Chapter 4 #2
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.
And I'm here, alone, wondering what it would be like to be part of that world, to be someone who stays instead of someone who leaves. The thought terrifies me, but not as much as the thought of walking away.
My phone buzzes with a text, and my heart jumps before I even look at the screen.
Dylan: Thank you for today. For being patient with the interview. For making Maddie smile. For being you.
I stare at the message for a long moment, my thumb hovering over the keyboard.
Me: Thank you for trusting me. With your story. With your daughter. With your cake.
His response comes quickly.
Dylan: Trusting you is the easiest thing I've done in a long time.
I read the message three times, each time feeling it settle deeper into my chest.
Me: Same.
I set the phone down and wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold onto the warmth his words created.
Tomorrow, I'll film more content. I'll be professional. I'll remember that this is temporary.
But tonight, I let myself imagine what it would be like if it were not.
The next morning, I wake to another text from Dylan.
Dylan: Maddie wants to know if you’ll come to her school's spring fair this Saturday. No pressure. But she has been asking since she woke up.
I smile at my phone like a fool.
Me: I would love to. What time?
Dylan: 10 AM. Fair warning, there will be face painting, questionable baked goods from other parents, and at least one bounce house incident.
Me: Sounds perfect.
Dylan: See you then.
I get ready for the day with more energy than I've had in weeks. I choose my clothes more carefully than usual. I actually do something with my hair instead of just pulling it into a ponytail.
When I walk into Spice Spice Baby an hour later, Dylan looks up from the cake he is working on, and his entire expression softens.
"Morning," he says.
"Morning," I reply, and the way he’s looking at me makes my stomach flip.
Evan appears from the back room, takes one look at us, and grins. "Oh, this is going to be fun to watch."
"Evan," Dylan warns.
"What? I'm not saying anything. I'm just observing that the bakery has a very romantic energy this morning."
"Get back to work," Dylan mutters, but there is no heat in it.
I set up my camera and spend the morning filming Dylan as he adds intricate details to the phoenix design.
Feathers. Flames. All delicate sugar work that catches the light like stained glass.
Every few minutes, our eyes meet across the workspace, and each time feels like a small conversation we are having without words.
Around midday, my phone rings. I glance at the screen and see it's the festival coordinator from Seattle, the one who offered me a spring-summer contract.
My stomach drops.
Dylan notices. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," I say quickly. "Just work. I should take this."
I step outside into the spring air, my heart pounding as I answer.
"Piper! Good to hear from you," the coordinator says. "I wanted to follow up on our offer. We need to know by the end of the week if you are accepting. This is a really great opportunity, and we have other candidates interested."
"I understand," I say. "Can I've until Friday?"
"Of course, but I'll be honest with you. This kind of contract doesn't come around often. It’s steady work, good pay, major exposure. You would be set for months."
"I know," I say quietly. "I just need a little more time."
"Fair enough. Talk soon."
The call ends, and I stand there on the sidewalk, staring at the festival banners fluttering in the breeze.
This is what I wanted. Steady work with a real contract and security.
So why does the thought of taking it feel like I'm losing something instead of gaining it?
I walk back into the bakery, and Dylan looks up immediately.
He doesn't ask what the call was about, but I can see the question in his eyes.
“I… I got offered a job… in Seattle.” I almost can’t get the words out.
"Seattle job?" he asks quietly.
"Yeah."
He nods slowly. "That’s good. You should take it."
"Dylan."
"No, I mean it," he says, even though his voice sounds strained. "You deserve good opportunities. You shouldn’t turn down something great because of a few weeks in a small town."
"What if the small town is starting to feel like more than just a few weeks?" I ask.
He goes very still. "Piper."
"I'm not saying I'm staying," I add quickly. "I'm just saying that leaving doesn't feel as simple as it should."
He sets down the piping bag and walks over to me, stopping close enough that I've to tilt my head back to look at him.
"I don't want to be the reason you give up something you’ve worked so hard for," he says. "But I also don't want to pretend that this, whatever this is, doesn't matter to me."
"It matters to me too," I whisper.
He reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle and deliberate. "Then we figure it out. Together."
"Together," I repeat, and the word feels like a promise.
Before either of us can say anything else, Maddie runs in from the back room where she’s been playing, completely oblivious to the moment she just interrupted.
"Daddy! Can we get ice cream after the fair on Saturday?"
Dylan steps back, clearing his throat. "We will see, bug."
"That means yes," she stage-whispers to me.
I laugh, and the tension breaks.
The rest of the day passes in a comfortable rhythm. I film. Dylan works. Maddie colors. And every so often, our hands brush or our eyes meet, and each small touch feels like it's building toward something inevitable.
By the time I leave, the sun is setting again, and Dylan walks me to the door.
"See you Saturday?" he asks.
"I wouldn’t miss it," I say.
He hesitates, then leans down and presses a soft kiss to my cheek. It’s brief, barely there, but it sends warmth spiraling through me.
"Goodnight, Piper."
"Goodnight, Dylan."
I walk to my car with my hand pressed to my cheek, feeling like a teenager with a crush. And maybe that is exactly what this is.
A crush that is quickly becoming something much, much more.