Chapter 3
Dax
Itell myself it started as a favor.
That’s the story I repeat when I’m standing in the cold, keys in my hand, watching Rory through the café window like I don’t already know every inch of her smile.
A year ago, the town clerk mentioned the Valentine’s pen pal exchange like it was nothing. A small-town gimmick. Anonymous letters. A little harmless romance to keep people warm through winter.
Rory’s name came up.
She hadn’t signed up. Someone else had—probably one of her friends who thought it was funny. Or romantic. Or inevitable.
I should’ve walked away.
Instead, I slid a twenty across the counter and said, “Match me with her.”
The clerk raised a brow. “That ethical?”
I smiled like it didn’t matter. “It’s Valentine’s.”
That was my first lie.
The second came easier.
I told myself it was temporary. One letter. Maybe two. Something sweet so she wouldn’t feel stood up or embarrassed.
But the first time I wrote her name, something cracked open in my chest.
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.”
She studies me. “You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Stay,” she says simply.
My chest tightens.
“I don’t mind,” I say.
“I know.”
We walk in silence for a block. Honey’s nails click against the icy pavement. Rory’s breath fogs the air.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I lie.
She hums like she doesn’t believe me. “You’re quiet.”
“Thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
I laugh. “For who?”
“For everyone.”
I stop walking.
Rory turns, eyebrows lifting. “What?”
The words are right there. Burning my tongue. I could end this. I could tell her everything and let the fallout hit like it will.
I open my mouth.
Then she smiles at me—soft, familiar, trusting—and I freeze.
“You ever think about leaving?” she asks.
The question blindsides me. “Devil’s Peak? Where would I go?”
“Anywhere,” she says. “Start over.”
I shake my head. “Nah.”
“Why not?”
I meet her eyes. “Because everything I need is here.”
Her breath catches. I feel it like a physical thing.
Honey barks, breaking the moment.
Rory laughs, cheeks flushed. “Guess that’s my cue.”
She turns toward her place, steps slowing like she doesn’t want the night to end.
I walk her to her door anyway.
“Night, Dax,” she says softly.
“Night, Red.”
She hesitates, then leans in and kisses my cheek.
It’s nothing.
And it’s everything.
I watch her disappear inside, the porch light clicking off a second later.
The embers inside me burn hotter.
Because I know the truth.
And I know Valentine’s Day is coming.
And I know I’m running out of time to decide whether I’m brave enough to let her hate me—or lose her forever.