Propped up on her elbows, chin in her palm, Stella pulls at a loose orange thread in the striped beach towel she lies upon.

Her eyes flicker over the glossy pages of the magazine before her, skimming through the light how-to and casting a glance at the aesthetically pleasing pictures that goes with it. A Super Easy Guide to Clean Beauty. Cosmopolitan. This issue is at least a year old, only one of the many she brought with her from home, where they have remained untouched, collecting dust on her nightstand table.

 Turning the page, she presses her lips together as she happens upon a text-heavy deep diving article on mental health. She folds the corner of it, knowing she'll have to – and will want to – read it sometime, some day, before browsing through another few pages.

Her hair hangs damp over her shoulder even though at least half an hour must have passed since her last swim. Droplets fall to the towel, to the wooden planks of the dock, to the magazine – giving the pages that evident worn look of having been read during summer vacation.

A slight gust of wind trickles by, offering up a comfortable breeze. It rustles the reeds a stone's throw away, the faint sound melting together with the birdsong from above.

This is how she's spent most hours of her first week at the lake house. Down by the dock. Swimming, floating on her back in the water, cloud gazing. Sprawled on a towel upon the warm wooden planks or sat at the dock's edge, legs dangling over it, her feet just inches above the greenish blue surface of the lake. Basking in the mid-June sun, enveloped by the comforting scent of lake water and sunblock. Relishing in being surrounded by nothing but the pure sounds of nature – as well as the occasional happy yells from the children living a few houses down the street.

It's quite the contrast from what she's used to and at times, she finds herself growing restless from the stillness of it all. There's no bustle here. Only lake.

Even now, after having spent an entire year away from school and the life she once led – the life she's put on pause – she still has trouble adjusting to this new pace. Her new pace.

This summer. These weeks. Months. This time of space that lies ahead of her, is the first time she truly doesn't have any obligations what so ever. She's never been still like this before. She's never found herself in a situation where she doesn't have any responsibilities at all.

No schedule to follow. No to-do lists to scribble down. No deadlines to meet. No therapy appointments to show up for.

It's just her. Her, the sun and the water.

And Jake.

And Fizzy.

The dog pads down to the dock on occasion. Sometimes it seems she's simply checking in, tail wagging happily before she leaves up the slight hill for the house again, escaping into the comfortable shade it provides. Sometimes she stays, passed out in heavy sleep under the sun. Most times she brings her ragged green tennis ball along, keeping it well within reach from her soft paws.

Every now and then the Golden Retriever finds a way past the dock to wade out into the water, though Stella knows from Jake from one of their conversations over breakfast that there are far better places around the lake for Fizzy to swim.

As for Jake, he and Stella have spent the past seven days keeping to their own. They move in circles. She gives him his space and he gives her hers.

Unlike her, who hasn't really left the perimeter of the house at all since their venture into town on their first day here, he comes and goes, most often taking Fizzy with him.

He spends time down by the dock as well, but those times she usually retreats to the patio or the comfortable shade of the living room. It's a big enough house to share for two people and a dog, she doesn't see any reason to crowd him.

She wakes up early in the mornings. Early in the sense most people would perceive as too early, the kind of early reserved for morning flights or long commutes.

She gets out of bed easily at that hour, the same way she always has, and heads out to the lake while there's still dew in the grass from the overnight mist, while the smell of nighttime still lingers in the air and the first few rays of sun peek out in the horizon.

Maybe that one simple routine is a remnant of her past. One she couldn't seem to shake even during the worst times. Or maybe it's simply the water calling for her.

Jake usually doesn't get up until later. By then she's already sat out on the patio, knees drawn up to her chest and heels resting on the edge of the chair, spoon stirring around her greek yoghurt as she flips through one of her magazines. The New Yorker, Elle, Cosmopolitan, Psychology Today. Each and every one originally spur-of-the-moment purchases from newsstands, grocery stores and airport kiosks alike.

Reaching out for the tall glass of water stood next to her on the dock now, Stella grimaces as she realizes it has grown rather lukewarm. She blinks as her eyes flicker over the pages of her magazine, the words seeming to melt together as the warmth of the sun beats down on her. Her skin feels sticky against the towel, too warm. It's time to go back to the water.

Taking her sunglasses off, she places them atop the magazine and swiftly gets to her feet.

She swings her arms back and forth with a small smile, twisting in a stretch to one side and then the other, lips pulling back in a faint frown at the sound of a bone cracking within.

Then, rolling through the soles of her feet, she launches off the dock and dives into the comfortable chill of the water.

━ ♡♡♡ ━

Stella reaches for another apple slice from the plate next to her, thumb absentmindedly scrolling through her phone.

She's in her room, head leant against the white headboard where she's lounged atop her bed. The sun casts the room in a faint golden glow, only intensifying the pale yellow walls, even through the woven curtains she's pulled close in an attempt to keep the warmth out.

Keeping them shut means sacrificing the view overlooking the lake, but rather that than sleeping in a sauna.

One glance would tell anyone passing through this is an obvious guest room, but in the few short days she's spent here it's become to feel more and more like hers.

Her magazines are in a pile on the floor. A few of her clothes hang over the back of the mirror in the corner. Bottles – sunblock, body lotion, perfume – are stood upon the bureau across from her, a few cherry chapsticks and a sole paperback she hasn't even touched since she arrived scattered among them.

It smells faintly of her body lotion in here, the light scent of shea butter lingering in the air and melting together with the stronger, more palpable scent of the pharmacy sunblock Faye swears by.

She reaches for another apple slice, only to sigh as she realizes she's already eaten them all.

The longer she stays in here, the more the warmth of the day creeps over her. Her face feels warm, cheeks flushed, as if she's gotten drunk on sunlight and is now facing the hangover. At least – considering she hasn't actually touched an alcoholic beverage even once in her twenty-one years on this earth –, she imagines that's a valid enough comparison to make.

Closing down the app she's been wasting her time on, her lips slip into a small smile as her home screen stares back up at her – Faye and her from a few years back, both beaming at the camera for once.

Her sister is the reason Stella ventured into the house in the first place, having made her way from the patio to the upstairs as Faye called to check up on her. Somehow she never made it back out; the bed is far too comfortable to not linger for a while.

There's a tug at her heartstrings as she thinks of her sister. The past year, she's gotten used to having her mere blocks away and she misses her. Even though they just spoke on the phone minutes ago and even though it has only been a little more than a week since Faye saw her off for the summer, she misses her.

A careful knock on her ajar door has her glancing up, finding Jake stood with his shoulder leant against the doorway – his lips in that all familiar smile.

"Hey."

Her own smile widens as she notices his pink sweater. The Jake she remembers rarely branched out past the regular black, white and blue combo.

She tosses her phone aside on the mattress, straightening up in her seat. "Hi."

"I'm taking Fizzy out for a walk. Want to come along?"

Stella's sure there's a slight flicker of surprise crossing her features, though she's quick to conceal it with another smile.

Though the dog seems to have taken a liking to her, she's yet to actually spend much time with her – apart from their occasional hangouts by the dock that is. Today's the first time Jake's invited her along at all, having given her as much space these past days as she has him.

"Yes," She says, already clambering out of bed in a sudden burst of energy. Now, as the prospect of actually leaving the house for a while lies in the palm of her hand, she senses her previous restlessness come back in full force. "Just give me a few seconds."

Jake bows out with a mock-salute. "See you downstairs."

Smoothing a hand over the creases made on the sheets, she sets the now empty plate aside on the nightstand table and crosses the room to the bureau. The warmth of the sun will have dropped to a more comfortable, maybe even a little bit chill, temperature by now. Pulling one of the drawers out, she slips into a dark long-sleeved cashmere sweater – it's a loose fit, a nice layer over her tank top.

She casts a glance in the mirror, more by habit than anything else, as she slides a pair of light blue slingback sandals onto her feet.

Jake's waiting on the small porch out front as she reaches the last step of the staircase, absentmindedly throwing Fizzy's ragged tennis ball between his hands where he's leant against the railing. "Ready?"

Running a hand through her hair, Stella pushes her phone into the back pocket of her denim shorts and closes the door behind them. "Lead the way."