The days that followed slipped by softly, like pages turning in a quiet room. Willow Bay settled back into its gentle rhythm—morning markets, the smell of sea salt in the air, and the familiar drizzle that always seemed to return without warning.
Amelia found herself walking toward the old library more often than she meant to.
Sometimes she brought flowers.
Sometimes she brought tea.
Sometimes, she brought nothing at all—just a quiet curiosity she couldn't quite explain.
Today, she carried a small tray with two paper cups of coffee, their warmth seeping through her fingers. She wasn't even sure why she had bought two.
Maybe she did.
When she reached the courtyard, Ethan was already there. He stood near the newly planted garden beds, leaning over a wooden trellis he was sanding. The early light caught in his hair, turning the edges gold.
He looked up the moment he heard her steps.
> "You're early today," Ethan said, wiping dust from his palms.
Amelia lifted the tray slightly. "I brought coffee. I wasn't sure how you take it, so I guessed."
> "You guessed correctly," he said with a soft smile, taking one cup. "Thank you."
She nodded, trying not to let the fluttering in her chest become too obvious.
They sat on the stone steps of the courtyard, sipping their drinks in comfortable silence. Birds chirped in the distance, and the smell of damp earth surrounded them.
> "You come here often," Ethan said finally, his tone not accusing—just observing.
Amelia traced her finger along the edge of her cup. "I like seeing things grow. I guess it makes me feel like… not everything dies."
He turned to her then, his expression soft but serious. "Is that what you believe? That things die more than they live?"
She swallowed. "I used to believe differently."
Ethan didn't push. He didn't ask.
He just nodded, as if understanding the parts of her she hadn't spoken.
A breeze drifted through the courtyard, ruffling her hair. She reached up to tuck a loose strand behind her ear, but Ethan moved at the same time—his fingers brushing hers as he gently helped.
For a moment, everything went still.
Their eyes met.
Gray meeting soft brown.
Warmth meeting fear.
Hope meeting hesitation.
Amelia's breath caught, but she didn't pull away.
Ethan lowered his hand slowly, his voice almost a whisper.
> "You don't have to run anymore, Amelia."
Her heart reacted faster than her thoughts.
"I'm not running," she said quietly. "I just don't know where I'm going yet."
He gave a small smile. "Wherever it is, you don't have to go alone."
The words lingered in the air long after he said them.
Just then, the clouds shifted, and a few drops of rain began to fall—soft, teasing, familiar. Ethan lifted his face toward the sky.
> "Looks like Willow Bay missed its favorite weather."
Amelia laughed, light and unrestrained—maybe for the first time in months.
> "Then we should get inside before it gets worse," she said.
Ethan stood and offered her his hand.
She hesitated only a moment… before taking it.
And as they walked toward the library doors, fingers slowly intertwining, Amelia realized something she wasn't ready to say aloud:
The rain didn't feel cold anymore.