The morning after Driftwood Cove, the town felt different softer, like it was holding a secret just for them. Ava woke up with a smile still tugging at her lips, salt in her hair, and Max's jacket still draped over the back of her studio chair.
She should have been painting. Instead, she sat at the window with a cup of coffee and the echo of his kiss on her mind.
Meanwhile, Max sat at the corner table in the café, laptop open but untouched. The blinking cursor on his blank page mocked him. He was supposed to be writing a chapter about the town's charm its coastal traditions, its quirky characters but all he could think about was her.
And the deadline he'd been avoiding.
And the fact that when he wrote about Ava, it didn't feel like reporting anymore it felt like confession.
He started typing.
"She paints like she's bleeding colour. Every brushstroke is a story she's not ready to speak aloud, but somehow, I hear her anyway. I think she's teaching me that home isn't a place. It's a person."
Max stopped, heart pounding.
He stared at the words. Then he hit save draft, not submit.
That afternoon, Ava began a new painting. Not of the sea, not of the town but of a silhouette in warm light. A man with laughter in his eyes and something heavier behind it. The piece came in waves: loose lines, bursts of colour, raw and instinctual. Her heart painted it before her hands caught up.
She didn't sign her name when she finished. Not yet.
That evening, they met for dinner. The air was easy between them, laced with the unspoken.
"You've been quiet," Max said, reaching across the table to brush his thumb against hers. "What's on your mind?"
"I started something new today," she replied. "A painting."
"Can I see it?"
"Not yet," she said gently. "It's still figuring itself out."
They both fell silent.
Max toyed with his fork. "There's something I've been working on too. A piece… about this place. About you."
Ava's gaze lifted. "Did you send it in?"
"I… don't know if I will."
"Why?"
"Because once I do, it'll be out there. Real. And I don't know what that means for us. I don't want to write an ending before we've had a beginning."
Ava reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his. "Then don't. Let's not rush to name this. Let's just… keep painting it. Together."
A breath of relief passed between them, a silent agreement that whatever they were becoming it didn't need to be defined yet. Just felt.