The city had settled into that late-winter chill where every breath hung in the air like smoke. Curtis didn't seem to mind it. The cold stung his cheeks, but his chest felt warm—an unfamiliar kind of warmth that had nothing to do with temperature.
He'd slipped back into routine: early workouts, spotless apartment, work at KAIA, evenings at Coppa. But lately, something new had woven into the pattern—something he didn't hate.
He greeted Allie now. Every time she was behind the counter, he said hello first. And she texted him—brief, cheerful messages about his "progress," asking how his day was, reminding him to "breathe, not brood."
He told himself it was part of her coaching. Nothing more.
Still, when he pushed open the café door that afternoon, the sound of jazz and the smell of roasted beans hit him with comfort he didn't expect.
And there she was—bright, radiant, a burst of energy behind the counter, her hair in a messy bun and her smile already waiting for him.
"Good afternoon!" Allie called, her voice slicing through the hum of chatter. "One hot Americano and… hmm, pistachio macaron today, my guess?"
He tried not to smile, but failed. "You guessed right."
"See? I'm a psychic."
She winked playfully and turned to make his drink, humming along to the music. Her movements were light, almost rhythmic — like everything she touched naturally synced to a beat only she could hear.
As she slid his coffee cup under the machine, she looked over her shoulder. "Hey, did you check your schedule for those dates I texted you?"
Curtis nodded. "I did. My calendar's clear—I'll make it work."
Of course he would. Curtis Harper always made time for what he committed to. He might not understand emotions, but he understood discipline.
"All right, perfect." She smiled, pleased.
"I'll bring your order to your table."
He found his usual corner seat, no crossword today—just his laptop, half-hidden behind a coffee cup. He was mid-call when Allie appeared, setting his drink and pastry down with a soft tap on the table.
"Busy?" she asked.
He looked up. The light from the window caught her eyes—amber brown, flecked with gold.
"No," he said, surprising himself. "Not anymore."
Allie's lips curled into a grin, though she started to back away. "Didn't mean to interrupt. I'll let you get back—"
"Wait." His voice stopped her. "If you wanted to talk, I can pause."
Her grin softened. "You sure?"
He nodded.
She leaned on the table slightly. "Just excited, that's all. Big plans coming up. But go on, do your thing. We'll talk later."
When her shift ended, Curtis was still there—waiting.
Allie blinked, surprised. "You didn't have to wait for me," she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "But, wow… look at you. Making progress already."
Curtis laughed quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I thought maybe we could go over plans for next week. I can walk with you a bit."
Her heart did a small flip at how earnest he sounded. "Well," she teased, "you're changing faster than you think. I might be out of a job soon."
He smiled. "You're the one teaching me."
"Maybe. But you're the one doing the work," she said. Then added, "Don't overthink next week. Just bring your A-game."
She had somewhere to be that night, so they split at the corner—but both of them, for different reasons, walked away smiling.
By the time their next "session" came, Curtis was early. Of course he was.
The park's breeze carried that same winter bite as he stood waiting by the gates, hands in his pockets. His breath fogged as he checked his watch for the fifth time.
Then came the sound of running footsteps.
Allie appeared, bundled in a coat, cheeks flushed from the cold, her bag bouncing at her side. She stopped, breathless. "I'm so sorry! You've been waiting forever, haven't you?"
He shook his head quickly. "Not at all. I just got here." He had not.
She smiled gratefully, brushing snowflakes from her hair. "You're too polite."
He noticed her juggling an armful of things—bags, boxes, what looked like board games. "Need help?"
"Yes, please." She handed him half her load.
"What is all this?"
"Board games, crafts, snacks… stuff for some of my favorite people."
"Your favorite people?"
"You'll see."
Curtis didn't see it coming—the senior center.
He blinked at the sign, then at her. "You volunteer here?"
"Every week," she said proudly, pushing through the doors. The warmth of the building hit them instantly, carrying the smell of disinfectant, cookies, and lavender lotion.
"Allie! My darling Allie!"
A tiny woman with silver hair and a big voice shuffled toward them, her smile brighter than the fluorescent lights.
"Mrs. Smith!" Allie laughed, hugging her. "Of course I brought goodies."
From the corner, a cranky old man grumbled, "You're loud again, Tina. Calm down."
"Oh, Fred, you hush," she scolded. Then her eyes found Curtis, and she lit up. "And who is this dashing young man? You didn't tell me you were bringing a model, dear!"
Allie giggled. "This is my friend, Curtis."
Mrs. Smith squinted. "Catfish?"
Allie laughed harder. "Curtis!"
The woman frowned, mouthing the name. "Curtfish? Ah, whatever. Too hard. I'll call him Kit."
Allie bit her lip, looking at him apologetically.
Curtis smiled. "Kit's fine, ma'am."
The old lady beamed.
"Have some decency, Tina," grumbled Fred. "He's half your age."
The nurses came over, amused. "All right, everyone, be nice. Allie and her friend came all this way," said Nurse Bianca, leading them to the activity room.
Allie and Curtis joined the seniors for board games and crafts. At first, Curtis wasn't sure what to do—he was calculating seating arrangements like a meeting chart—but then something clicked.
The room buzzed with laughter. The old woman teased him for losing at Scrabble. Someone else told a story about dancing in the '60s. Curtis listened. Really listened. He found himself laughing too—awkwardly at first, then genuinely.
When it came time for snacks, he and Allie worked side by side. She carried trays; he handed out napkins. They moved easily, naturally, as if they'd done it a hundred times before.
Then Allie waved him over. "Kit, come here! There's someone I want you to meet."
An elderly man sat near the window, dressed neatly in a cardigan, his eyes sharp despite the wrinkles.
"Mr. Silva," she said, "this is Kit. He works in finance too. Maybe you can share some wisdom."
Curtis froze.
Mr. Silva smirked knowingly. "You don't really want to talk, do you? You're only doing it for that sweet girl over there."
Curtis said nothing, caught off guard by the man's accuracy.
Mr. Silva chuckled. "That's all right. I used to be in your shoes once. Fast life, big wins, no time to breathe. You think it'll last forever. It doesn't."
Curtis looked at him then, the noise of the room fading.
Mr. Silva's gaze softened. "Numbers fade, son. What matters is who you share them with. Make time for love—or you'll end up like me, with nothing but old charts and empty hands."
Curtis swallowed hard. "Thank you," he said quietly.
When they left the center later that afternoon, he turned to Allie. "That was… actually amazing."
She smiled, eyes glowing. "Told you so."
Two days later, he was waiting again—this time by the park fountain.
A chorus of barking met him before he saw her.
Allie appeared, surrounded by dogs, leashes tangled around her arms like ribbons. "Sorry I'm late! I'm dog-sitting again!"
Curtis couldn't help laughing. "I can see that."
The dogs barked excitedly at him, tails wagging like fans.
"They don't bite," she said, handing him a few leashes. "Here—make friends. Give them treats."
He hesitated, then knelt, offering biscuits with awkward gentleness. The dogs sniffed, then accepted him.
"There you go," she said, smiling. "See? They like you, Kit."
He raised an eyebrow. "Kit?"
Allie grinned. "Mrs. Smith started it, and now I can't stop. It suits you."
He sighed in mock defeat. "Fine. Kit it is."
They began walking, their steps syncing naturally. The city around them buzzed with life—people, traffic, sunlight glinting off glass buildings.
Their conversation flowed easily. They talked about food, gaming consoles, the weirdest things they'd seen online. It was light, effortless—something Curtis had never thought himself capable of.
At one point, Allie glanced at him as he laughed—a genuine, full laugh—and felt something shift inside her.
He looked different now. Softer. Warmer. And for a split second, the thought hit her like a sting—this was temporary.
Her smile faltered.
"Hey," he said quietly, noticing. "You okay?"
"Yeah," she said quickly. "Just remembered something."
"Seems serious. You sure?"
She nodded, forcing a smile. "One of the dogs couldn't come today. I feel bad leaving him behind."
Curtis chuckled. "You're too sweet, you know that?"
Her heart fluttered again—dangerously this time.
That weekend, she took him to a charity marathon for cancer awareness. The crowd was massive—runners, volunteers, survivors wearing bright ribbons. The air buzzed with energy, hope, and something sacred.
Curtis watched Allie move through the crowd—hugging people, laughing, handing out water bottles. She glowed with a quiet kind of purpose.
Out of everything they'd done together this week, this—he could tell—meant the most to her.
He wanted to ask why. To know her story. But there was a wall there—gentle but firm—and he didn't want to cross it.
Still, he couldn't stop himself from saying softly, "This is incredible. You're… really kind, Allie."
She looked at him, smile small but real. "For my mom," she murmured.
But before he could ask what she meant, his phone buzzed—another stock alert.
By the time he silenced it, the moment was gone.
She was already walking ahead, sunlight catching the edge of her smile.