It starts small.

A crumpled piece of paper tucked under your pillow, almost blending in with the sheets. You don’t notice it at first, not until your fingers brush against it in the quiet of your room. The ink is smudged, the edges slightly torn, like it’s been held for too long before being left there. His handwriting is unmistakable.

“I think about you more than I should.”

You stare at it for a moment, your heart catching on the words. You don’t say anything. Maybe you’re not supposed to find it. Maybe he left it by accident. But then it happens again.

This time, it’s in the glove compartment of his truck, hidden beneath a pair of sunglasses. The paper is folded neatly, like he took his time.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Your pulse stumbles over itself. You glance at Rafe, but he doesn’t react, just keeps driving, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh like always. His fingers tap lightly against your skin, completely at ease, like he doesn’t even know what you found.

But he does.

The notes keep showing up. Slipped into your bag when you’re not looking. Stuffed inside the pocket of his hoodie when he lends it to you. One night, you open your favorite book, and there’s another one, waiting between the pages, like it’s always belonged there.

“Mine.”

The word sits heavy in your chest. This time, you bring it up. You hold the scrap of paper between your fingers, watching him as he shrugs, acting like it’s nothing. Like it’s not everything.

“It’s stupid,” he says, not meeting your eyes. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

But the next morning, when you wake up, there’s another note on your nightstand.

“You already know, but I’ll keep telling you anyway.”