The rain had started just as they left Norah's cottage.
Not a heavy downpour—just a steady whisper against the leaves and the windshield as Marco drove slowly back toward Elena's cottage. The headlights stretched across the road in long, golden lines, flickering with each curve in the path.
Inside the car, neither of them spoke.
Elena sat with her hands in her lap, fingers tangled. Marco kept his eyes on the road, jaw tight. But the air between them was heavy—thick with everything they weren't saying.
When they finally pulled into the gravel driveway, the rain had turned softer, almost like mist. Elena looked at the front porch of her rented cottage, then at Marco.
"Come in?" she said. Her voice was quiet, a question wrapped in uncertainty.
He hesitated only a moment. "Yeah."
Inside, the warmth returned. Lamps glowed softly in the corners. The scent of dried herbs from the window box still lingered in the air. Elena kicked off her shoes near the door and tossed her keys into a small bowl on the counter. Marco stood in the middle of the room, unsure whether to stay near the door or come closer.
She poured two glasses of wine and handed one to him.
"Thanks," he said, fingers brushing against hers for a second longer than necessary.
Elena moved to the couch, sitting down cross-legged and pulling the soft throw over her legs. Marco stayed standing.
"You don't have to hover," she said with a faint smile.
"I'm thinking," he said.
"About Royce?"
"About you."
That made her look up. Their eyes met, and something in her chest skipped a beat.
"Marco…"
"You've been here for what? A few days? And I feel like I've known you longer than anyone else in Rosehill."
Her laugh was soft. "Maybe I'm just good at pretending."
"You're not," he said, stepping closer. "You're honest in ways I'm not used to. It gets under my skin."
She looked down at her glass. "And is that a good thing?"
"I haven't decided."
The tension between them shifted. It wasn't sharp—it was slow, drawn-out, a quiet ache. He sat beside her on the couch, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
Elena turned toward him, curling one leg underneath her.
"You always carry everything like it's yours to fix," she said. "But not everything is your fault."
Marco looked at her. "You think I'm guilty?"
"I think you're tired of hiding."
His eyes held hers. "And what about you? What are you hiding?"
She paused. "The part of me that wants things I'm not sure I should."
He reached out, brushed a curl from her cheek, slow and deliberate. His fingers didn't rush. They moved like he was memorizing the feel of her.
"Elena…"
His voice was rough—low and uncertain.
She leaned into his touch just slightly. Her lips parted, and she inhaled through her nose. The moment hung there, stretching like warm wax. The sound of the rain faded behind the thud of her heartbeat.
"I'm not sure what this is," she whispered.
"Neither am I."
But he didn't pull away. And neither did she.
Her hand rested on his thigh, just barely. Not bold—just enough to let him know she was there, choosing not to run. His other hand slid along the edge of the couch, brushing against her back, fingers tracing the hem of her shirt. It was the lightest touch, but she felt it everywhere.
"I should go," he said suddenly.
She nodded. "You should."
Neither moved.
Then she leaned in. Just a little. Just enough to close the space between them.
His breath caught. Her lips grazed his—barely. A kiss that wasn't a kiss. A promise. A warning.
When he finally kissed her, it was slow. Not possessive, not rushed. Just… real. His hand moved to the back of her neck, holding her there like he'd found something he didn't want to lose. Her fingers curled into his shirt.
But the moment didn't last.
A sound—sharp and sudden—cracked outside. Glass. Metal. Something falling.
They broke apart.
Marco stood immediately. Elena followed him to the window. Out on the gravel drive, a shadow moved—too fast to catch clearly.
"Someone was watching," she said, breathless.
Marco's jaw tightened. "He's getting closer."
The rain started again. Harder this time. But the warmth between them had cooled.
Neither of them said what they were thinking. That they were too close to something dangerous. That wanting each other came with a price.
And yet, as Marco stepped toward the door, Elena touched his wrist, just once.
"Come back tomorrow."
He looked down at her fingers on his skin, then back into her eyes.
"I will."
Then he was gone, and she was left standing in the silence, heart pounding, lips still tingling from the kiss they almost didn't share.