I thought Ethan's quiet library date would stay the softest one.
Then Finn came for me at golden hour.
He didn't knock either. Just appeared at my window again (this time on the third-floor balcony) with paint on his fingers and a crooked smile.
"Trust me?" he asked, holding out a hand streaked with cerulean and rose.
I took it.
He led me up hidden stairs only artists and birds know about until we stepped out onto the highest palace roof. The whole capital spread beneath us like a painting someone hadn't finished yet. The sun was melting into the horizon, bleeding orange and pink across the sky.
In the center of the roof he'd built a little world.
A huge canvas on an easel. Blank.
Dozens of jars of paint glowing like bottled sunsets.
Blankets and pillows in soft creams and golds.
A single lantern already lit even though it wasn't dark yet.
And a record player (yes, a magical one) spinning the slowest, sweetest song I'd ever heard.
