The town was still half-asleep when Hannah woke.
Soft light stretched across her room, touching the edges of the books on her nightstand, the cup she'd forgotten to wash, the small vase of wildflowers Emma had picked the day before.
It smelled faintly of sea air through the open window — a reminder of yesterday's drive, the wind, the cliffs, the laughter that came too easily.
She made coffee slowly, savoring the quiet. It wasn't loneliness anymore; it was something gentler. Space that didn't ache.
When her phone buzzed, the screen lit with Emma's name.
Emma: Morning. Are you still thinking about the ocean?
Hannah: Maybe. You?
Emma: Definitely. It feels like we brought a piece of it back with us.
Hannah smiled, leaning against the counter. She could almost hear Emma's voice through the words — bright, steady, a little teasing.
Emma: I keep replaying yesterday in my head. It felt… easy. Like we stopped pretending everything has to be complicated.
Hannah typed slowly, fingers hovering before she hit send.
Hannah: Maybe because, for once, it isn't.
For a moment, she just stood there, watching the steam rise from her mug. Outside, church bells rang faintly through the damp air, echoing across the quiet streets.
She looked toward the window — the town waking, clouds drifting apart — and thought of Emma's hand brushing hers as they'd walked along the bluff.
Something about it still warmed her chest, steady and sure.
She didn't know where it would lead, and for once, she didn't need to.
All she knew was that it felt like the start of something she could trust.