Spending nights by the bay had been one of the key appeals that drew Elise Penrose back to Bosmouth. Other universities offered more prestigious courses, yet their concrete city bulk sank out of mind when compared to the electric thrill that wired through her veins at the thought of returning to the coastal town she left behind. As a prospective student, Elise imagined newfound independence as sprawling beaches, swelling waves, and a golden-faced sun kissing the flawless sea as she sipped another gin lemonade in her carefree hometown.

    As an actual student, however, Elise only imagined the soft embrace of her bed from the moment she left the campus. Dragging herself up the building's stairs to her flat, she slammed the door and winced as another splinter snapped into being along the frame. "You're paying for that," her flatmate called from the kitchen, his face poking around the tired grey wall. "And you might as well get some money out now to fix the next split you make, too."

    "Will that be before or after you get the dodgy boiler looked at?" Elise said as she ruffled his tidy dark hair on her way to the sofa, firing a sharp wink into his unimpressed exterior. The radio murmured over the hob's low hum and Robin's light steps, a familiar set of beats that soothed the aches throbbing through her shoulders. With a sigh, she flopped into the dark fabric sofa, let her messenger bag thud against the floor, and kicked off her black canvas trainers. "Don't look at me like that, Robin. I hear your shrieks every time the shower gets cold on you."

    Robin shrugged as he stirred a pot of tomato and herb pasta sauce. "If you think you can get the landlord to answer the phone, be my guest."

    "Someone's forgotten why they're the one that deals with the landlord." Pulling off her charcoal-hued sleeveless jumper and tossing it into the armchair across the room, Elise grinned at Robin over the back of the sofa. "He didn't appreciate my frank assessment of his failings, remember?"

    "Most people wouldn't appreciate being called a 'bloodsucking slumlord', Ellie."

    "They shouldn't act like one, then!"

    Elise hauled herself up the back of the sofa, her honeyed shoulder-length hair bouncing around her face. The flat was barely large enough for herself and Robin to share, and the tight rooms plastered with cool grey paint conspired to shrink the feel of the tiny residence even further. As the single unshaded lightbulb shined over the coffee table, streaks of shadow swept along the room's walls, their tendrils stretching to surround Elise on the sofa island. A potent basil aroma helped to mask the hint of musk that lingered in the air. 

    The hob hissed into silence over Elise's shoulder, and the clatter of cutlery against plateware accompanied Robin's thoughtful muttering. "Did you stay late at the library again?" he asked, glancing at his watch.

    Running her hand over her face, Elise took a deep breath before answering. "I tried to, but then I checked my email." She dug her phone out of her bag, swiped to her inbox, and pulled up the message on her mind. "My book reviews are getting accepted, even that one for the trashy Misty Waters romance novel, Wanderlove, and I'm getting editing work here and there, but my story chapters for the Orchard magazine..."

    Robin set the pan down on the hob and pulled at his polo shirt collar. "Oh no."

    "They didn't even tell me directly, Robin. They just dropped the next issue and left me to find out I'd been rejected for myself." As she spoke, Elise spun her beaded bracelet around her wrist, her steel eyes fixed on the darkening sky outside the window. "I lost it a little, so I went for a walk before I strung the guy across my desk up by his own cheap earbuds."

    "Maybe they'll publish your story in the next issue," her flatmate said, his note of optimism waning before he finished speaking.

    A soft sigh left Elise's lips. "If they liked it, they'd have said something by now."

    Queues of evening traffic lined the main road past the building, the grunts of their engines reduced to whispers by the distance. The sun still peered over the horizon line, yet Elise was in no mood to bounce back outside and join the gathering herds of night revellers. Though this was not her first rejection by a long shot, it stung as sharply as ever. She had poured too many hours into her summer camp exes-to-lovers novella to separate its success from her own. 

    The rigid stainless steel of a fork's handle nudged against her knee, its surface cooling her through her grey woollen thigh-high socks. "When did you last eat, Ellie?" Robin asked as he flashed the fork in front of her. He broke out his cheeriest, most supportive smile, yet concern still reigned in his brown eyes. When Elise reached for the implement, he pulled it back and held up his finger at her. "No way. We agreed we wouldn't eat alone while we were down, and you're definitely not in a good mood. Come sit with me at the counter."

    Elise tore herself from the sofa's hold, and Robin caught her limp frame as she fell into his chest. "What did I do to deserve you?" she asked, her voice muffled by his polo shirt.

    "Sometimes I ask myself the same thing about you," her flatmate answered as he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed. "I must've been awful in a past life to get stuck with a headache like you."

    "Don't act like you don't love me for it," Elise said, winking up at Robin's rolling eyes with a grin blooming on her face. Straightening out her short burgundy skirt, she carried herself to the kitchen counter and sat at its outer edge, eyeing the piping hot bowl of pasta set out for her. The sweetness of the tomato sauce sparkled along her tongue, and the layers of silky ravioli parted to unleash an earthy burst of creamy mushrooms. "I mean it. You're too good to me, Robin. You know you don't have to cook for me, right?"

    Resting the fork in her shallow bowl, Robin shrugged and waved her words away. "Don't worry about it. I like cooking, and it's easier to measure out ingredients for two people anyway."

    Elise broadened her grin and tucked her hair behind her ear, her red and silver ear studs glinting in the harsh kitchen light. Suddenly, her phone buzzed against the countertop, and her smile soured into a sneer at the glowing notification. "Seriously? No way," she groaned as she dropped her fork into her bowl.

    "What's up?" Any joy Robin acquired from Elise's appreciation of his cookery faded with the darkening of his friend's expression. "Did they only tell you they weren't running your story now?"

    "Worse." Placing her phone on the counter, Elise spun the device for her friend to read. "That girl I went for coffee with last week wants to meet up again tomorrow."

    "Remind me - what was wrong with her again?"

    "TEDTalk Tegan had opinions, and she wasn't afraid to share them, especially if you didn't ask." Elise straightened her posture into a painfully rigid position and planted her hands on the edge of the countertop, her voice tightening into a shrill shriek. "You know, you shouldn't go to hospitals, because they say that 80% of all doctors' diagnoses are wrong. And pets are so disgusting. Think of all the toxins they carry!"

    Lines creased Robin's brow. "I can't believe you didn't block her number for that. Anyone who doesn't like pets has no chance with you, Cat Lady-in-Training."

    Holding her head in her hands, Elise scrunched up her light brown hair and sighed. "I did at first. But you know how it is with me. I try to stand up for myself, and then..." she said, waving her hands as her voice trailed off.

    "I know. But I've said it before and I'll say it again – you're a catch, Ellie, and you've got every right to ghost their crazy butts and move on." Robin searched the fridge's creaking shelves and returned with a bottle of still lemonade, partnering it with a pair of water-stained glass tumblers. "What does she want to do? Take you out to a nightclub and lecture you about how smiling makes your skin age faster?"

    "I wish. It'd be a lot easier to say no to that." Elise chewed on her lip and rocked her head on her shoulders, and her fingers flicked at her bobbing locks. The zesty lemonade fired across her tongue, a burst of freshness in its wake. "She has a spare ticket to an author talk at the indie bookshop in town. It's a cosy venue, but it'll have just enough people around to ditch her if she turns out to be a pain in the soul again. You wouldn't mind sending me a getaway taxi if I need one, right?"

    "I couldn't think of a better use for my free credit, my chaotic friend. I get off work at seven tomorrow, so just throw me a text if you need me." As he set his emptied bowl in the kitchen sink, Robin glanced at his phone and rapped a knuckle against the counter. "Shoot. I promised to phone my parents tonight, and it's getting late. Do you mind clearing up?"

    Elise shook her head and hopped off her stool to catch Robin in a tight hug, muttering more thanks into his side. He waved and smiled at her as he disappeared behind his bedroom door, and she nested her dish in the sink before setting the water flowing.

    Patience is an art, her mother used to say. Without nurturing patience, nobody could hope to develop any other skill very far. No matter how many times Elise crashed through her home's front door, burnt out and bloodshot-eyed, Alison always took the time to help her find out what she really loved doing. It was how she discovered her love for writing, and she promised to reward her mother's constant patience with her by being just as patient with her writing career. She pushed through every swamp of writer's block and nursed every bitter rejection blow, treating everything as one step closer to breaking through. All the effort would be worth it, even if any breakthrough now came too late for her mother to see.

    Unyielding knots twisted through Elise's gut. At least there was a practical reason she could not discuss her writing with her mother. The only thing stopping her from keeping her father updated was the stormfront of Leon's inevitable disappointment.

    Winking bubbles stretched from the washtub to brush Elise's fingers, and she scurried to stop the flow before the water spilled over. Her crimson nails shimmered like gemstones against the slate-grey plate, and as she admired their brightness, a small chip showed itself on her left index finger. She cursed under her breath and used the dish sponge to take out her frustration on her bowl, each scrub stoking the embarrassed flames licking at her skin.

    As she dried off her hands, Elise's phone buzzed beside the sink with another message from Tegan. She snatched up the device, opened the conversation, and hammered out a short, polite response that committed her to going out with the girl again. Elise welded her eyes shut and took a deep breath. Either she would have fun, or she would kill the relationship for good. With a relieved smile, Elise opened her eyes to read Tegan's second message.

    A dark weight dragged Elise's heart down into her chest's murky depths. The author at the talk, according to Tegan, would be Misty Waters. Elise had held her tongue too many times while reviewing the woman's bizarre intimacy scenes and awkward euphemisms. Enduring Misty Waters on paper stretched her patience to breaking point, yet Elise had just committed to sharing space with the woman for at least an hour.

    Tegan replied instantly. Fabulous, it's a date. See you there, and keep off the caffeine!

    Pinching the bridge of her nose, Elise gathered up her belongings, headed into her room and planted her face on the sea-blue sheets of her bed. Her blind hand searched for her oversized t-shirt, though even the simple task of changing for bed seemed impossible. Caffeine alone was not strong enough to resurrect her leaden limbs.

    Give people a chance, her mother would say. Elise rolled onto her back and stared at her ceiling through the spreading shadows. Maybe enduring an hour or so of Misty Waters would bring her and Tegan closer together. Maybe her date was better company when she was discussing something other than her dubious social media reading.

    Maybe this could be the start of something wonderful.