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"Okay," Charlotte conceded,the fight draining from her. She recognized the stubborn set of Roxanne's jaw,knew there was no swaying her when she got like this. "Just think aboutit, alright?"
Roxanne huffed, her gaze skimming overthe quaint cottages with their blooming flower boxes. "I'll think aboutit," she relented, though the edge in her voice suggested otherwise.
"Thank you," Charlottemurmured, watching as Roxanne turned on her heel and continued toward the pub.Charlotte was suddenly very tired. Her feet turned almost on autopilot towardThe Crown.
She made her way inside quietly, movedsilently across the worn carpet, the soft glow from the dying fire in theparlor fireplace casting dancing shadows upon the entry walls. She peeked intothe parlor, and there, curled into an armchair with a book propped open on hisknee, sat Liam. His eyes lifted from the page, locking onto Charlotte's with anunreadable expression. It was as if he existed in his own quiet universe, onethat Amelia—with her vibrant laughter and boundless energy—had never espoused. Charlottedidn’t know what to do with a teenager who was this introverted.
"Couldn't sleep?" Charlotteventured, crossing the room to take a seat opposite him.
"Never been much for sleep,"Liam admitted, his voice low and measured. He marked his place in the book witha finger, a small nod acknowledging her presence. “But Henry’s asleep already.”
Charlotte studied him, taking in thesoft lines of concentration etched upon his brow, the way his hair fell justslightly over his forehead. He was like a puzzle begging to be solved, awhispered secret between old friends, a tale told in the quiet hours betweennight and dawn.
"Amelia always had that problemtoo," she said, trying to build a bridge between them with words."That’s my daughter—your niece, I suppose, which is funny because she’solder than you. She could run on three hours of sleep and still be the mostenergetic person in the room."
A ghost of a smile touched Liam's lips."I can’t do that."
"Unlike her mother,"Charlotte added softly, a self-deprecating tone threading through her words. “Ineed a full eight hours.”
"But different elements burn indifferent ways. You know, in science? Some are quick and bright; others areslow and enduring. No wrong or wrong, just different energies."
"Is that what I am? Slow andenduring?" Charlotte teased lightly, though a part of her clung to thetruth in his observation—and loved that he appeared to be a little geeky.
"Isn't there strength inthat?" Liam posited, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. Thefirelight flickered in his eyes, casting warmth into their depths.
"Poetic," Charlotte remarked,a genuine smile blossoming on her lips. "And here I thought you were justthe quiet type."
"Quiet, perhaps," Liamacknowledged. "But not without thoughts."
They fell into a comfortable silence,the crackling of the fire and the distant call of the sea filling the spacesbetween them. In the calm of the inn's common room, with the scent of aged woodand hearth smoke lingering in the air, Charlotte felt the first stirrings of aconnection.
Charlotte glanced at Liam, his profilesoftened by the firelight, and something within her clicked—a playful idea tookroot. She rose from her chair, the fabric of her skirt whispering as she moved.A thought danced in her mind, a bridge across the silence between them.
"Have you ever painted before,Liam?" Her words were an invitation, floating gently in the quiet room.
She watched as his head tilted toconsider her question, his eyes reflecting the curiosity that arose."No," he admitted with a small, almost apologetic smile, "butI've dabbled in pencil sketches here and there."
"Ah, so you're an artist hiding inplain sight." Charlotte's voice was light, but her heart thrummed withhope. This might be the thread that could weave them closer together. "Ihave some painting supplies. Would you be interested in trying it out withme?"
"Painting?" He seemedbemused, yet there was no mistaking the flicker of interest in his eyes."I can't say I've ever held a brush with intent, but..." Liam paused,his gaze drifting to the window where the night sky met the sea, "...I'mwilling to give it a try."
"Fantastic!" Charlotteclapped her hands softly, a spark of excitement igniting within her. "It'ssettled then. Let's find a spot and get started."
Together, they shifted into motion,Charlotte leading the way to retrieve her supplies. The promise of sharedcreation enveloped them, as if the very walls of The Old Crown Inn whisperedencouragements for this new, tentative bond.
The evening light had long faded whenCharlotte and Liam began to transform a corner of the dimly lit sitting roominto an impromptu art studio. Charlotte spread a worn canvas drop cloth acrossthe ancient wooden floor, its edges fraying like her past life's neatly hemmedexpectations. She unzipped the bag of painting supplies, revealing tubes ofcolor that gleamed like jewels in the soft glow of the overhead lights.
"Let's start with somethingsimple," Charlotte suggested, placing a blank canvas before Liam."How about a still Life? We can paint that stack of books."
Liam picked up a paintbrush as if itwere a delicate creature, examining it with the careful attention he might giveto one of his sketches. "Where do I begin?" His voice held a hint oftrepidation that tugged at her heartstrings.
"Here, let me show you."Charlotte dipped her brush into the brown, her motions fluid and sure. Sheswept a stroke across the canvas, mimicking the tabletop. "Start with thebaselines. Think about the colors you've seen blending together on a woodtable."
He mimicked her movements, his strokehesitant at first but growing bolder with each pass of the brush. "Likethis?" he asked, looking up for approval.
"Exactly like that," sheaffirmed with a warm smile, her gaze lingering on the way his eyes lit up witha sense of achievement. "You're a natural, Liam."
They painted side by side, theirsilence comfortable, punctuated only by the swish of brushes and the occasionalcreak of the old house’s settling bones. Charlotte watched Liam find hisrhythm, his initial uncertainty washing away like tide over sand, leavingbehind a budding confidence.
