The snow had melted into slush along the sidewalks, pushed to the edges like leftover memories. The sky was pale, the wind still sharp, but the town was starting to breathe again after the last storm.
Ivory was out on foot, her camera hanging from her neck, a thermos of chai in one hand and her usual confidence in the other. She wore a short yellow dress layered under a wool-lined leather jacket and thick gray tights tucked into her scuffed winter boots. Locals gave her amused glances—like they always did when she dressed like she was daring the weather to do something about it.
She was halfway across the harbor path when she spotted him.
Not right away—just a blur of black clothing and tousled hair near the edge of the frozen water. He stood alone, hands in his coat pockets, head tilted as he stared at the fishing boats still tied to the dock.
Jake.
She stopped walking.
He hadn't seen her yet. His beanie a little low with glasses on, the wind brushing through his hair, a few strands dancing across his forehead. He looked... softer in daylight. Less like a mystery and more like a question. He stood there, a cigarette between his fingers, the tip glowing like a distant lighthouse signal.
Ivory didn't flinch. Didn't judge. Something about the way he exhaled—slow, deliberate, like he needed the silence more than the smoke—held her in place.
What the hell was he doing here, again?
She waited, wondering if she should call out. But something about him—the way he was taking in the harbor like he'd never seen one before—made her pause.
She waited, uncertain if she should call out. But there was something in the way he watched the sea—like he wasn't just seeing it but remembering it—that made her pause.
So she lifted her camera.
Click.
He turned.
Right as she took the second shot.
Their eyes met across the short distance, his brows lifting slightly. She expected him to look annoyed, maybe duck his head or flash that polite, practiced smile she'd seen before.
Instead, he smiled—genuine, crooked, easy.
"I knew you were trouble," he called out, walking toward her. His voice was a little hoarse, like he hadn't used it in hours. "Sneaking up on me with a camera like that."
She grinned. "Guilty. You looked... poetic. I couldn't resist."
He stopped a few feet away. "Poetic? That's a new one."
"I call it like I see it."
Jake looked her over then—really looked—and Ivory could tell he noticed the dress. His gaze dipped to her boots, then back up, amused.
"Not cold?" he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"Freezing," she replied brightly. "But fashion over frostbite, right?"
He laughed. Not forced. Not quiet. A real laugh that crinkled his eyes a little and pulled at her chest in a way she wasn't ready to admit.
"You're not like anyone I've met here," he said, eyes lingering for just a beat too long.
"That's because I'm partially not part here," she said, sipping her chai. "Born in Seoul. Came back when I got sick of skyscrapers and boardrooms."
"You're a contradiction," he said softly.
Ivory tilted her head. "So are you."
He didn't answer that. Just smiled again and looked out at the boats.
After a moment, she spoke again. "Do you want to see the town properly? I mean, with someone who actually knows the good coffee spots and which trails don't end in a moose encounter?"
Jake's eyes flicked back to hers, and for a second, the guarded look returned.
But then he nodded. His mind backflipping.
"Yeah," he said. "I'd like that."
Ivory led him down winding streets with the ease of someone who belonged—not just to the town, but to the silence between words.
Jake followed, hands buried deep in his coat pockets, taking in every mural-painted wall, every flicker of wind-blown banner, and the occasional shop cat watching them pass like a lazy god.
"You always walk this fast?" he asked when she rounded a corner without warning.
"I don't walk fast. You walk slow," she shot over her shoulder.
He smiled, jogging a few steps to catch up.
They stopped at a small bakery with steamed-up windows, where she bought him a paper cup of honey bread tea that made his fingers warm and his chest... warmer. They talked about nothing important. She teased him about his boots being too clean. He asked if she always dressed like a sunshine-colored rebel. She said yes. He believed her.
But the moment that changed everything came later.
"Come on," she said after they finished their tea. "I wanna show you something."
It was getting darker now—just enough to make the town feel like a secret.
They turned into an alley he hadn't noticed before, narrow and cobbled with time-worn stone. The air smelled faintly of citrus and cloves. Golden lights were strung overhead in lazy drapes, casting soft shadows that danced as they walked beneath them.
At the very end, tucked behind a curved brick archway, was a cafe. Not the trendy kind with industrial lights and cold counters. This one looked like a hug in building form.
A chalkboard sign outside read:
"No WiFi. Just wine, warmth, and maybe magic."
He paused. "This is..."
"My favorite place in town," she finished for him, stepping inside like it was second nature.
It was magic. The kind of place with mismatched chairs, books stacked in corners, jazz floating from some hidden speaker. People spoke in soft tones, the air thick with candlelight and red wine.
She waved at the barista like they were old friends. They probably were.
"I have my wine distributed here," she said casually, pointing to the wooden shelf behind the counter where bottles stood proudly in a soft glow. "Small-batch. Family recipe. We grow and bottle it just outside Akureyri."
Jake's eyes moved to the label. His breath caught.
He recognized it.
Not just vaguely—he'd had that wine before. On tour in Spain. It was backstage after a show, when the staff brought in a selection of local wines, and this one had been the sweetest. It lingered on his tongue for days. He'd even asked the crew to find the name again but they couldn't—it had sold out fast.
He remembered the taste. Peach blossom, honeyed citrus, a little crisp at the end like a song's final note.
"You ever try it?" she asked, pulling one bottle from the shelf.
Jake gave a faint shrug. "Maybe. Looks familiar."
Ivory raised a brow. "I won't hold it against you if you haven't. But if you have... I hope it was the sweet one. That one's my favorite."
He let out a quiet laugh, eyes flicking to hers. "It was."
She smiled and motioned to the barista, who immediately brought out two glasses.
They clinked their wine together in the golden haze of the hidden alley café.
And as Ivory leaned back into the worn leather seat, swirling her glass with casual grace, Jake watched her—not just with interest now, but with something deeper.
She was more than sunshine dresses and big boots. More than boldness and chai.
She had secrets too.
And he was suddenly desperate to know every one of them.
She leaned an elbow on the table, chin propped in her hand, twirling the stem of her glass lazily.
"So, Jake," she began, drawing out his name like a ribbon, "what mysterious thing do you do that makes you dress like a broody vampire professor on sabbatical?"
He snorted. "Broody vampire professor?"
"Yeah, like... if Edward Cullen, from the movie twilight, went to therapy and discovered Pinterest." Her eyes danced with mischief. "You've got that 'I read books no one understands and drink coffee with a tortured backstory' vibe."
Jake laughed—really laughed—and it startled him a little. "I do not."
"You absolutely do," she countered, sipping her wine. "All you need is a raven named Despair."
"I'll consider it," he said dryly. "But only if you walk around town in that yellow dress reciting cryptic poetry to strangers."
"Deal," she said without hesitation. "I've been looking for an excuse to scare tourists."
He shook his head, grinning into his glass. "You always like this?"
"Like what?" she asked, blinking innocently.
"Unfiltered. Funny. Loud."
"I'm not loud," she protested, and then immediately knocked her knee on the table trying to cross her legs. Her wine sloshed dangerously close to the rim. "Okay, maybe spatially loud."
Jake chuckled. "You talk a lot."
"Words are free. Might as well use them." She shrugged. "Plus, someone's gotta keep the conversation going. You brood too hard."
"I don't brood."
"You one hundred percent brood," she said. "It's okay though. I like a challenge."
He tilted his head. "Is that what I am? A challenge?"
Ivory leaned in just a little, her tone playful but steady. "Nah. You're more like a puzzle. One of those fancy ones in a wooden box with hidden compartments. Looks simple, but it takes hours to figure out. And the reward's usually worth it."
Jake went still for half a second. Her words shouldn't have meant anything. But they did. Maybe it was the warmth of the wine. Maybe it was the soft golden lighting, the jazz wrapping around them like a blanket. Or maybe it was her—too sharp to ignore, too real to resist.
"I'm not sure anyone's ever said that to me before," he admitted.
"Guess I'm full of surprises," she said, raising her glass again. "Cheers to puzzles and pasta, then."
"Pasta?"
"I still owe you a homemade meal, remember? I offered pasta and beer, and you didn't say no."
Jake huffed a laugh. "No, you did not."
"I think I did. Maybe I only thought about it and never really got the message out of my mouth. You know that happens to me a lot."
Jake's eyebrows connected, "what?"
"Well, It's not like you'll disappear soon. And you're still alive, which means you didn't run off screaming just because you got stubbed in the toe."
"Not yet," he teased.
"But you will have dinner at my place sometime," she added, eyes twinkling. "Unless you're scared."
Jake leaned back, wine swirling in his glass as he looked at her. "Of you?"
She gave a wicked grin. "Of me cooking. Big difference."
That made him laugh again, the kind that left a small crease near his eye and surprised softness in his voice. "Okay. Dinner."
She mock-gasped. "Was that a yes? Did the mysterious Jake just agree to enter the lion's den?"
"Only if there's dessert."
"Oh, honey," she said, smirking. "I am the dessert."
Jake choked on his wine.
Ivory just sipped hers like she'd said nothing outrageous at all.
And for the first time in a long time, something inside him loosened. Just a little. Just enough to feel the warmth settle somewhere beneath the ache.