Spring arrived like a whispered promise.
The town slowly shook off its winter quiet, flower boxes filling with colour, laughter spilling out of open café doors, and the coastline humming with new life.
Ava stood in the gallery, barefoot, a smudge of turquoise paint on her wrist. The opening night was just hours away. Her latest collection The Edges of Belonging lined the walls. Every piece told a part of her story. Every brushstroke a reclamation.
And in the centre of the room was the painting she never thought she'd share the stormy seascape, the woman in the water. But now, the figure faced forward. Still in the tide, still weathered, but standing tall.
Max entered quietly behind her, a small notebook tucked under his arm.
"You okay?" he asked.
She turned, smiling. "I think so. Nervous. But ready."
He handed her the notebook. "Then maybe this will help."
Inside was the dedication page for his book.
For the girl who painted her way back to herself and showed me how to stay still long enough to fall in love.
Her throat tightened. "Max…"
He cupped her face gently. "I told my editor I'm not leaving. I want to build something here with you. Even if I still write about the world, I want this to be my home base. Our home base."
Tears welled in her eyes, but this time they came with a smile.
"You mean it?" she whispered.
"I've never meant anything more."
The crowd trickled in that evening locals and strangers, curious eyes and warm hugs. Claire poured wine, beaming with pride. And Max stayed close, not hovering, just there his presence like an anchor in a sea she had once feared would drown her.
When the last guest left and the lights dimmed, Ava turned to him, barefoot in her studio dress, laughter still dancing on her lips.
"You know," she said, pulling him close, "you never did finish that chapter about the travel writer who stayed."
He brushed his mouth against hers, tender and certain. "That's because I'm still living it."
Epilogue
Six months later, they were still in the cottage. Mornings filled with paint and coffee, evenings with shared books and tangled limbs.
Sometimes they fought softly, clumsily, like people learning how to be safe in love. And every time, they chose each other again.
The world didn't stop spinning. But for once, neither of them needed it to.
They had roots now.
And each other.
That was more than enough.