Chapter 3

THREE

Kip

I stand in the shadows, clutching the letter in my hand as if it’s the only thing tethering me to reality. It’s late, and the streets are empty, but my heart is pounding like I’m in the middle of a crowd, all eyes on me.

I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s too risky. I know that she’ll be out here any minute.

And yet, I have to.

I glance around, checking to make sure no one is watching, before I walk over to Ginger’s car and slip the letter under her windshield wiper. My hands shake as I pull away, and for a second, I think about leaving. Not just this spot, but the whole thing—the letters, the secrets, the cowardice. But then Ginger’s face flashes in my mind, the way her smile lights up everything around her. The way her eyes spark when she reads one of my notes, and I know I can’t stop. Not now. It’s a stupid, childish thing, leaving these letters for her, but it’s all I have. It’s the only way I can be close to her without actually having to face her.

I’m about to slip away when a sound startles me—a door slamming at the coffeehouse down the block. My heart jumps into my throat as I duck behind a nearby building, peeking around the corner just in time to see Ginger walking toward her car.

Shit. That was too close.

I press my back against the cold brick wall, holding my breath as she approaches her car. My pulse races as I watch her reach for the note I left behind. She pauses, her eyes scanning the parking lot for a second before she pulls the paper from under the wiper.

Something’s wrong.

She’s off today.

I watch her read the note, and my body starts to grow cold as I catalog her reaction.

She doesn’t smile this time.

I frown, watching as she reads the letter, her brow furrowing. There’s frustration in the way her shoulders tense, and I can feel the anxiety bubbling up inside me. She’s been reading my letters for months now, but I’ve never seen her look like this.

She’s upset.

I hate that I can’t do anything about it. I hate that I’m too much of a coward to walk up to her, to tell her that it’s me, that I’m the guy who’s been pining for her from afar. Instead, I stand here, frozen in place, watching her.

I watch as she reads my note and takes a deep breath. She’s not smiling like she usually is after I leave her and note, and a pit starts to form in my stomach, growing by the second as I watch her. She looks like she’s debating something, and my mind races as I try to figure out what she’s thinking.

Suddenly, Ginger pulls something out of her bag—a pen and a scrap of paper. My heart lurches as I watch her scribble something down, her movements quick and sharp, as if she’s trying to get the words out before she changes her mind. Then, with a determined look, she tucks the note under her own windshield wiper and walks away.

I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I wait until she’s disappeared down the street, my mind racing with what she could’ve written. Did she figure it out? Does she know it’s me?

Or worse—does she want it to stop?

When she’s long gone, I force myself to move, my legs stiff and heavy as I approach her car. My fingers tremble as I reach for the note she left behind, my pulse pounding in my ears. The moment I open it, my breath catches in my throat.

Meet me.

The words are bold and underlined, like she’s daring me to step out of the shadows. Like she’s tired of waiting, tired of the mystery. She wants to know who I am, and now I’m faced with a choice I’ve been both dreading and looking forward to from the moment that I wrote that first letter.

I should be happy, right? I mean, if she wants to meet, then she must have liked my letters. She must be interested in me.

Right?

I’ve spent months dreaming about this moment, imagining what it would be like for her to finally know. But now that it’s here, all I can feel is panic. My scars feel like they’re burning under my skin, a constant reminder.

She thinks she’s falling for someone who doesn’t exist. The man in those letters isn’t real. He’s a fantasy, a version of myself that I’ll never be. And if she finds out the truth… she’ll hate me. She’ll look at me like everyone else in town does—with pity, or worse, disgust.

I crumple the note in my hand, my chest tight with fear. Then I hurry to straighten it back out. I can’t bear to destroy anything that Ginger gives to me.

What the hell am I supposed to do now? Do I meet her and risk everything? Or do I keep hiding, keep pretending that this is enough?

I know the answer. I’ve known it for a while now.

I can’t keep hiding.

But the fear is paralyzing, and I’m not ready. Not yet.

With a heavy sigh, I shove the note into my pocket and head to my truck. I need to head to work and wrap up a few things, but even as I drive toward the helicopter hangar, my mind keeps drifting back to that note and the decision I’ll have to make.

By the time I get to work, Huxley is already there, prepping one of the choppers for the morning flight. He glances up as I approach, wiping grease off his hands with a rag.

“Hey, wasn’t expecting to see you here,” he says with a grin. “Miss me?”

I grunt in response, trying to shake the tension from my shoulders as I grab my gear. I can feel his eyes on me, but I’m not in the mood to explain. Not yet.

“Everything okay?” Huxley asks, his voice softening. He knows me well enough to pick up on my mood, even when I try to hide it.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Just… stuff on my mind.”

Huxley arches an eyebrow, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he changes the subject, knowing that I’ll talk when I’m ready.

“So, have you made a decision? Are you going to the town’s holiday festival?” he asks, his tone casual. “The one with all the mistletoe and terrible music?” He asks as if I need a reminder.

I shrug, trying to play it off. “Maybe. I haven’t decided yet. What about you?”

He snorts. “Hell no.”

I glance over at him, narrowing my eyes. “Why not? No holiday spirit?”

“Not interested.”

“Cora will be there,” I point out, and he tenses.

We haven’t talked about it much, but I’ve seen the way that he looks at her, and I know that he likes her just as much as I like Ginger.

“Did you get Ginger’s car fixed last night?” He asks, and I nod. “How long did it take you?”

“Four hours, and you’re changing the subject.”

He sighs, tossing the rag onto a nearby table. “Fine, I’ll go, and we both know that you’re going. You’ll show up, even if you keep your distance. Just like always.”

I huff out a laugh, but it’s forced. Huxley knows me too well. He knows I can’t stay away from Ginger, even if it means lingering in the background, just out of sight. The idea of watching her laugh and smile with other people, of seeing her with someone else under the mistletoe—it makes my stomach twist.

But showing up? Actually talking to her, revealing that I’m the one behind the letters? I don’t know if I have it in me.

“Yeah, maybe,” I say, turning away from him and focusing on the helicopter in front of me. “I’ll think about it.”

Huxley doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his eyes on me, like he’s waiting for me to make a decision. And maybe I am too.

As the night drags on, my mind keeps wandering back to that damn note in my pocket. The weight of it feels heavier with every passing hour. Ginger wants to meet, and if I don’t show up, if I keep hiding, I’ll lose her before I ever really had her.

But if I do show up… what then? What if she sees me and regrets everything? What if she realizes that the guy in the letters isn’t the guy standing in front of her? Can I handle that rejection?

The doubt gnaws at me, refusing to let go.

By the time I finish up and head home, I’m no closer to an answer. I drive home in silence, the streets dark and empty, and all I can think about is the holiday party. I know Ginger will be there. I know she’ll be waiting for me.

And I know I’m running out of time to decide what to do.

As I pull into my driveway, I lean my head back against the seat, closing my eyes for a moment. The house is quiet, empty, and for the first time in a long time, I feel the weight of my loneliness. I’ve spent so long pushing people away, hiding behind these letters, that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to really be close to someone.

Ginger could change that. She could be the one to pull me out of this darkness.

If I’m brave enough to let her.

I glance at the note in my pocket one last time before heading inside. I’ll have to make a choice soon.

But not tonight.