The autumn air in Willow Creek carried a crisp edge, leaves crunching underfoot like shattered amber as Elowen Reed hurried across the campus of Willow Creek University. Her sketchbook was tucked securely under one arm, the other clutching a half-empty coffee cup that had gone cold thirty minutes ago. She was late—again—to her afternoon painting studio, the one class that felt like a lifeline in the sea of tedious general education requirements, and the last thing she needed was another lecture from Professor Hale about punctuality.
Elowen was the kind of girl who blended into the background if she wanted to—soft brown hair usually pulled back in a messy bun, oversized sweaters that swallowed her frame, and a habit of keeping her eyes downcast, as if the sidewalk held more interest than the world around her. Art was her escape; her sketchbook was filled with lines and colors that told stories she was too shy to say out loud—sunsets over the campus lake, the way light filtered through the library windows, strangers' faces captured in fleeting moments of vulnerability. She was out to exactly two people: her childhood best friend, Lila, who'd moved across the country for college, and her older sister, Maeve, who'd come out as bisexual when Elowen was sixteen and had been her quiet anchor ever since. To everyone else at Willow Creek, Elowen Reed was just the quiet art kid who never spoke up in class.
She rounded the corner of the Fine Arts Building, nearly colliding with someone who'd stopped abruptly in front of the door. Elowen stumbled back, her sketchbook slipping from her arm and landing open on the concrete, coffee sloshing out of her cup and onto the pages—pages filled with her most recent sketches, including the half-finished portrait of a girl she'd seen reading by the lake the week before, her features soft but sharp, as a watercolor painting come to life.
"Shit—sorry, I'm so sorry!" Elowen rambled, dropping to her knees to scoop up her sketchbook, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She frantically brushed at the coffee stains, but they'd already seeped into the paper, smudging the pastels and ruining the drawing. Her throat tightened; that sketch had felt special, like she'd captured something intangible, and now it was gone.
"Hey, it's okay—don't stress," a warm, laughter-laced voice said above her. A hand reached down, offering a pack of napkins, and Elowen looked up, her breath catching in her throat.
The girl standing in front of her was everything Elowen wasn't—tall, with sun-kissed skin and short, wavy blonde hair that fell just above her shoulders, styled in a way that looked effortless but intentional. She was wearing a navy blue basketball jersey with the number 12 on the back, paired with high-waisted jeans and white sneakers, and her smile was bright enough to cut through the gray autumn clouds. Her eyes were a warm hazel, crinkling at the corners as she knelt down beside Elowen, helping her gather the loose pages that had fallen out of the sketchbook.
"I wasn't looking where I was going," the girl said, nodding at the coffee-stained sketch. "That sucks—this was really good, by the way. The shading on her jaw? Perfect."
Elowen's heart skipped a beat. She'd never had anyone compliment her art so openly, especially not someone so… confident. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, avoiding the girl's gaze. "It's fine. It was just a sketch."
"Just a sketch?" The girl raised an eyebrow, picking up the smudged page and holding it up to the light. "Nah, this is talent. I'm Riley, by the way. Riley Carter. Basketball team." She gestured to her jersey, as if that explained everything.
"Elowen. Elowen Reed." She hesitated, then added, "Art studio. I'm late."
Riley grinned, standing up and offering Elowen a hand. Elowen took it, her fingers brushing against Riley's—warm, calloused from basketball, and surprisingly gentle. The touch sent a shiver down her spine, one she tried to ignore.
"Well, Elowen Reed from Art Studio," Riley said, squeezing her hand lightly before letting go, "I owe you a coffee. For ruining your sketch. And for almost knocking you over. My treat—tomorrow morning, outside the library? 8 a.m.?"
Elowen stared at her, stunned. She'd never been asked out—well, not by anyone she'd wanted to say yes to. Riley was beautiful and kind, and so far out of her league it wasn't even funny. But there was something in her eyes, something warm and genuine, that made Elowen's stomach flip.
"I… okay," she said, her voice quieter than she intended. 8 a.m. Outside the library."
Riley's smile widened. "Perfect. Now go—before Professor Hale kills you. I'll see you tomorrow, Elowen."
Elowen nodded, clutching her sketchbook to her chest, and hurried into the Fine Arts Building. She didn't look back, but she could feel Riley's eyes on her, warm and steady, long after she'd turned the corner. As she walked into the studio, her heart was still racing, and for the first time in weeks, she didn't mind that she was late. All she could think about was Riley's smile, and the way her hand felt in hers, and the promise of a coffee date tomorrow morning—something small, something sweet, something that felt like the first brushstroke of a painting she didn't want to stop creating.