My heart did a little flip as I pulled the first one out—a brand-new Dutch oven. Bright red, beautiful, and definitely expensive.
“Are you serious right now?” I breathed.
The second box was even bigger. I opened it slowly. Inside sat a shiny, cream-colored KitchenAid mixer. Not a cheap knockoff. The real thing.
I laughed out loud.
“This is ridiculous.”
Grabbing my phone, I stared at the unknown number again.
You’re insane.
The reply came almost immediately.
Probably.
I bit my lip, trying to suppress a smile.
You didn’t have to do this.
A pause stretched between us before he sent back:
I know.
I stared at that message longer than I meant to.
The thing was, he really didn’t have to.
I had mentioned liking that basket exactly once—one small comment when they were calling raffle numbers. And somehow, he noticed.
That realization sent warmth spreading through my chest.
Setting my phone down, I looked back at the mixer sitting proudly on my counter.
No one had ever paid attention to me like that before. Not like this.
---
The surprises didn’t stop, and that was the part that really started to mess with my head.
It wasn’t every day, but almost.
Monday morning, there was a fountain Diet Coke sitting on my porch when I left for work. Still cold, condensation dripping down the side.
Tuesday night, I came home to a paperback copy of the mystery novel I’d been eyeing at the bookstore for weeks.
Wednesday brought takeout from my favorite Thai restaurant waiting neatly by my door.
Thursday? Another Diet Coke.
Every single time something appeared, I texted the unknown number.
Thank you.
Sometimes he answered; sometimes he didn’t. But I knew it was him. Hawk never signed his name. He didn’t need to.
Every time something appeared on my porch, my heart did that same stupid little flutter—excitement, annoyance, something in between. It was incredibly frustrating.
