Dear Amy
There it was again.
Lying quietly at the front of my porch like it belonged there—like it had every right to show up at my door and turn my entire life upside down.
The moment I had always known would come… yet never could guess who it would be from.
I stared at the envelope, the north wind brushing softly through my hair as I bent to pick it up. My fingers trembled slightly against the paper.
A million thoughts rushed through my mind.
Could this be ruin?
Or perhaps… an undiscovered reason to be alive.
With a shaky breath, I slowly opened it.
And then I saw the words that made my heart stop.
It was from him.
The Son of Man who had loved me all along.
A smile trembled onto my lips as tears rolled gently down my cheeks. I held the letter close, my lips parting just enough to whisper the words written at the top.
“Dear Amy…”
12th February
A few weeks earlier…
I had just gotten off work, laptop in hand, and was heading straight for the elevator when my best friend Fabian decided to pull me into one of his usual interruptions.
Fabian had always been… Fabian.
Annoying at first, yes, but annoyingly cute in a way that somehow worked in his favor.
With his ocean-blue eyes, curly hair, and shameless charm, he could probably get anything for free at the coffee shop if he smiled long enough.
Not that I thought he was cute or anything.
“Amy. Amy.” His voice pulled me out of my thoughts.
“My place tonight?”
I blinked at him. “Uhh… I’ll think about it.”
He stared at me for exactly two seconds before shaking his head.
“Come on, there’s no time to think. I’ll grab my stuff—we’re having dinner.”
And just like that, he turned and hurried back to his workspace to grab his coat and briefcase, leaving me standing there with the smallest smile tugging at my lips.
Fabian had this ridiculous habit of deciding things for both of us. And somehow… I always let him.
A few minutes later, we made our way to his black saloon car and headed to his place.
The car ride felt soaked in nostalgia, just Fabian and me, like it always had been. I shot him a silly grin, and he laughed, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.
We played the look-away game until he finally broke the silence.
“You know,” he said, chuckling, “I think you look really cute when you make faces like that.”
He’d never said anything like that before… at least, I thought he hadn’t. I made sure every time to remind us how good we were as friends.
“Really? I think you look cuter,” I teased. “Especially since you don’t seem to notice that Tara’s been dropping hints she’s into you.”
“I don’t see what you mean,” he said. “I’ve never noticed that.”
“Wow,” I said, mock-offended. “Then what do you notice, Mr. Fabian Hills?”
“Sometimes my coffee… sometimes you,” he replied.
“Oh, please,” I said, and we both laughed.
Time always flew with him, and before I knew it, we’d arrived at his place.
“Home sweet home!” he declared as we hopped out and climbed the stairs.
His apartment was warm, well-furnished, and just like him—full of memories since we moved to the city.
I plopped onto the couch, rolling my eyes at him while he hung up his coat.
“I’m guessing the queen must be starving,” he said, reading me like a book.
“I’ll make some mac and cheese. Be right back,” I said.
“Nope, I’m joining in!” He raced me to the kitchen, and we prepped the ingredients together.
He looked good. Really good. Wearing that apron, he’d be a dream find for anyone. I couldn’t help but watch him across the kitchen island, caught up in my thoughts.
“Hey, Amy! Come here, I wanna show you something,” he said, pulling me out of my daydream. I hopped down from the stool and stretched out my hand as he offered a taste.
“Hmm… really yummy. You’d make a great chef. I could be the manager of your restaurant,” I teased, lips curling into a smirk. “Oh, Miss Amy…” he murmured, leaning slowly against the counter, eyes locked on mine, one hand resting there. That quiet, heavy pause made me wonder what was running behind those ocean eyes of his.
“It’s burning!” I exclaimed, spinning around to turn off the burner.
“It’s not,” he said, a guilty smile tugging at his lips—and I couldn’t argue with that
.“Well then, what the chef says goes,” I said with a chuckle.
And just like that, the kitchen fell quiet—our laughter lingering, the warmth between us settling like the softest light through the window.
NEW CHAPTERS EVERY WEEK💕
