Greystone woke up slowly, as if stretching after a long, dream-filled sleep. The sun filtered in gently through the narrow lanes, brushing against shop signs and brick facades like a fond memory. Birds flitted from rooftop to rooftop, and the scent of freshly baked bread wafted from the corner bakery.
Elena stood behind the counter of her bookstore, rearranging a display of local authors. A steaming mug of mint tea sat beside her, untouched. Her mind wasn't on the books today. It was drifting, restlessly, to the moments under the stars, the lingering look in Drew's eyes, the warmth of his voice when he said her name.
Since that night, something had settled between them. It wasn't a declaration. It wasn't a promise. It was something more fragile—possibility.
The door chimed.
Elena looked up, and her breath caught in her throat. It wasn't Drew. It was her sister, Lila.
"El," Lila said, pulling off her sunglasses and leaning over the counter, "you have got to stop avoiding Sunday brunch. I'm starting to take it personally."
Elena smiled faintly. "I haven't been avoiding it. Just... busy."
"With what?" Lila glanced around. "Dusting?"
"Living," Elena replied, returning to her stack of books.
Lila sighed, brushing a strand of red hair from her face. "Living alone in this bookstore isn't the same as living."
"I'm not alone."
Lila tilted her head. "Ah. This wouldn't have anything to do with the handsome photographer who walked you home the other night, would it?"
Elena froze, then narrowed her eyes. "You were spying?"
"Small town," Lila said with a shrug. "We notice things. And he's cute. You have to admit it."
"I don't have to do anything," Elena muttered.
But her cheeks were betraying her. Lila noticed.
"Well, whoever he is, I hope he's not like... you know."
Elena met her sister's eyes. They didn't say the name. They never did.
"I don't think he is," she said quietly.
Lila softened. "Good. Just... be careful, okay?"
Elena nodded, her gaze drifting again. She hated how old scars still itched.
After Lila left, the day continued like a whisper. Customers trickled in, conversations were brief, and outside, the sun moved across the sky in its usual rhythm. But Elena was restless.
By late afternoon, she locked up the shop and wandered to the park near the edge of town. It was quiet, save for the rustle of leaves and the distant laughter of children.
She sat on a bench near the pond, notebook in hand. It was old—worn at the edges, filled with half-written poems, grocery lists, and unsent letters.
She turned to a fresh page and began writing.
_"Dear You,
I don't know what this is yet. I don't know if it's just a friendship growing into something tender, or something deeper that will bloom when the time is right. But I know I feel different when I'm near you. Lighter. Like the version of myself I thought I'd lost.
I'm scared. Of opening doors. Of letting someone walk in without knowing if they'll stay. But I want to try. For the first time in a long time, I want to try."_
She stopped. The words felt too raw.
She didn't sign the letter. She never did. She just folded it and tucked it into the back of the notebook with the others.
"Secret admirer?"
Elena jumped, her heart leaping into her throat. Drew stood behind her, holding two ice cream cones.
"I swear I wasn't spying," he said, grinning. "I was just walking through and spotted a familiar silhouette."
"You scared me," she said, pressing a hand to her chest.
"I come in peace." He offered her a cone. "Vanilla. No idea if that's your favorite, but it felt safe."
She took it. "Safe is good."
He sat beside her, licking his cone thoughtfully. "So... what's in the notebook?"
"Nothing you get to read," she said with a smile.
He held up his hands. "Fair enough."
They ate in companionable silence. The breeze was cool now, ruffling Drew's hair and tugging at the hem of Elena's skirt. The water in the pond shimmered gold.
Drew spoke first. "I've been thinking a lot since that night."
Elena turned to him.
"I came here to escape something," he admitted. "But I didn't realize I was also looking for something."
"And have you found it?"
"Not all of it. But I found you."
The words hung between them, delicate and vulnerable.
She didn't know what to say.
"I'm not asking for anything," he said quickly. "I just... I want to know who you are. The parts you hide. The parts you think no one will understand."
She looked at him for a long moment. Then she whispered, "I've been writing letters to people who will never read them."
He nodded slowly. "Why?"
"To say the things I never got to say."
He reached over and gently touched her hand. "You can tell me. If you ever want to."
They sat that way for a while, hand in hand, the pond reflecting the sky above. And in that quiet moment, something shifted again.
Elena didn't know what the future held. But she knew she wasn't running anymore. And maybe, just maybe, love wasn't something to fear—but something to unfold, one page at a time.