodnight. He’s probably checking the wildfire alerts on his phone, the way he does every evening, making sure his world is still safe.
