The drizzle softened as Amelia and Ethan walked through the quiet streets of Willow Bay, their fingers still intertwined.
Amelia didn't say much—she didn't need to.
The warmth of Ethan's hand in hers was enough to steady her heartbeat and quiet the familiar fears tugging at her edges.
Every few steps, Ethan glanced at her—not to check on her, not to analyze her—but simply because he wanted to.
"Your hand's cold," he murmured softly.
Amelia blinked up at him.
"I… I'm okay."
Ethan shook his head gently.
> "I didn't say you weren't. I just want to warm it a little."
He didn't squeeze her hand.
He just held it more securely, letting his thumb brush her knuckles in light, careful strokes.
Amelia's breath trembled.
It was such a small gesture—
but her heart felt full in a way she didn't understand yet.
They walked until they reached the small hill behind the flower shop. It overlooked Willow Bay's coastline, the waves soft under the late afternoon drizzle.
Ethan slowed to a stop.
"Do you come here often?" he asked quietly.
Amelia nodded.
"When I can't think clearly."
"And today?" Ethan's voice dipped. "Are you thinking too much?"
"A little," she admitted.
Ethan didn't push.
He only turned his body slightly toward her, giving her his presence but not demanding her attention.
After a moment, Amelia spoke again.
"Sometimes I wonder… what you see when you look at me."
Ethan's breath hitched, just a little.
"I see someone strong," he said softly. "Even when you don't feel it."
Amelia lowered her eyes.
"You always say things like that."
"Because they're true," he murmured.
She bit her lip, hesitating.
"Sometimes… I'm scared you see too much."
Ethan shook his head gently.
> "I only see what you choose to show me. And every part you've shared has been… beautiful."
Her heart fluttered wildly.
"Beautiful?" she whispered.
He nodded slowly.
> "In the quietest ways."
The rain eased to a mist around them, turning the world silver and soft.
Amelia took a slow breath and turned to face him fully.
"Ethan… can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"Why are you so patient with me?"
Ethan blinked, stunned that she even needed to ask.
> "Because you deserve patience," he said.
"You deserve someone who goes at your pace. Someone who sees your heart before your fears."
Amelia swallowed hard.
"Isn't that difficult?"
"Not when it's you."
Silence fell between them—warm, trembling, full of something unspoken.
Amelia looked down at their joined hands, the way his thumb still brushed her knuckles gently.
"Ethan…" she breathed.
He hummed softly, waiting.
"I don't know how to fall for someone."
He stepped closer—not touching her, not crowding her—just letting her feel his warmth.
"That's okay," he whispered.
> "You don't have to fall. You can just… step. As slowly as you need."
Her chest tightened painfully, beautifully.
"And what if I step toward you?" she whispered.
Ethan's breath caught—
a quiet, barely audible sound of hope breaking through restraint.
"Then I'll be right here," he said, voice trembling softly.
> "Waiting to meet you."
Amelia exhaled shakily.
She lifted her hand—the one not holding his—
and gently touched the front of his jacket, her fingers curling softly into the fabric.
Ethan froze.
Not in fear.
In awe.
"This is a step," she said softly.
He looked at her like she was the most precious thing he had ever seen.
"It is," he whispered.
> "A beautiful one."
The drizzle misted around them, soft and quiet, wrapping the world in silver.
And there, on the small hill above Willow Bay,
Amelia Hart took her bravest step yet—
not with certainty,
not with fearlessness,
but with quiet, trembling courage.
And Ethan met her exactly where she landed.