Maya stared at their joined hands. "This is a terrible idea. You're leaving in six weeks. I'm emotionally unavailable. We're both disasters."
"Agreed."
"So why are we doing this?"
"Because maybe two disasters make something beautiful." His thumb traced circles on her palm. "Or maybe we crash and burn. But at least we'll be honest about it."
"Honest disasters."
"The best kind."
The waiter brought tiramisu they shared, both their forks competing for the last bite.
When the check came, they argued playfully about who would pay, finally splitting it just to move on.
Outside the restaurant, November air sharp and cold, they stood facing each other on the sidewalk.
"Can I walk you home?" Ethan asked.
"That's presumptuous."
"Can I walk in the same direction as your home while maintaining a respectful distance?"
Maya laughed despite herself. "Fine."
They walked slowly, neither wanting the night to end. Maya pointed out her apartment building as they passed, and Ethan filed the information away like it mattered. Like he was planning to come back.
At her building's entrance, they stopped. The air between them was charged, heavy with possibility and fear in equal measure.
"I leave in six weeks," Ethan said. "Thailand for six weeks after that. I can't promise you forever. I can't even promise I won't hurt you."
"I know."
"But I can promise I'll be honest. I'll be present. I'll try." He stepped closer. "Is that enough?"
Maya thought about her mother's voice. About Sienna's question. About the two years she'd spent surviving instead of living.
"I don't know," she whispered. "But I want to find out."
Ethan kissed her then soft and deep and full of questions neither of them had answers to. Maya kissed him back, two years of grief and loneliness and fear melting into something that felt dangerously like hope.
When they pulled apart, both breathless, Ethan asked, "Tomorrow? Let me take you somewhere. A surprise."
Every instinct screamed at Maya to say no. To protect herself. To run before it was too late.
"Okay," she said.
"Really?"
"Really. But Ethan?" She looked up at him. "I'm going to be difficult. I'm going to panic. I'm probably going to try to push you away."
"I know." He kissed her forehead gently. "I'm going to leave. I'm going to be scared. I'm probably going to mess this up."
"So we're doomed."
"Probably." His smile was bright as sunrise. "Want to be doomed together?"
Maya laughed, surprising herself. "That's the worst pitch I've ever heard."
"It's honest."
"Fine. Let's be doomed together."
She went inside before she could change her mind, her lips still tingling, her heart doing dangerous things in her chest. From her apartment window, she watched Ethan walk away, hands in his pockets, looking back once with a smile that made her stomach flip.
Her phone buzzed.
Tomorrow, 10am. Bring the paints I gave you. Trust me?
Maya looked at the watercolor set still in its packaging on her counter. The gift from a man who barely knew her but somehow understood exactly what she needed.
I'll try, she typed back.
That's all I'm asking.
Maya set down her phone and picked up the postcards, spreading them across her kitchen table. Iceland, Norway, Sweden, Denmark. Four countries. Four confessions. Four reasons to take a risk.
She thought about her mother. About all those paintings on her walls depicting bold choices and lived experience. About the conversation they'd had about playing it safe.
"Okay, Mom," Maya whispered to the empty apartment. "I'm trying. I'm terrified, but I'm trying."
Outside her window, the city glittered with possibility. Inside her chest, something that had been frozen for two years began, tentatively, to thaw.
Maya woke at 6 a.m. to her phone buzzing insistently. A photo from Ethan: the city at dawn, all pink and gold light, taken from what looked like a rooftop.
Couldn't sleep. Too excited. Still good for 10?
Despite her anxiety or maybe because of it Maya smiled at her phone like a teenager.
You're insufferably cheerful in the morning.
Wait until you see where we're going. Dress warm. And don't forget the paints.
Maya stared at the watercolor set she'd left on her kitchen counter. She hadn't painted really painted, not just demonstrations for clients since her mother's funeral. That last painting had been pure grief, all dark blues and blacks, and she'd destroyed it the same night.
But this morning, with Ethan's text glowing on her screen and dawn light streaming through her window, Maya felt something shift. Not happiness exactly. More like permission.
She grabbed the paint set.
Ethan arrived exactly at 10, driving a beat-up Subaru that had clearly seen better days. Maya watched from her window as he checked his reflection in the side mirror, ran his hand through his hair, then caught himself and laughed at his own nervousness.
He was nervous. About her. About this.
That helped.
"Nice car," Maya said as she climbed in. "Does it run on hope or duct tape?"
"Both. Borrowed it from Marcus my photographer friend. He swears it's reliable." Ethan pulled away from the curb, stealing glances at her. "You brought the paints."
"You told me to."
"I told you to. I didn't know if you'd actually do it." His hand found hers over the console. "Thank you. For trusting me."
"I don't trust you," Maya said, but her fingers laced through his. "I'm just curious where someone takes a near-stranger at 10 a.m. on a Sunday with art supplies."
"Near-stranger? We slept together."
"Which makes you a near-stranger I've seen naked. Different category."
Ethan's laugh was bright and genuine. "Fair point."
They drove out of the city, traffic light on a Sunday morning, indie folk playing softly on the radio. Maya watched the landscape change urban sprawl giving way to suburbs, then to less developed areas with bare trees and open fields.
"Tell me something," Ethan said. "What's the last thing you painted? Before you stopped."
Maya's chest tightened. "Why do you want to know?"
"Because I think it matters. Because I want to understand what I'm asking you to do today."
She was quiet for a long moment, debating whether to lie. But they'd promised honesty.