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Chapter Two — Three Dots
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2026-01-14 08:15:33After the pineapple cake, Rihanna stopped pretending this was nothing.
They didn’t meet.
They didn’t even suggest it.
But they talked.
Every day.
It started small. A good-morning message. A joke about how bad lockdown food was getting. A late-night question that didn’t need answering.
Then it grew.
Rihanna woke up to Dennis’s name on her screen and fell asleep with it still there. She learned the rhythm of his attention — when he replied instantly, when he disappeared for hours, when he came back with something thoughtful like he hadn’t gone anywhere at all.
She told herself not to read into it.
She failed.
Sometimes the conversations were playful.
Dennis: You’re impossible.
Rihanna: You started this.
Dennis: No regrets.
Other times, they slowed into something quieter.
They talked about childhood memories. About the strange loneliness of being surrounded by people who thought they knew you. About how silence felt louder during lockdown.
Dennis asked questions no one else ever had.
What do you miss?
What makes you feel safe?
Rihanna answered more honestly than she meant to.
At night, she lay on her bed staring at the ceiling, imagining what his voice would sound like saying her name instead of typing it. Across the street, Dennis reread her messages like they were instructions he didn’t quite understand yet.
Neither of them admitted it.
But they were waiting.
Waiting for the buzz of a phone.
Waiting for something to tip the balance.
Two weeks passed like that.
Then one evening, restlessness got the better of her.
The air was warm. The street was quiet. The house felt too small.
Rihanna pulled on a hoodie and typed:
I’m going for a walk. The air’s too nice to waste inside.
She didn’t wait for a reply.
Willow Creek looked different at night — softer, almost intimate. Porch lights glowed. Lawns slept. The town felt like it was holding a secret.
Her phone stayed silent.
She told herself she didn’t care.
Halfway down the street, she heard paws on pavement.
She turned.
Dennis stood there.
A leash looped around his hand. His golden retriever wagged its tail like this was all perfectly normal.
Her heart slammed.
“You—” she started.
“You said you were walking,” he said, a little breathless. “Figured I could too.”
For a second, neither of them moved.
Weeks of messages stood between them — fragile and electric.
“So this is what you look like in real life,” she said quietly.
He smiled. Not the charming one. The nervous one.
“You look exactly how I imagined.”
They started walking side by side.
At first, there was space between them.
Then less.
His arm brushed hers.
Her breath caught.
Jack tugged the leash, forcing Dennis closer. His fingers brushed hers.
He didn’t pull away.
Neither did she.
He let his fingers curl around hers — slow, deliberate, like he was asking permission without words.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.”
They walked hand in hand through the quiet streets, the contact sending warmth through her chest she didn’t know how to name.
They talked until the world felt small. Until the pond at the edge of town reflected moonlight and Jack splashed at the water.
“It doesn’t feel like we just met,” Dennis said finally.
Rihanna nodded. “I know.”
When they finally said goodnight, it felt unfinished.
She walked home with his touch still lingering on her skin.
Her phone buzzed before she reached her door.
Dennis calling…
She answered.
“Already?” she teased.
“Didn’t want the feeling to fade,” he said.
Rihanna lay awake listening to his breathing.
Hours passed.
She fell asleep without hanging up.
When Rihanna woke the next morning, the call had ended.
And Dennis had already sent a message.
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