Chapter 5

The rain stopped sometime after midnight.

Evelyn noticed because the constant drumming on her window finally went quiet, leaving the city strangely hushed. She’d been painting for hours brush in one hand, phone in the other, music low in her earbuds. Indigo and rose and gold spilling across the canvas like she was trying to exorcise the decision hanging over her.

She’d started with anger—harsh strokes, dark edges. Then frustration. Then something softer. Hope, maybe. Or fear disguised as hope.

By 2 a.m. the piece was nearly done. Not perfect. But honest.

She stepped back. Wiped her hands on her thighs, leaving streaks on her old leggings.

The contract sat on the kitchen counter, printed and annotated and staring at her like it had opinions.

Lila had left around ten, after three hours of pros/cons, prosecco, and one tearful hug.

“You don’t have to save the world, Ev,” she’d said at the door. “Just yourself. And if that means saying yes to the hot billionaire with the penthouse view, then… maybe that’s okay.”

Evelyn had laughed. Cried a little. Promised to text her the second she decided.

Now it was just her, the quiet, and the canvas.

She cleaned her brushes slowly. Methodical. Like delaying the inevitable.

Then she sat on the couch with her phone.

Opened the text thread.

His last message: Take two.

She typed. Deleted. Typed again.

Finally: Can we meet tomorrow morning? Early.

Sent.

The reply came in seconds.

Alexander: Name the place.

Evelyn: The café. 7 a.m. Before it opens. I have a key.

Alexander: I’ll be there.

She set the phone down.

Walked to the window.

The sky was clearing,clouds parting, stars peeking through like they’d been waiting for permission. The street below glistened, wet but clean. No more rain.

She smiled a little. Felt like a sign.

Or maybe just New York finally giving her a break.

She didn’t sleep much after that.

Showered at dawn. Put on the least paint-stained jeans she owned and the soft gray sweater her mom gave her last Christmas. Left her hair down. Minimal makeup.

Grabbed the canvas the new one, still damp and wrapped it carefully in brown paper.

At 6:45 she walked to Bean & Leaf.

The streets were empty. City just waking up. Air cold and crisp, smelling like possibility.

She unlocked the door. Turned on only the front lights. Started the coffee machine because she needed something to do with her hands.

At 6:59 the door opened.

Alexander stepped in, no umbrella this time. Dark coat open over a charcoal sweater, hair a little windswept. He looked like he hadn’t slept either.

“Morning,” he said.

“Morning.” She handed him a mug—black coffee, no guesswork needed now.

He took it. Wrapped both hands around it.

They stood there. Awkward for the first time.

She broke it.

“I’m saying yes.”

He went very still.

“But with conditions. The ones we talked about. And one more.”

He waited.

She walked to the counter. Unwrapped the canvas.

Turned it to face him.

It was them or the idea of them.

Storm clouds parting. Gold breaking through. Two silhouettes at the edge one reaching, one steady.

Not perfect. Raw. Honest.

“I want you to have this,” she said. “Not buy it. Have it. Because if we’re doing this, I want you to see it every day. To remember it started with art. Not money.”

He stared at the painting for a long time.

Then at her.

“Evelyn…”

“I’m scared,” she admitted. Voice soft. “Terrified, actually. But I’m more scared of staying stuck. Of never finding out what I could be if I wasn’t always treading water.”

He set the mug down.

Stepped closer.

Not touching. Just close enough that she could feel the warmth of him.

“I can’t promise it’ll be easy,” he said. “But I can promise I’ll try to make it worth it.”

She nodded.

Swallowed.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Let’s get fake-married.”

He smiled,small, real, a little stunned.

She laughed. Shaky. Relieved.

The sun broke through the window just then, light spilling across the floor, catching the gold in the painting.

No more rain.

Just the two of them, coffee cooling between them, and a year stretching out like a blank canvas.

She reached out first.

He took her hand.

And for the first time since this started, Evelyn Harper didn’t feel like she was drowning.