Edward had only just received his new posting: a small but lively town on the edge of the frontier, where whispers of growing delinquency threatened the peace. It was to be his duty now—keeping order, protecting the people, and proving himself worthy of the scarlet uniform he wore with pride. The townsfolk watched him with a mixture of curiosity and relief, as though his arrival meant safety.

The small house assigned to him sat on a quiet lane, its porch facing the schoolhouse garden. Next door lived a young teacher, gentle and graceful, whose reputation for kindness had already reached his ears before he ever saw her. Their first meeting came by chance. Edward was carrying a trunk up the steps of his new home when she emerged from her doorway, arms full of books. A few slipped from her grasp, scattering across the walk. Before he could think, Edward was there, stooping to gather them with the polished manners drilled into him at the academy. When their eyes met, he felt something stir—a warmth, a charm he hadn’t expected. Her smile was soft, grateful, and for a moment he forgot the weight of his duty.

But Edward was a Mountie, and duty always came first. He focused on his work: patrolling the streets, listening to the townspeople, keeping order where lawlessness threatened to take root. Still, in quiet moments, he would catch himself noticing her—tending her garden, walking home from the schoolhouse with her students clustered around her, or reading by lamplight through her window in the evenings. Never in a way that intruded, never in a way that crossed propriety, but simply as a man quietly charmed by a sweet soul.

It was a late autumn evening when Edward knocked on his neighbor’s door. The schoolhouse had suffered damage earlier that day—broken windows from a group of rowdy boys daring each other past the point of mischief. The townsfolk had begun whispering about the delinquency rising in their streets, and Edward had promised the teacher he would see to it.

When he returned to check on her, he found her in the dimly lit schoolhouse, trying to sweep shards of glass by herself.

“You shouldn’t be doing this alone,” Edward said firmly, stepping into the room. His tall frame filled the doorway, the lamplight catching on his sharp features.

She looked up, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “It’s my classroom. My responsibility.”

“Your responsibility is to teach, not to cut your hands open,” he replied, already kneeling to gather the fragments. “Allow me.”

Despite her protest, she soon found herself working beside him, the two of them crouched close in the narrow space between desks. The silence grew noticeable, filled only with the faint scrape of glass and the sound of their breaths. At one point, their hands brushed against the same shard. She pulled back quickly, flustered, while Edward offered a small, apologetic smile.

The room was colder than either of them realized, the broken windows letting in the night air. Without hesitation, Edward shrugged off his uniform coat and draped it around her shoulders. “You’ll catch cold,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact, though his eyes lingered on her a moment too long.

Perhaps duty and affection weren’t always meant to be at odds.