I never thought a mural would make me feel this way. 

It wasn't just paint on a wall anymore. It was something more—something that mattered. 

Something I had created. 

I stood in front of it, arms crossed, studying every brushstroke, every color. I could see the parts where I had second-guessed myself, where my hand had wavered, where I had hesitated before making a decision. But I could also see where I had let go, where I had just painted without overthinking it. 

And I could see Max's touch in it, too. His messy, chaotic brushstrokes, the places where he had gone outside the lines, the spots where he had added something unexpected. 

It wasn't perfect. 

But it was ours.

A part of me still wasn't sure how we had ended up here—how I had ended up here. Painting again. Letting someone in. Not just letting someone in, but waiting them to be here. 

That part scared me more than anything. 

"Still staring at it?" 

I turned to see Max standing behind me, arms crossed, his head tilted slightly. His eyes flickered between me and the mural, like he was trying to figure out what I was thinking. 

"I spent weeks working on it," I said. "I think I'm allowed to stare at it for a little while longer." 

He grinned. "I'll allow it." 

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help smiling. 

*** 

We locked up the bookstore and stepped out onto the street together. The sky was a deep shade of purple, the last traces of sunset fading behind the buildings. The air was crisp, carrying the promise of colder days ahead. 

I hugged my coat tighter around me and glanced at Max. He had his hands shoved into his pockets, his gaze fixed on the sky, like he was lost in thought. 

"You okay?" I asked. 

He blinked, like he hadn't realized I was watching him. Then he nodded. "Yeah. Just thinking." 

"About what?" 

Max hesitated, then looked at me. Really looked at me. The kind of look that made my heart do this stupid, uneven thing in my chest. 

"About you," he said. 

I swallowed hard, not sure what to do with that. "Me?" 

"Yeah." He let out a breath, his eyes searching mine. "I like seeing you like this." 

"Like what?" I asked, my voice quieter than before. 

He shrugged. "Like you're...here. Not running. Not hiding. Just here."

I didn't know what to say to that. 

Because he was right. 

For the first time in a long time, I wasn't running. I wasn't thinking about the past or worrying about the future. I was just...here.

With him. 

And that should have terrified me. 

Maybe it did. 

But it also felt like the most natural thing in the world. 

*** 

We walked in silence for a while, the sounds of the town settling into the background. The distant hum of cars, the occasional laughter from a passing group of people, the rustling of leaves as the wind picked up. 

Max didn't rush me to fill the silence. He never did. That was something I had always liked about him. 

Liked. 

The word felt too small for what I was feeling. 

I snuck a glance at him. The sharp lines of his jaw, the way his hair was always just a little bit messy, the way he carried himself like he didn't care what anyone thought, even though I knew he did.

I could feel something shifting between us. 

Something I wasn't sure I was ready to name. 

"Do you want to get something to eat?" Max asked, breaking the silence. 

I hesitated. Not because I didn't want to, but because I did. And that was the problem. 

I was letting him in. 

Letting him matter.

And the more he mattered, the more it would hurt if—when—this ended. 

Because that's how things worked, right? People left. 

Or I left first. 

But I didn't want to leave. 

And that terrified me more than anything. 

*** 

We ended up at a tiny diner on the edge of town. It wasn't fancy, but it was warm, and it smelled like coffee and syrup and something fried. 

Max ordered pancakes. I ordered a grilled cheese. Neither of us commented on the fact that it was nearly midnight. 

"You have paint in your hair," Max said, smirking as he took a sip of his coffee. 

I groaned. "Of course I do." 

"Want me to get it?" 

I hesitated, then nodded. 

He reached across the table, fingers brushing lightly against my temple as he carefully picked at a dried speck of blue paint. His touch was gentle, but it sent a shiver down my spine. 

I forced myself to stay still. To act normal. 

But nothing about this felt normal. 

Nothing about him felt normal. 

And that was the problem. 

Or maybe it wasn't a problem at all. 

Maybe it was just real.

*** 

We left the diner a little after one in the morning. 

Max walked me home, even though I told him he didn't have to. 

When we reached my door, I hesitated, my fingers curling around the strap of my bag. 

I should say goodnight. I should go inside. 

But I didn't want to. 

And I had a feeling Max didn't want to either. 

"So," he said, rocking back on his heels. "Tonight was fun." 

"Yeah," I said, my voice softer than I meant for it to be. "It was." 

He hesitated. I could see it in his expression—the way his jaw tensed slightly, the way his hands clenched in his pockets like he was trying to decide something. 

And then, before I could talk myself out of it, I took a step forward. 

Just one.

Close enough that I could see the way his eyes darkened, the way his breath hitched just slightly. 

I had no idea what I was doing. 

But for once, I didn't overthink it. 

"Max," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. 

His eyes met mine, and for a second, everything else disappeared. The night, the town, the past, the future. 

It was just us.

And then, before I could lose my nerve, I reached up—just slightly, just enough to close the space between us—and kissed him. 

It was soft. Tentative. A question more than anything else. 

But Max didn't hesitate. 

His hands found my waist, pulling me closer, and just like that, the whole world shifted. 

I wasn't running anymore. 

I was here.

And for the first time in a long time, that felt like exactly where I was meant to be.