By midafternoon, the clouds had cleared, leaving the kind of autumn sunlight that made everything look sharper — the gold of the leaves, the shimmer of water on the bay, the white paint on the café's porch railings.
Hannah walked up the hill toward the coffee shop, half expecting she'd see Emma there. She didn't know why she came — habit, maybe. Or something deeper.
When she reached the corner, Emma was already outside, sitting on the bench by the window with two cups in hand.
"Figured you might wander by," Emma said, grinning as she handed her one.
Hannah took the cup, their fingers brushing. "Guess you figured right."
They sat together, the kind of quiet that didn't need to be filled. The street was calm, the sound of waves carrying faintly in the distance.
After a moment, Emma leaned back, watching the leaves swirl down the street. "You know, I used to hate Sundays," she said. "They always felt… lonely. Like the whole town was holding its breath before the week started again."
Hannah tilted her head, studying her. "And now?"
Emma smiled softly. "Now it just feels like today."
Hannah's chest warmed. The simplicity of it — the honesty — made something in her ease.
They spent the next hour walking through town, past the bookstore and the old church, then down toward the pier. The world seemed slower there, quieter.
When a breeze came off the water, Hannah shivered slightly, and Emma wordlessly slipped her arm around her shoulders.
No one said anything, and they didn't need to. The closeness was its own language — steady, grounding.
For the first time in a long while, Hannah didn't think about who might see or what tomorrow might bring.
She just leaned in, breathing in the salt air, and let herself belong to the moment.