The first rumble of thunder came low and distant, like a warning wrapped in the hush of a sleepy afternoon. Ava glanced out the window, watching dark clouds tumble across the horizon, rolling in heavy from the sea. The wind was already picking up, brushing the treetops in waves.
Max had gone into town for groceries "just the basics," he'd said but an hour had passed since. Ava felt a flicker of unease, not fear exactly, just that quiet tension that slips into the room before a storm does.
When his headlights finally cut through the mist and curved into her driveway, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. He stepped out of the car with his jacket over his head, a paper bag tucked against his chest.
"You're out of tea," he called over the wind. "A crisis I couldn't ignore."
Ava opened the door and pulled him inside, water trailing from his coat to the floor. "You're soaked."
"And heroic," he added, grinning as he kicked off his boots.
"Tea can wait. Towel first."
He followed her into the bathroom where she handed him a worn blue towel and turned away just as he peeled off his wet shirt. The sight of him, rain-slicked and warm against the storm's chill, sent a quiet ripple through her chest.
They ended up on the couch with steaming mugs, the wind howling just outside the walls. The power blinked once, twice, then went out entirely. Silence settled over the cottage deep, thick, broken only by the fire crackling in the hearth.
"Well," Max said, glancing around, "guess we're going full pioneer."
Ava smiled and pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. "You going to chop wood and recite poetry next?"
"Only if you paint my tragic demise in a storm."
"Deal."
A long pause stretched between them not uncomfortable, but full of something unspoken. Outside, the storm clawed at the world, but inside, the quiet was almost sacred.
"I talked to my editor this morning," Max said eventually.
Ava's gaze flicked to him. "Yeah?"
"She wants the book early. She says the town angle is gold. The romantic tension, the intimacy of small-town life it's exactly what readers want right now."
Ava's smile faltered. "And you?"
Max set his mug down. "I haven't told her anything about us. Not directly. But… the way I've been writing… it's you. In every sentence. And I think she knows it."
Ava stared into the fire. "So what happens when the book's done?"
"I don't know." He looked at her, his voice low. "That's what scares me."
The flames danced in her eyes as she whispered, "You're not the only one."
Max reached for her hand. "I came here thinking this would be a stop on the way to somewhere else. But now… I wake up in your bed and forget what I thought I wanted."
She swallowed hard, emotion rising behind her ribs. "I used to think I was safest alone. That if I didn't let anyone in, no one could leave. But then you came along, and suddenly, I'm painting in colour again. I'm remembering how to breathe."
The wind howled louder, rattling the windows, as if the storm was trying to claw its way inside.
Max moved closer, his forehead resting against hers. "What if we don't figure it all out tonight? What if we just… stay here, in this?"
Ava's voice trembled. "What if I fall for you completely and you leave anyway?"
"Then I'd miss the hell out of you for the rest of my life."
She laughed, a soft, tear-laced sound. "You really are a writer."
He cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb across her skin. "And you're the chapter I don't want to end."
Lightning flashed, illuminating the room in a sudden, breath-taking glow. In the silence that followed, their lips met slow, deliberate, full of everything they hadn't said aloud. It was a kiss that didn't ask for promises, only presence. A kiss that said I'm here, even if the world outside was falling apart.
They stayed like that for a long time wrapped in each other, in warmth, in quiet. While the storm raged, they didn't speak. They didn't need to. The silence said everything.
And when the winds finally stilled and the power crept back to life with a gentle hum, neither of them moved.
Because sometimes, the most powerful moments weren't found in grand declarations or flawless timing but in the stillness between storms, when two people chose to stay anyway.
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