Rain whispered against the cottage windows, not the kind that storms but the kind that makes the world slow down and wrap itself in a blanket.
Max stood barefoot in Ava's tiny kitchen, hair tousled, sleeves rolled up, flipping pancakes that weren't exactly round. Ava watched him from the doorway, arms crossed, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips.
"You're brave," she said. "Cooking in my kitchen. There's a ninety-percent chance something explodes."
He glanced over his shoulder. "It's pancakes, not pyrotechnics. I think we'll survive."
"I don't know. You've got batter in your hair."
Max laughed and reached for a dish towel, only to smear more flour across his cheek. Ava crossed the room, gently wiped it off with her thumb, then let her hand linger a second longer than necessary.
He caught It, kissed her palm.
"You always this charming before 9 a.m.?" she asked.
"Only when I'm making breakfast for someone I really like."
She stepped closer, her voice quieter now. "Like?"
His eyes softened. "Like. A lot."
They ate on the floor by the fire, plates balanced on their knees, wrapped in a blanket that smelled faintly of paint and cedar. No distractions. No looming past or uncertain future. Just the crackle of logs, the occasional clink of forks, and the comfortable quiet between people who no longer needed to fill the space with words.
"I never thought I'd let someone back in," Ava said after a while, tracing the rim of her mug. "Not after Jesse. Not after… everything."
Max didn't interrupt.
She looked at him. "But you feel like coming up for air."
He reached out, brushing her hair behind her ear. "You feel like the place I want to land."
The rain kept falling, steady and soft. Outside, the world was gray and still. But inside that little cottage, everything was warm.
They didn't talk about the past or the future that day. They just held onto the present. And for the first time in a long time, it was enough.