The next morning was brighter.
The kind of light that seeps into the room before you even open your eyes, warm and unbothered. I stretched slowly and sat up, my body still heavy from sleep, but my mind… clearer.
The cottage was quiet, except for the low hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of old wood settling. I moved through my usual routine—coffee, toast, hair tied back lazily—trying not to think too much.
But of course, I did.
About yesterday. About Alan. About how natural it all felt.
He'd stayed for hours. We talked like we'd done it a hundred times before. I'd laughed—really laughed—until my face hurt. And when he left, the room felt noticeably colder. Quieter.
I wasn't going to chase him or anything. That wasn't who I was. But I couldn't lie—it felt like I was waiting for something today. Even if I didn't say it out loud.
After I ate, I headed toward the shed behind the cottage. The owner had mentioned there were two old bikes available, "if you're into that sort of thing." I figured it'd be a good way to see more of the town—and maybe distract myself from, well… him.
One of the bikes looked like it had survived a war, but the other one seemed decent enough. I tested the brakes, adjusted the seat, and started down the narrow path leading away from the beach.
I hadn't even made it past the first bend before I saw him.
Alan.
Walking, of course. Calm as ever, like he had nowhere in the world to be.
He looked up as I slowed, and a faint smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.
"Didn't peg you for the cycling type," he said.
"Trying something new," I replied. "You know, expand my horizons. Feel the wind. Possibly fall and break my neck."
He stepped closer, eyeing the bike. "Mind if I join you?"
"You cycle?"
"I have legs."
"That's not an answer."
He smiled again—small, infuriating. "I'll keep up."
I gave a dramatic sigh but nodded toward the spare bike leaning against the fence. "There's another one in the shed. It might be cursed, but you're welcome to try it."
A few minutes later, we were both riding, the old bikes creaking slightly as we made our way down a narrow path that cut through the trees behind the cottages. The town stretched out ahead—quiet streets, weathered buildings, the kind of place that didn't bother pretending to be modern.
"This is… kind of nice," I said as we turned a corner and passed a small flower stand. "Simple."
"Simple's underrated," he said.
"Yeah, well. My version of simple is standing in a crowded subway and trying not to lose my will to live."
"You're really selling city life," he said dryly.
I glanced at him. "You ever live in a city?"
He was quiet for a moment. "A long time ago."
There it was again. That weird, careful phrasing. But I let it slide.
We kept riding until we reached a small clearing just beyond the town—open grass, a few scattered trees, and a narrow stream weaving through the edge.
We got off the bikes and let them rest against a tree. I flopped onto the grass without ceremony, legs stretched out, arms behind my head. Alan sat beside me, more controlled, more composed.
I stared up at the sky.
"You ever feel like… I don't know. You're waiting for something but don't know what it is?"
His voice was soft. "Yeah."
I turned my head slightly. "That doesn't surprise me."
"Why not?"
"You've got that look."
He raised a brow. "What look?"
"That quiet, haunted, 'I know secrets but won't tell you' thing."
He smiled, and for a second, it looked real. A little warmer than usual.
"And what about you?" he asked. "What kind of look do you have?"
"Right now? Probably sun-dazed and under-caffeinated."
"I'd say curious. Maybe a little guarded."
I didn't answer right away. Then: "You're not wrong."
We sat in the grass for a long time. Talking. Joking. Letting the silence stretch when it wanted to. I threw a pebble into the stream. He made some dry comment about the local wildlife not surviving my aim.
At some point, I looked over and realized I was leaning closer than before. Not by much. Just enough to notice how his hair caught the light. Just enough to wonder what would happen if I asked a question I wasn't sure I wanted the answer to.
Instead, I said, "I like this."
"This?"
"This," I repeated, motioning vaguely between us. "It's easy."
He nodded once. "Yeah. It is."
I lay back down and closed my eyes. The wind moved gently through the trees. I could hear birds in the distance. And somewhere close, Alan just… sat there.
It felt like something was blooming beneath the surface, but neither of us named it.
Not yet.