By the time Hannah locked the café door, the rain had slowed to a mist. The streets were glossy with reflected light — every puddle holding a fragment of the town's glow.
Emma waited while Hannah flipped the sign to Closed, her hands tucked in the pockets of her jacket. "You don't have to walk me home," she said softly.
"I know," Hannah replied, slipping her keys into her bag. "But I want to."
They didn't talk much on the walk back. The world around them was hushed, the kind of quiet that felt almost protective. When they reached Hannah's porch, Emma hesitated — not out of uncertainty, but as if she didn't want the evening to end.
"Come in," Hannah said, unlocking the door before Emma could decide otherwise.
Inside, the air was warm, carrying the faint scent of cinnamon and coffee grounds. Hannah set her bag down and flicked on the small lamp by the couch. "You look like you need something hot that isn't caffeine."
Emma laughed quietly. "Is that your way of offering tea?"
"Always."
As the kettle began to hum, Emma wandered the small living room, looking at the sketch from the mural propped against the wall. "You still haven't hung it."
"I like seeing it there," Hannah said. "Feels like it's still becoming something."
Emma turned, smiling. "Like us, then."
Hannah met her eyes — that steady, soft look that said more than either of them ever managed to put into words. She brought over two mugs, setting them on the coffee table before sitting down beside her.
For a while, they just sat there — close, quiet, the sound of the rain returning against the windows.
Emma finally said, "You make it too easy to stay."
Hannah's voice was almost a whisper. "Then stay."
No more words followed. Just the soft clink of mugs, the rhythm of the rain, and the quiet understanding that this — this closeness, this calm — was something worth holding onto.