The next morning, the sky broke open with sun rare for the coast, rare enough that the whole town seemed to hold its breath.
Ava woke late, sunlight spilling across her bedroom floor. Her hands still smelled faintly of oil paint, and her mind flickered back to the look on Max's face in the studio the day before.
Like he'd seen her.
Really seen her.
She wasn't sure if that made her feel safer or more exposed.
She didn't expect to find him waiting outside the bookstore.
Max leaned against the railing, coffee in one hand, the other tucked into his coat pocket. He looked up as she approached and gave her a lopsided grin.
"I brought cinnamon rolls," he said. "Bribery, again. I'm nothing if not consistent."
"You're something," she said under her breath, unlocking the door.
He followed her inside, and for a while, it was just the two of them, sitting cross-legged on the floor with coffee and sugar and easy silence between them.
"Tell me something you don't usually tell people," Max said suddenly.
Ava glanced at him, wary. "Why?"
"Because I want to know you. The real you. Not the curated version."
She hesitated, then said quietly, "I used to paint with my fingers. When I was little. Even when I got older, I kept doing it. It felt… more honest. Like I could feel what I was making."
He smiled, warm and sincere. "That's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard."
Ava looked away. "What about you?"
Max was quiet for a beat too long.
"I don't stay anywhere," he finally said. "Not really. I tell myself I'm chasing stories. Truth is, I don't know what it means to stay. I don't know if I'm built for it."
The words hung between them like fog.
Ava's heart tightened. "Then why are you here?"
Max met her gaze. "Because for the first time, I want to be."
That should've comforted her.
Instead, it terrified her.
That afternoon, as Ava was closing up, her phone buzzed.
A name she hadn't seen in months flashed across the screen: Marianne.
Her sister.
She hesitated, then picked up.
"Ava," Marianne said, voice already tight. "We need to talk. Mom's back in town. And she's asking about you."
Ava's breath caught.
"I don't want to get involved," she said quickly. "Not again."
"You don't have a choice. She's already asking around. It's going to stir things up."
As if things weren't already shifting fast enough.
She hung up before Marianne could say more.
Outside, Max stood across the street, watching her with quiet worry in his eyes. She didn't wave. Didn't smile.
Instead, she turned and locked the door.
That night, Ava couldn't sleep. The studio sat dark and silent, her brushes untouched.
She didn't know if Max would still want to stay when he saw the parts of her she hadn't painted yet the broken pieces, old wounds, the fault lines no one could quite see until it was too late.
And she didn't know if she was brave enough to let him try.