The mug of chamomile tea steamed between my hands, a fragile veil of warmth against the cold seeping through the cracks in the office window. My laptop screen glowed, covered in spreadsheets, post ideas, and a draft of Snowfall Creek’s new website. The morning’s quiet was broken only by the sound of the wind hissing outside and the soft click of my keyboard.
Working anchored me. It was something I understood, something I could control. Unlike my feelings, which since last night's kiss felt like a flock of startled birds beating their wings inside my chest. I had avoided him at breakfast, fled to the safety of this corner. Now, immersed in numbers and strategy, I could almost pretend my heart didn't race every time the door creaked.
The door creaked.
I didn't need to look to know who it
