The next morning dawned with a pale mist drifting over Willow Bay. The rain had stopped, leaving behind the scent of jasmine and damp earth. Amelia walked through the quiet town square, a basket of flowers swinging from her hand.
The streets were calm, washed clean by the night's storm. She was heading toward the old library, the place everyone in town had once loved before it fell into silence and dust. The mayor had asked her to help decorate the courtyard with flowers — a small contribution to the town's restoration project.
When she arrived, the air was thick with the smell of old wood and fresh paint. Ivy still clung to the outer walls, and the stone steps were slick with dew. Somewhere inside, she could hear the rhythmic scrape of wood against stone — someone working.
Then she saw him.
Ethan Cole.
He was crouched by the garden fence, his sleeves rolled up, paint streaked across his forearm. His hair fell messily over his forehead, and for a moment, Amelia just watched him — the easy focus in his movements, the quiet hum under his breath.
He looked up at the sound of her footsteps, a small smile playing at his lips.
> "Miss Hart," he greeted. "Or should I say the flower lady from yesterday?"
Amelia felt her cheeks warm. "You remembered."
> "It's not easy to forget someone who sells forgiveness in pots," he said, nodding toward her basket.
She laughed softly. "I brought these for the courtyard. Thought the place could use some color."
> "You read my mind," he replied, standing and wiping his hands on a rag. "We're planting a small garden here. Something to make people want to come back."
He took one of the pots from her basket, his fingers brushing hers. The touch sent a quiet warmth through her.
> "My mother used to love gardens," Ethan said after a pause. "She said flowers are the world's way of forgiving us for everything we ruin."
Amelia knelt beside him, helping loosen the soil. "She sounds like someone I'd like."
> "She'd like you too," he said quietly. "She believed people who care for flowers have gentle hearts."
The breeze picked up, carrying the faint scent of roses and rain-soaked earth. For a while, they worked in silence — planting, patting the soil, sharing the kind of quiet that didn't need to be filled with words.
When Ethan finally stood, he stretched and looked around the courtyard, a slow smile forming. "This place might actually have a chance," he said.
Amelia rose beside him, brushing dirt from her hands. "So might we."
He looked at her, his gray eyes soft and curious. "You mean the library?"
She smiled faintly. "Something like that."
As she turned to leave, Amelia glanced back. Ethan was still there, crouched beside the flowers she had brought, humming quietly. The early sun caught in his hair, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered if maybe — just maybe — the rain hadn't washed everything away after all.