Clara was painting again.
Not sketching. Not dabbling.
Painting.
The sun had barely risen when she slipped into the studio, inspired by the weight of Eli’s kiss still lingering on her lips and the safety of his arms that had held her like a secret worth keeping.
The canvas bloomed with color—blues deep as midnight, soft amber like sunrise over the cliff’s edge. Her brush moved with purpose, her fingers alive with muscle memory and something more: desire, longing, hope. All the things she thought she'd buried in the cold white walls of a New York gallery.
She was still painting when Eli arrived with coffee and a smile.
“You didn’t sleep, did you?” he asked, watching the golden light catch in her hair as she wiped paint from her cheek.
“Barely,” she admitted. “I couldn’t stop.”
“I’ve missed this version of you.”
She looked over her shoulder. “What version?”
“The one that doesn’t hold back.”
He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing the back of her neck. “I could get used to waking up like this.”
Clara leaned into him. “Me too.”
And just as she closed her eyes, ready to sink into the morning, she heard a car engine outside.
She pulled back slightly. “Are you expecting someone?”
Eli shook his head. “No. You?”
Clara frowned. “No.”
A moment later, gravel crunched under dress shoes, and a voice echoed across the studio porch.
“Clara?”
Her stomach sank.
She knew that voice.
She turned toward the open door—and there he was. Lucas Bennett. Tall, impeccably dressed in slate-gray slacks and a cashmere coat, with that Manhattan edge that always seemed a little too polished for her hometown. His sharp eyes scanned the room until they landed on her—and softened.
“Clara. God, it really is you.”
She stood frozen, brush still in hand, heart hammering.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, voice colder than she intended.
“I came to bring you back,” he said, stepping forward. “You left without a word.”
Eli straightened beside her, suddenly alert. “You’re who, exactly?”
Lucas barely glanced at him. “Her fiancé.”
The word detonated in the air like a lit match dropped in gasoline.
Clara stepped back. “Ex-fiancé.”
Lucas scoffed. “That’s not what the papers say. You disappeared in the middle of the night, Clara. You missed the gallery debut. You ghosted everyone. I was worried—hell, I still am.”
Eli’s jaw tensed, but he stayed quiet, letting Clara speak.
She crossed her arms, grounding herself. “I needed space. And I needed to remember who I was without all the noise.”
“You could’ve done that with me,” Lucas said, voice laced with frustration. “I supported your work. I stood by you.”
“You stood by the image of me,” Clara said. “Not me. Not the girl who paints barefoot. Not the one who hates champagne fundraisers and twenty-minute elevator pitches.”
Lucas looked at her, like he was seeing her for the first time in years. “So this is about some hometown fantasy? Him?”
She felt Eli shift behind her, calm but unreadable.
“This is about coming back to who I was before I started measuring my worth in reviews and museum contracts.”
Lucas’s expression darkened. “You think hiding out in a beach town is going to fix you?”
“No,” she said. “But it’s where I started to breathe again.”
Lucas glanced at Eli, then back to her. “So that’s it? We’re done because you want to play house with a single dad and a paintbrush?”
“Lucas,” Clara said gently, “we were done long before I left. We just didn’t say it out loud.”
He stepped back like she’d slapped him. “If you walk away now, you don’t get to come back.”
“I’m not coming back.”
Silence stretched. Then Lucas turned on his heel and walked out, his cologne lingering like an afterthought she couldn’t quite scrub from the air.
When the car pulled away, Clara let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
Eli stood beside her quietly, giving her space.
“You okay?” he finally asked.
Clara turned to him. “No. But I’m free.”
He nodded. “He didn’t take it well.”
“He wouldn’t,” she said. “Lucas never liked not being in control.”
Eli hesitated, then touched her arm. “Was he good to you?”
Clara didn’t answer right away. “He was careful. Polite. Always knew the right words. But no… he never really saw me. Not like you did. Not like you do.”
Eli's eyes searched hers. “You don’t owe me anything, Clara. I don’t need to win some competition for your heart.”
“You already have,” she said softly.
And then she kissed him—not with hesitation, but with certainty. The kiss held the weight of everything she’d just let go of. It tasted like relief and rediscovery, like she’d finally chosen something with her whole heart.
When they pulled apart, Eli traced her cheek with his thumb. “You’re really staying?”
Clara nodded. “For now. For good. For whatever this becomes.”
Sophie’s voice rang from outside a moment later, singing something about seashells and pirate ships. Clara smiled.
“You want to meet her at the beach?” Eli asked.
“I do.”
They stepped outside, hand in hand, the sea glittering under morning light. It wasn’t perfect—life never was—but it was real. And for the first time in years, Clara felt like she belonged.
Not to a gallery.
Not to a city skyline.
But to this.
To home.
To him.
Clara tried to shake off the conversation with Lucas as she walked with Eli and Sophie down the beach. The sun was now fully risen, casting a warm glow over the water, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she could breathe freely. Sophie skipped ahead, collecting seashells, her laughter ringing in the morning air.
But even as Clara tried to focus on the moment, the weight of her career tugged at her, uninvited.
She had left it all behind when she left New York. The gallery. The deals. The prestige that had always been so tempting and so suffocating. But now, with Lucas’s words still echoing in her ears, she couldn’t help but feel the call of her old life, pulling her back. She’d never been one to settle for mediocrity—and this beach town, wonderful as it was, felt too smallsometimes.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She hesitated before pulling it out, glancing at the screen. It was an email. From Mason Harrington, the gallery director from New York.
Her pulse quickened.
She opened the message, the familiar words instantly jumping out at her:
"Clara, I trust this finds you well. I wanted to reach out personally to extend an invitation to exhibit your latest work at Harrington Galleries. We’ve seen your pieces online, and the response has been overwhelming. We’re offering you a prestigious solo show in the fall, and we would love to discuss the details. Let me know when we can set up a time to talk."
Clara felt her stomach drop, her heart beating faster. The email was both an opportunity and a reminder of everything she’d been running from.
“You okay?” Eli’s voice pulled her back to reality.
She stared at the screen for a moment longer, then tucked the phone away. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“I just… got a message from my old gallery.”
Eli’s brow furrowed. “What did they say?”
“They want me back. They want me to exhibit again. They’ve been following my work here—saw the paintings online. They’re offering a solo show in the fall.”
A long silence passed between them. Sophie had already wandered further down the beach, picking up a shell, her small figure a bright splash of color against the sand.
“I guess that’s a big deal, right?” Eli said carefully, his tone unreadable.
Clara nodded, trying to mask the conflict inside her. “It is. It’s everything I used to dream of.”
He turned to her, his eyes soft yet serious. “So why do you look like you just found out you’re being sent to prison?”
She smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Because that show… it means leaving here. It means leaving everything I’ve built here—the life I’ve started, the art I’m making now. The space I’ve carved out for myself.”
“And us,” Eli added quietly.
Clara swallowed, turning away to watch Sophie chase after a seagull. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore. I feel torn in two.”
Eli stepped closer, his voice low but strong. “I can’t tell you what to do. But I can tell you that I’ve watched you paint here, Clara. I’ve seen the way you come alive in this place. I’ve seen the kind of art you’re making, the kind that matters.You found something here that you were losing in New York.”
Her chest tightened as she looked back at him. “I know. But there’s a part of me that feels like I’m wasting it, like I’m walking away from my one shot at the life I always wanted.”
Eli’s expression softened, and he reached for her hand. “I’m not asking you to choose, Clara. But don’t let anyone—including yourself—make you feel like you have to choose between this and your passion. What’s more important to you? The art? Or the life you’ve built here? Or… is it both?”
The weight of his words sank in. She hadn’t realized it until that moment, but the question wasn’t just about her career anymore. It was about balance. The life she had here, the future with him, Sophie… and the dream she had chased for years in the art world. Could she reconcile both?
“I don’t know what I want, Eli,” she whispered.
His thumb brushed over her knuckles. “Then take your time. You’ve got the space to figure it out now.”
She smiled up at him, grateful for his understanding. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to drag you into this mess.”
Eli chuckled softly. “You don’t have to apologize. You’re not the only one with big decisions to make.”
Clara’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”
Eli hesitated for a moment, as though weighing whether to say more. Finally, he let out a slow breath. “I’ve been thinking about things, too. About my life here, my job… and what it all means. What it could mean, if things were different.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”
He sighed. “I’ve been offered a new position with my company—a higher role, more responsibility. It means moving back to the city. But it also means leaving here. Leaving this place and the quiet I’ve found with Sophie.”
Clara’s breath caught in her throat. “And what are you going to do?”
He gave a small, rueful smile. “I don’t know yet. I’m just as torn as you are. I’ve been offered this career opportunity, but I have to decide if it’s worth everything I’ve found here. If it’s worth leaving behind the life I’ve built with Sophie.”
Clara was silent for a long moment, the weight of his words settling between them.
“So we’re both at a crossroads,” she said softly, more to herself than to him.
“Yeah. It seems that way,” Eli replied.
Clara let the silence stretch between them, the vast ocean before them mirroring the churning turmoil inside her. She hadn’t realized it before, but both of them were standing at the edge of change—each of them holding something they had to let go of in order to step forward into something unknown. They weren’t just deciding between careers; they were deciding what they were willing to risk for each other.
“Maybe the best way to make a decision,” Clara said quietly, “is to stop running from what we really want.”
Eli looked at her, his expression softening. “Maybe.”
She squeezed his hand. “Thank you. For being patient with me.”
“You don’t have to thank me for that. I’m not going anywhere, Clara.”
And though they both still had so much to figure out, for the first time in a long while, Clara felt like she wasn’t walking through life alone. She had choices now—hard ones, yes—but they were hers to make.
As the waves crashed against the shore, she didn’t feel the fear she once had when faced with difficult decisions. Instead, she felt something more: a quiet strength, the kind that comes from knowing you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, even if you don’t know where you’re headed.