Episode 2: First Sparks

Rain tapped a relentless rhythm against the cottage roof the next morning, a sound that grated on Lila’s nerves as she sat at the kitchen table, her sketchbook open but untouched. A steady drip from the ceiling plopped onto the page, smudging the faint lines she’d started the night before. She cursed under her breath, grabbing a rag to mop it up, her frustration mounting. The cottage’s charm was fading fast under the weight of its disrepair. By noon, she stood on the porch, glaring at the gray sky, arms crossed tightly against the chill. The leak was worse than she’d thought, and the thought of fixing it alone loomed like a storm cloud.

The rumble of a pickup truck cut through her thoughts, and she turned to see Jude Carter pulling into the drive. He hopped out, toolbox in hand, his jacket damp from the weather. “Saw your roof from the water,” he called, his voice carrying over the patter of rain. “Figured you’d need a hand.”

Lila bristled, her independence flaring. “I can handle it,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly.

“With what? That pencil?” He nodded toward the sketchbook clutched to her chest, his tone teasing but not unkind.

She huffed, torn between gratitude and pride, but relented as he climbed the ladder with practiced ease. From below, she watched him work, the flex of his shoulders under his jacket, the way he hummed off-key as he patched the shingles. The rain softened his rugged edges, and she found herself sketching him in her mind—strong lines, steady hands. “You always this helpful to strangers?” she asked, her voice lighter than she intended.

“Only the ones who fall into my harbor,” he shot back, flashing a grin that made her stomach flip.

Their banter flowed easily, her sharp quips meeting his dry retorts, a dance of words that felt oddly comforting. As he worked, she learned he’d fished these waters since he was a boy, his life woven into the town’s fabric. Yet there was a reserve in him, a quiet that hinted at stories he didn’t share. When he asked, “So, what brought you here?” her smile faltered. The memory of Mark’s betrayal—his late-night excuses, the woman’s perfume on his collar—clamped her throat shut. “Just needed a change,” she mumbled, retreating inside to escape his probing gaze.

Jude watched her go, the door clicking shut behind her. He’d seen that look before—eyes that held too much pain to spill. Intrigued, he finished the patch, the rain easing as he packed up. Back at his boat, he replayed their exchange, her wit sparking something in him he’d long buried. The sea stretched before him, its surface rippling with the storm’s aftermath, mirroring the stir in his chest. He wasn’t one for entanglements, not after his ex’s departure, but Lila’s presence lingered like the salt in the air.

Inside, Lila leaned against the door, her breath uneven. She wasn’t here for this—whatever “this” was. Yet as she sketched the rain-streaked window, Jude’s silhouette crept into the lines, unbidden. The cottage creaked around her, a reminder of her solitude, but for the first time, it felt less empty.

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