The sunrise that morning wasn't dramatic.
Just gentle.
A watercolor sky—lavender melting into honey, the clouds still heavy with sleep, and the sound of seabirds drifting in like lullabies that forgot their lyrics.
Isla woke to warmth.
Not heat. Not chaos.
Just warmth.
Lennox's arm rested over her hip, heavy in the way things are when they don't want to leave. His breath stirred against the curve of her shoulder, steady and close, like it had been there all along and only just remembered itself.
They hadn't planned to stay.
But neither of them had moved after the kiss.
After his mouth touched hers like a prayer he wasn't sure he deserved to say out loud.
After her hands curled into his shirt like she'd been reaching for that moment since chapter one.
And now… morning.
Her room was still dark, curtains drawn, but the light seeped through like a secret. Jasper was curled at the foot of the bed, his tail twitching lazily, a silent chaperone pretending not to notice.
Lennox stirred, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like "fox pancake," and Isla bit down a smile.
"You drool in your sleep," she whispered.
He cracked one eye open. "Only when I dream about syrup."
She turned toward him, slowly. Her hair a mess. Her sweater too stretched. Her eyes wide with the wonder of what she'd let happen.
He looked at her like she was still the answer to a question he didn't remember asking—but was very, very glad he'd found.
"I should make you breakfast," she said.
"You absolutely should."
"I burn toast."
"I like the drama."
A beat.
Then—"I'm scared," she whispered.
He nodded. "Me too."
She ran a finger along his jaw, slow. "Good. Let's stay that way."
---
They made breakfast together.
Well—Isla made coffee. Lennox flipped pancakes in her tiny pan with a wooden spatula that had been singed on one edge. Juniper's fox sat at the edge of the counter, watching like royalty.
They didn't talk about the kiss.
Not directly.
They didn't have to.
It was everywhere.
In the way Lennox stood a little too close.
In the way Isla reached for his mug instead of hers without realizing it.
In the soft hush of their laughter when the syrup bottle exploded on the table.
After, they sat on the porch with mismatched mugs and a shared blanket, watching the fog slowly lift from the cliffs.
And Isla asked the question she hadn't dared until now.
"What happens next?"
Lennox was quiet for a moment.
Then:
"I fill out the rest of the forms. I tell Juniper I'm staying. I figure out how to buy dinosaur-shaped nuggets and keep a small person alive."
He looked at her, voice softer now.
"And then… I ask you what role you want to play."
She blinked.
He went on.
"Because I don't want to ask you to be anything you're not ready to be. But I also don't want to pretend I'm not hoping you'll stay."
Her heart thudded. Slow. Deep.
"You're asking if I want to be in this story for real."
He nodded. "I'm asking if I can write you into it."
She reached over, took his hand.
"You already did," she said.