Elmsworth was the kind of village where things didn't go unnoticed for long.
Especially not when a newcomer began spending every morning in the company of Hana.
By the second week, the villagers had stopped pretending not to see it. Old Mrs. Corwin, who sold preserves from a cart, had mentioned it casually while slicing peaches. Mira, the florist, had watched with raised brows and a knowing half-smile. Even the young schoolteacher, Anna-May, whispered with wide eyes behind her tea cup.
They all noticed the way Ethan walked a little slower when he neared Hana's shop, how his smile softened the moment he stepped inside. The quiet was becoming something more.
But not everyone watched with warm approval.
Across from Hana's shop, the town post office shared a side wall with a small courier stall, manned every morning by Jonas Wren.
Jonas had grown up in Elmsworth too. Tall, broad-shouldered, always in a crisp blue vest and leather boots a little too shiny for this village. He liked to remind people that he handled "regional mail, not just village junk." In truth, Jonas delivered parcels between Elmsworth and the city — which, in his eyes, gave him a certain edge.
He had always had a soft spot for Hana. Everyone knew. Hana knew. He made no effort to hide it.
"Still patching sleeves and brewing leaf-water, huh?" he'd often tease whenever their paths crossed.
And though his comments always wore a smile, they never quite rang kind.
On a cool Thursday morning, Ethan arrived just as Hana was setting out a small tray of herb bundles. The morning sun stretched lazily across the cobblestones, and a breeze carried the scent of rosemary and honey.
Ethan stepped inside and greeted her gently. "Brought you something," he said, setting down a roll of twine and a folded cotton cloth from the depot's lost-and-found bin.
Hana smiled. "Thank you. This thread's a good weight — soft but sturdy."
From across the road, Jonas leaned against his courier counter, watching. He chewed on the stem of a dried daisy and narrowed his eyes.
Within a few moments, he wandered over — hands in his pockets, voice already too loud for the quiet morning.
"Well, well. Morning, Hana. Morning… you," he added, eyeing Ethan with mild curiosity.
Ethan offered a polite nod. "Hey."
"Haven't seen this guy around long," Jonas said, stepping into the doorway like he owned a piece of it. "You working at the depot?"
"I am," Ethan replied calmly.
Jonas let out a sharp, short laugh. "Ah. That makes sense. They must be loosening requirements if they're hiring just anyone these days."
Hana, still arranging the herb bundles by feel, didn't flinch. "Jonas," she said softly, "I assume you didn't come over just to insult someone."
Jonas shrugged. "Just checking in. Can't help but notice the new routine around here." His tone was playful, but laced with something bitter. "Every morning, like clockwork. Must be something in the tea."
Ethan opened his mouth, jaw tightening — but Hana lifted a hand gently before he could speak.
"People are allowed to visit," she said, still calm. "Even strangers who become… less strange."
Jonas huffed. "Right. Well, some of us have work to do that doesn't involve sniffing mint and flirting over flower pots."
"Then I won't keep you," Hana said, her smile cool but firm.
Jonas hesitated, then tipped an imaginary hat toward her. "Be seeing you."
He turned and strode off, boots clacking louder than necessary on the stones.
Ethan watched him go, then glanced back at Hana. "Does he always talk like that?"
"Mostly," she said, brushing a wisp of hair behind her ear. "Jonas likes to fill silence with sound. It makes him feel important."
"He likes you."
"I know."
Ethan tilted his head. "And you?"
"I don't dislike him," she said. "We just… outgrew the same direction."
There was something in the way she said it. Not cruel, not wounded. Just finished.
Ethan stood beside her in the doorway, the wind brushing past their shoulders.
"Thank you," she said after a moment.
"For what?"
"For not jumping in."
He smiled faintly. "I wanted to."
"I know," she said again, and her smile this time was softer. "But I've learned to take care of myself. Even when it's awkward."
Across the street, Mira the florist glanced over from her cart and raised a brow. Her gaze lingered on the space between Hana and Ethan. Close — but not quite touching.
As Ethan turned to leave for work, he caught Mira watching. She didn't look away.
Instead, she nodded — once, like an understanding passed silently between them.
And Ethan walked away with something warm blooming in his chest — something unnamed, but no longer small.