February was the loneliest. Valentine’s Day came and went. Mike bought El a cheap rose from the grocery store, but Hopper intercepted it, claiming “allergies.” The truth was simpler: the chief was terrified. He saw the way Mike looked at her—the same way he’d once looked at a woman he lost. And he knew, with a father’s dread, that snow melts, but summer burns.
March was a slow thaw. The snow blobs on the Hawkins sign dripped away. Steve Harrington graduated (barely) and started working at Scoops Ahoy, his sailor hat a ridiculous crown for a fallen king. Robin Buckley, behind the counter, noticed he smelled like cigarettes and regret. She didn’t mind.
“What?” El tilted her head.
Behind them, the cabin door creaked open. Hopper stepped out, chewing a toothpick, his eyes scanning the treeline. “You two. Inside. It’s late.”
“Too quiet,” Mike replied, and neither of them knew they were quoting the last line of a horror movie.