Maya woke Sunday morning to sunlight streaming through her bedroom window and the lingering sense-memory of Ethan's kiss. For a disorienting moment, she wondered if last night had been a dream the dinner, the crying, the way he'd held her while she fell apart.
Then she saw her phone on the nightstand, a text from two hours ago glowing on the screen: Pick you up at 10. Dress warm and comfortable. Bring your new paints if you want. Trust me?
Maya looked at the clock. 9:17 a.m.
She had forty-three minutes to shower, dress, and talk herself out of the panic that was already building in her chest. Last night had been intense too intense, too fast. She'd cried in front of him. She'd kissed him. She'd let him see the rawest parts of her grief.
Now, in the clear light of morning, that vulnerability felt exposing. Dangerous.
Her phone buzzed again. I can hear you overthinking from Marcus's place. It's just a day trip. No pressure. You can bail anytime.
Maya smiled despite her anxiety. How do you know I'm overthinking?
Because I've been doing it since I left your apartment. We're matched sets of neurotic.
Comforting.
I try. See you soon?
Maya looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror sleep-mussed hair, yesterday's makeup smudged under her eyes, but also something different. A brightness that had been absent for two years. She looked like someone who'd been kissed. Someone who was considering maybe, possibly, allowing herself to want something.
See you soon, she texted back.
Ethan arrived at exactly 10 a.m., driving a beat-up Subaru that had clearly seen better days. Maya watched from her window as he got out, checking his phone, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that was becoming familiar. Nervous. He was nervous too.
That helped.
She grabbed her jacket, the watercolor set (why not?), and headed downstairs before she could change her mind.
"Morning," Ethan said when she emerged. His smile was sunrise-bright, and Maya felt her anxiety ease slightly.
"Morning. Nice car."
"It's Marcus's. He calls it 'reliable.' I call it 'held together by hope and duct tape.'" Ethan opened the passenger door for her. "But it runs, and more importantly, it'll get us where we're going."
"Which is?"
"A surprise. But I promise it's good. Or at least interesting. Possibly good and interesting."
Maya climbed in, noting the child's car seat in the back, the scattered Cheerios on the floor, the general chaos of family life. It was so different from Ethan's carefully curated travel aesthetic and somehow that made it more real.
They drove out of the city, the Sunday morning traffic light, radio playing indie folk that neither of them commented on. The silence was comfortable, punctuated by occasional small talk about Marcus's family, Maya's plans for the week, nothing heavy.
But then Ethan glanced at her. "How are you feeling? About last night?"
Maya had been dreading this question. "Embarrassed. Vulnerable. Grateful you didn't run away screaming."
"Why would I run away?"
"Because I cried for twenty minutes and probably looked like a disaster?"
"You looked human." Ethan's hand reached across the console, found hers. "You looked beautiful and brave and real. Don't apologize for having feelings, Maya."
"I'm not used to people seeing them."
"I know. But I want to. If you'll let me."
Maya squeezed his hand, unable to articulate how much those words meant. Instead she asked, "Where are we going?"
"You'll see. About fifteen more minutes."
They drove through suburban sprawl that gradually gave way to less developed areas trees still clinging to their last leaves, open fields, the occasional farmhouse. Maya felt herself relaxing into the drive, into the warmth of Ethan's hand in hers, into the possibility of a day without overthinking.
Finally, Ethan turned down a gravel road marked with a simple wooden sign: Riverbend Nature Preserve.
"A nature preserve?" Maya asked.
"A nature preserve with a secret." Ethan parked in the small lot, mostly empty on a chilly November morning. "Come on. Bring your paints."
They walked down a trail marked with fading arrows, leaves crunching under their feet. The air was cold and sharp, carrying the smell of earth and water. Maya wrapped her jacket tighter, watching Ethan navigate the path with the ease of someone who'd done this before.
"You've been here," she observed.
"I came yesterday. After I left your place, I couldn't sleep, so I drove around and ended up here." He glanced back at her. "I wanted to find somewhere that felt like… I don't know. Possibility."
"And you found it in a nature preserve?"
"Wait and see."
The trail wound through bare trees and over a small wooden bridge. Then it opened up to a clearing on a riverbank, and Maya's breath caught.
The view was stunning the river wide and slow, reflecting the morning sky like glass. The opposite bank was dense with trees, their bare branches creating intricate patterns against the sky. But what made Maya stop completely was the light the way it hit the water, creating ripples of gold and silver, the way it filtered through the trees, making everything look ethereal.
"Oh," Maya breathed.
"Right?" Ethan was watching her, not the view. "I thought if you wanted to paint again, really paint, this might be a good place to start. No pressure, no expectations. Just… beauty for beauty's sake."
Maya felt tears prick her eyes again, but these were different. Not grief tears, but something else. Gratitude, maybe. Or the overwhelming feeling of being seen.
"You did this for me?"
"I wanted to show you my world a little. The way I see things." Ethan gestured to the riverbank. "I spend so much time traveling to dramatic places glaciers and mountains and ancient cities. But sometimes the most beautiful things are quiet. Close by. Easy to miss if you're not paying attention."
Maya set down her bag and pulled out the watercolor set with trembling fingers. "I don't know if I remember how."
"You remembered yesterday."
"That was different. That was"
"Emotional," Ethan finished. "Let this be emotional too. Paint what you feel, not what you see."
He pulled out his camera, giving her space, setting up his own work while she unpacked her paints and paper. The silence between them was comfortable, both artists settling into their respective processes.
Maya sat on a flat rock near the water's edge, paper balanced on a portable board Ethan had thoughtfully included in the kit. She stared at the blank page for a long time, paralyzed by possibility.
Then she dipped her brush in water, touched it to the blue paint, and began.
It was awkward at first her hand hesitant, her strokes uncertain. But gradually, muscle memory took over. The water carried the paint across the page in ways she couldn't fully control, and that was okay. She wasn't trying to capture the river exactly. She was trying to capture how it felt peaceful and moving at the same time, reflective and deep.
She lost herself in it. The cold air, the sound of water, the scratch of brush on paper. Occasionally she heard Ethan's camera shutter, but it didn't break her concentration. They existed in parallel, both creating, both present.
When Maya finally looked up, almost an hour had passed. Her hands were stained with paint, her paper covered with blues and silvers and unexpected touches of gold. It wasn't her mother's style it was something else. Looser, less controlled, more exploratory.
It was hers.
"Can I see?" Ethan asked, appearing at her shoulder.
Maya nodded, suddenly nervous.
Ethan studied the painting in silence. Then: "This is what peace looks like to you."
"I don't know if I'd call it peace exactly"
"No, look." He pointed to the way she'd painted the water. "It's moving, but it's calm. Both things at once. That's peace. Not stillness. Movement with direction."