Max showed up again two days later.
He had that same relaxed energy about him, like he belonged anywhere and nowhere at once. This time, he brought coffee two cups, one of which he set on the counter without a word.
Ava eyed it suspiciously. "Is this a bribe?"
"No," he said, nudging it toward her. "It's a peace offering. For being annoyingly cheerful the other day."
She considered it for a beat too long before finally picking it up. It was hot, smelled like hazelnut, and annoyingly exactly how she took it.
"So, you stalked me," she said flatly.
Max grinned. "Or I got lucky. Let's go with that."
The store was quiet again. Miriam had taken the morning off, and the only other customer a teenager flipping through graphic novels had headphones in and zero interest in anything adult.
Max wandered the stacks while Ava worked, occasionally pulling out a book and skimming the back cover. He didn't talk much this time, which she appreciated more than she expected. There was something nice about the silence not heavy or awkward, just… companionable.
Eventually, he settled into the armchair near the poetry section with a battered notebook. His pen scratched softly across the page.
Ava shelved three more books before curiosity got the better of her.
"You're writing about the town?" she asked.
He looked up, surprised but pleased. "Yeah. Partly. It's a collection of essays and short pieces places I've been, people I've met. Kind of like stitching a story from all the in-betweens."
"That sounds exhausting," she said, but without judgment.
He chuckled. "It is. But it's also the only thing that's ever made sense to me."
She nodded, fingers trailing along the spine of a book as she thought. "So what made you come here?"
"Honestly?" he leaned forward, elbows on knees. "The coastline. Something about it felt like it was keeping a secret. I like places like that. And then Miriam told me about this bookstore and her new hire who 'looked like a ghost with unfinished business.'"
Ava choked on her coffee.
Max grinned. "Her words. Not mine."
"I believe it," Ava muttered, shaking her head. "She has a flair for dramatics."
"So… is it true?"
She glanced at him. There was no pressure in the question, no expectation. Just a genuine curiosity that felt oddly safe.
Ava didn't answer right away. Instead, she walked over and sat in the armchair across from his.
"I used to paint," she said quietly. "Still do, kind of. But a few years ago, something happened. I lost someone. And myself, for a while."
Max's expression softened. "I'm sorry."
She shrugged. "It's not a tragedy anymore. Just a fact."
They sat in silence for a moment. Rain tapped gently against the windows.
Max broke it with a whisper. "Sometimes I think the best stories aren't the ones we chase… they're the ones we try to bury and can't."
Ava met his eyes. "And what are you trying to bury?"
Max smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Guess you'll have to stick around and find out."