Signe’s   answering   smile   was   soft   and   understanding.   There   was   something 

Signe   hummed   softly   as   she   listened   to   him.   His   words   and   his   touch   being   equal   comforts   as   she   felt   a   little   exposed   in   the   moment.   He   squeezed   her   hand   gently   and   she   smiled   at   the   gesture,   and   at   him.   There   was   a   story   in   those   eyes   –   one   that   it   wasn’t   time   for   just   yet   –   but   she   had   no   doubt   that   he   understood   what   she   meant   when   she   talked   about   wanting   to   be enough,   to   be   worthy   of   the   efforts   someone   else   put   in   for   you.  “Thank you for   listening,”  she   replied   softly,   leaning   to   bump   her   shoulder   against   his.   Somehow,   the   distance   between   them   had   shrunk   to   next   to   nothing   –   shoulders   and   knees   and   hands   brushing   as   they   gazed   at   nothing   but   each   other.  “Yeah,   no   5   am   runs   for   me   –   although,   I   could   be   convinced   to   join   you after   the   sun   has   come   up,”   she   joked.   When   he   teased   her   about   her   closet   comment,   Signe   had   to   fight   a   laugh   as   she   gaped   at   him.   Taking   a   page   from   his   book,   she   placed   a   hand   over   her   chest   in   mock   shock.  “Why   Charlie   Hughes   …   are   you   trying   to  invite   yourself   back   to   my   place?”   she   gasped,   acting   overly   scandalized.   She   perked   up   as   Charlie   admitted   he   sung   and   even   played   guitar.   Signe   bit   down   on   her   bottom   lip   and   nodded.  “You’re   a   man   of   many   talents,   hm?   I   guess,   if   it’s   quid   pro   quo   –   you   sing   for   me,   I’ll   sing   for   you?” she   tilted   hear   head,   pointedly   avoiding   the   Go   Fish   comment.   Signe   wasn’t   a   sore   loser,   but   she   was   a   petty   one.  Charlie   leaned   closer   again   and   she   studied   him   closely,   his   glittering   eyes   and   his   crooked   smile.   She   smiled,   her   heart   doing   an   unsteady   little   flip   at   the   way   he   kept   finding   his   way   back   to   her   like   it   was   the   most   natural   thing   in   the   world.   She   cleared   her   throat,   ducking   away   as   she   tried   to   calm   the   flush   in   her   cheeks.   “Experts,   huh?”   Signe   looked   back   at   Charlie   and   shrugged,   a   playful   smile   on   her   lips.  “Well,   I guess   you’ve   earned   a   peek   at   my   moodboards.   You’ll   have   to   sign   an   NDA,  naturally.   I   have   to   protect   myself,   you   understand.   Sounds   like   a   respectable   second   date   activity.”

Hearing the way she said his name, so soft, so breathy, so sure, knocked the breath clean out of Charlie’s chest. His heart gave a traitorous little jump, and he had to clear his throat, steadying himself before he answered, his voice gentle but certain. “Yeah… I wouldn’t blame ya. She’s my favorite person too.”

His eyes stayed locked on hers, “I’m glad I’m helpin’ even a little. There was a time I barely even opened up to myself, let alone anyone else. I think… I just got tired of lettin’ fear have the final say, y’know? Feels like the good things, the real things, tend to outweigh the scary bits if you give ‘em half a chance.” He sat up a little straighter when she started to share, the playful glint in his eyes softening into something more earnest. His hand stayed laced with hers, fingers squeezing lightly in quiet reassurance as she spoke about her parents and the pressure she put on herself. Charlie didn’t interrupt. Didn’t rush to fix it. Just listened. And as her words hung there between them, he gave a small nod, one that said I get it without needing to unpack his own ghosts in the middle of her moment.

Because he did get it. Every bit of it. He knew the weight of wanting to be enough. He’d felt it in every sprint on that pitch, scribbling down lap times of other kids, willing his body to work harder just to be the kid who could save them from the life they’d been handed. He’d heard it, word for vicious word, from his father’s mouth while he lay broken in a hospital bed, his career slipping out from his grip. But tonight, this was her space. So instead, he squeezed her hand again and smiled softly. “Thank you… for tellin’ me that.”

He leaned back just enough to let the tension ease again, bumping his shoulder gently against hers, lingering this time. “Right then.. So, pastel sage green. Got it locked in. And no five a.m. sunrise runs with me, not gonna push my luck there. Olives are officially off the menu.” His smirk returned, playful but edged with a spark of something deeper as his eyebrows lifted. “Now, not sure if that was a real subtle pickup line just now, but I will absolutely be comin’ ‘round to admire your perfectly organized closet.” The teasing slipped easily off his tongue, but there was no hiding the sincerity underneath. His gaze lingered on hers a beat longer, the warmth between them thick as honey. “I sing a bit too, actually. Got a guitar and everything. So, fair’s fair.. You sing for me sometime, yeah? Maybe while I absolutely destroy you in go fish.”

He caught her eyes again, and his own grin twitched wider as he leaned in just a touch closer. “You’re doin’ a brilliant job at this whole openin’ up thing, by the way. Look at us, we’re basically experts now.” There was a pause, a quiet moment as his eyes drifted over the other people around them before, naturally, finding their way back to her. Always back to her. “So,” he started again, lips curling into a soft, cocky grin, “for our next date… have I officially earned the privilege of seein’ those mood boards of yours yet? Or am I still on probation?” The smirk stayed, but his eyes were gentle and patient. There was no pressure in the question, only excitement. Only hope. And a whole lot of something that felt like a spark.

She   smiled   softly,   glancing   towards   him.   “Well,   there’s   still   beauty   in   that   too,   isn’t   there?”   she   tilted   her   head,   playfully.  “Your   mum   might   not   be   arranging   bouquets,   but   being   surrounded   by   all   that   life   and   color   still   leaves   an   impact.”  At   his   question   about   her   muse,   her   gaze   focused   back   onto   the   canvas   before   them.  “Fashion   stuff,   mostly,”  she   began,   her   tone   casual   and   slightly   downplaying   just   how   much   all   that  ‘fashion   stuff’   meant   to   her.  “Fabric,   textiles   –   I   sketch   and   make   my   own   designs   –   not   for   anyone   else   yet,   but…”  Signe   shrugged,   leaving   her   sentence   unfinished.  The   girl   watched   as   he   stepped   forward   to   study   the   painting   a   little   more   closely,   and   she   allowed   the   silence   to   stretch   comfortably   as   he   made   his   own   assessments   of   the   piece.    When   he   turned   back   to   her,   all   honesty   and   charm,   it   made   her   smile   without   meaning   to.  “That’s   the   thing   about   art,”   she   said,   tucking   a   strand   of   her   unruly   hair   behind   her   ear.  “It’s   not   about   knowing   what   you’re   looking   at,   it’s   about   how   it   makes   you   feel.”   Signe   shifted   slightly,   turning   to   face   him   more   directly.   “And   for   the   record,   food absolutely   counts.   There’s   so   much   emotion   in   taste.”   He   introduced   himself,   and   a   playful   smile   curved   her   lips   as   she   reached   out   to   shake   his   hand.  “Signe. Sing-neh.   But   you   can   call   me   whatever   sounds   right,”  she   joked.   Still   holding   his   hand,   she   leaned   in,   lowering   her   voice   to   a   conspiring   whisper.   “So,   Charlie   the   Culinary   Artist,   what   kind   of   food   are   we   talking?   Tiny   towers   and   edible   flowers,   or   greasy   comfort   food?”

Charlie held a gentle smile as the girl explained the piece wasn't painted by her, "That's lovely. What a cool way to pass on an interest. My mum works at this garden center, but more like 'the soil's over here' and less of the beauty of flowers, I guess." He lets out a soft laugh as he glances between her and the painting, "What's your medium then? If this isn't it, what's your style?"

The way that she'd spoken about the painting had Charlie's eyes immediately focusing more, his feet taking a small step forward to get a better look at the colors. "I would've never even thought about somethin' like that. Don't always know what I'm supposed to be lookin' at when I look at a paintin'." He turned on his heel, attention back on the girl as his head shook, "Honestly? I know nothin' about art. Never grew up really interested, but livin' here it's impossible not to stare. Now I'm definitely someone who appreciates it, really. I can't-.. Genuinely, can't draw for shit, let alone do anythin' close to this." A shrug lifts on his shoulders, "Unless you consider food art. You could say that's my medium." He jokes, holding his hand out towards the girl, "I'm Charlie."

Maggie Q

Celine   let   out   a   snort   at   the   idea   of   taking   their   daughter   out   of   sports.   Rosie   had   developed   into   quite   the   little   athlete,   but   no   sport   sung   to   her   the   same   way   soccer   did.   Her   parents   being   who   they   were,   of   course,   had   signed   her   up   for   dance   classes   and   theater,   but   while   she   enjoyed   those   as   hobbies,   Celine   could   see   the   true   spark   in   her   whenever   she   talked   about   her   sport.    "Sure,   you   try   to   pull   her   out   of   soccer   and   let   me   know   how   that   conversation   goes,"   she   smirked.   Jack   invited   her   in   and   she   hesitated   for   the   briefest   of   moments.   She   stared   after   the   space   where   Rosie   had   just   vanished   and   then   turned   her   gaze   back   to   Jack.   His   features   still   familiar   to   her,   and   she   was   still   able   to   read   him   so   easily.   It   was   a   miracle   he'd   been   able   to   keep   anything   from   her   in   the   years   they   were   together. Celine   exhaled   and   nodded,   stepping   inside,   her   eyes   flicking   to   the   snack   on   the   counter.   She   smiled   to   herself—it   was   just   further   proof   that   Jack   was   still   trying   his   damnedest   to   be   the   kind   of   dad   Rosie   deserved.   She   respected   him   more   than   she   could   ever   say   aloud.   Jack   had   always   been   good,   just   not   hers.   Not   fully.   Not   in   the   way   she   thought   she'd   signed   up   for.   And   so,   a   year   later,   they   were   still   trying   to   find   their   way   through   parenting   together,   but   separately. "I   think   she's   just   testing   the   waters.   That's   what   I'm   hoping   at   least.   I   know   she'll   want   to   be   called   Rose   some   day   for   real,   but   I'm   praying   we've   got   a   few   years   left."   There   was   affection   clear   in   her   tone,   and   a   thinly   veiled   pride   for   the   little   girl   with   opinions   too   big   for   her   eight-year-old   frame.   She   studied   Jack   for   a   moment,   catching   the   way   he   rubbed   at   his   face.   He   always   wore   his   guilt   like   a   second   skin.   "I   think...she's   just   trying   to   figure   out   who   she   is   and   where   she   fits   now   that   the   dust's   settled." She   stepped   further   into   the   kitchen.   "Schedules   have   never   been   your   strong   suit,"   she   said,   dropping   her   bag   on   the   counter.   Celine   turned   to   look   at   him,   her   eyes   lingering   on   his   face   longer   than   she   meant   them   to.   Still   handsome.   Still   kind.   Still   someone   she   loved—just   not   in   the   way   she'd   thought   she   would   for   the   rest   of   her   life.   "All   right.   Let   me   see   what   you've   got,   I'll   see   if   I   can't   make   something   work."

Jack would be lying if he said he hadn’t been glancing at the clock all morning waiting for his daughter to arrive. Every minute closer to drop off made his chest lighter. He'd just finished putting a snack on the counter when there was a familiar knock at the door. The second he opened the door, Rosie launched past him with only the chaotic grace she managed to pull off. "Well, hello to you too!" he called after her, laughing as her bedroom door shut in the distance. He turned back just in time to catch Celine’s blink, her arms still full of the overnight bag. Jack took it from her wordlessly, his fingers brushing hers as he did. Even now, even with everything that had changed, their rhythms stayed in sync. That was what made it harder, sometimes. He still felt pangs of guilt in his chest. They'd been so good together, a true unit, that it felt odd for them to take on parenting separately, yet still somehow together.

"She’s getting too fast," he said, flashing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, holding a heaviness that never seemed to fully lighten between them. "We might need to rethink the sports. One more growth spurt and I’m done for." He paused, then let the smile fade into something softer. At her words 'It’s not bad', something in his chest twisted. A reflex. The kind you build when you’ve had to break news to someone who loved you. He tilted his head slightly, leaning towards the whisper, years of working around sound equipment not doing him any justice.

"Rose?" he echoed, eyebrows rising. "What, is she turning eighty?" He smirked, then sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face, "This whole.." Jack waved his hands around for emphasis, "personality thing... I thought we had a few good years left before puberty snuck in." He looked back briefly, toward the hallway where Rosie, 'Rose?', had disappeared to. Part of him hoped her door would creak back open and she’d be four again, asking him to retie her shoelaces or make up a bedtime story. But instead he looked back at Celine, eyes a little glassier than he meant them to be. "Would you like to come in?" he asked, voice quieter, a step to his side as an open invitation. "If you’re not in a rush. I’ve been trying to figure out her soccer schedule, but it overlaps with the college showcase and.." he exhaled. "I’m still not great at the calendar stuff." The silence that lingered was soft but familiar, like everything between them now, as complicated as it was, was still whole in its own way.

Watching   Charlie   react   to   her   playlist   was   surprisingly   one   of   the   more   intimate   experiences   of   her   life.    They   were   both   allowing   songs   say   the   words   they   were   too   scared   or   hesitant   to   say   out   loud   and   then   the reactions? The   subtle   touches   of   acknowledgement   and   acceptance.   It   sent   every   nerve-ending   of   hers   on   fire.   She   giggled   at   the   way   the   absolutely   lit   up   at   the   A*Teens   cover   of  Mamma   Mia   and   found   another   reason   to   sit   him   down   in   front   of   one   of   her   favorite   musicals   one   of   these   days.  “Sure,   I’m   not   afraid   of   a   good   karaoke   stage,” she   grinned. He   lay   back   when Night   Changes   came   on,   and   her   eyes   were   glued   on   him   as   he   mouthed   the   lyrics.   His   hand   found   hers   and   she   squeezed   it   gently,   silent   acknowledgement.   When   he   glanced   at   her   talking   about   the  right person,   she   smiled   shyly   breaking   the   eye   contact.   “You’re   sounding   very   philosophical   these   days,   y’know?”  The   song   shifted   again   and   she   wasn’t   sure   what   was   more   overwhelming.   The   way   that   Charlie’s   whole   body   had   responded   to   the   song,   or   the   fact   that   he  didn’t   try   to   hide   it.   He   didn’t   pretend   it   wasn’t   affecting   him.   He   just   looked   at   her   like   he  saw   her   and   felt   all   the   heat   she’d   meant   to   bottle   into   that   song   and   decided   he   wanted   it.   And   then… If   dinner   weren’t   in   the   oven… Frankly,   dinner   wouldn’t   have   stopped   her.   She   was   about   to   say   as   much,   but   Charlie   stood   and   walked   away.   That   fact   didn’t   break   the   spell,   but   it   just   made   her   smirk.   Her   eyes   followed   him   as   he   walked   back   to   the   kitchen,   calling   over   his   shoulder   to   set   the   movie   up.   She   rested   her   arms   on   the   back   of   the   couch   and   just   looked   at   him   for   a   moment.   Her   cheeks   were   flushed   and   her   heart   was   racing,   but   she   couldn’t   help   the   giddy   feeling   she   had   knowing   she’d   affected   him   like   that.   She   reached   for   the   remote   and   queued   up   the   movie,   but   didn’t   press   play,   waiting   for   him   to   return   with   their   meal.   Signe   sank   back   into   the   couch,   curling   her   legs   underneath   her,   before   she   called   back,   playful   and   undeniably   flirty.  “Just   so   you   know…that   was   the  mild   playlist.”   A   beat   and   then.  “I   have   another   one,   but   you’d   probably   need   to   cancel   all   your   dinner   plans   for   that   one.”

Charlie gave a low, quiet laugh as her first song played, his blush rising again, this time not from embarrassment, but from the weight of what she wasn’t saying out loud. Think I Wanna See You Again. He didn’t need the explanation. He just glanced at her, lips parting like he might say something, but then shut his mouth again. Instead, he reached over and let his hand rest lightly on her thigh, thumb tracing an idle, slow circle against the fabric there. "I was already plannin’ on seein’ you again," he said finally, voice just barely above a whisper. "But… nice to know it’s mutual."

When White Houses came on, he listened with quiet focus, watching her from the side. He could see how grounded she was in the lyrics, like they held parts of her story she hadn’t said out loud. When she mentioned her move, he gave a small nod, nudging her knee with his. "I get that," he murmured. "Feelin’ like you’re brand new somewhere and tryin’ to look like you’ve always belonged." And then Mamma Mia started. He looked over at her, grinning like he’d just caught her red-handed. "You're jokin' me! My mum is obsessed with Abba. And with that musical too, yeah?" Charlie laughed, delighted. "That’s brilliant! We never had this remix-y madness. I feel like I’m hearin’ ABBA on a sugar high. Might have to add this to my workout playlist." He reached for his wine, still chuckling, and looked at her with soft, amused eyes as he took a sip. "You realise this means you have to sing one of these at karaoke with me someday, yeah?"

As Night Changes came on, something in him shifted. He placed his wine back down, leaning back to rest his head on the back of the couch. Charlie let the song wash over him, his eyes fluttering shut like it was instinct. The lyrics held a kind of gentle ache he hadn’t noticed before, not when he was sixteen, fumbling through the chords of the song, trying to impress a girl who didn’t know his name. But here, now, with Signe beside him, it hit differently. He reached out, without opening his eyes, and found her hand again, interlacing their fingers. When the last note faded, he didn’t let go. "I like that one," he said softly. "Feels like it means more now than it ever did when I was a kid." He looked at her, gaze steady and honest. "Maybe that’s the thing about the right person.. they make old songs feel new."

And then, Dangerous Woman. Charlie sat up straighter the second the sultry opening hit the speakers. His entire body tensed, not in discomfort, but in heightened awareness. Of her. Of the song. Of everything left unsaid between them. He'd heard it before, in pubs, in clubs, maybe even in the locker room once or twice, but he'd never heard it in this context. It had never felt this powerful. "Oh, bloody hell," he muttered under his breath, letting out a nervous laugh. His thumb dragged down his bottom lip as he tried, and failed, to keep a straight face. "If dinner weren’t in the oven, I’d be suggestin’ we table the rest of the playlist and revisit this one. Thoroughly." His voice was teasing, but there was a genuine flush to his cheeks now, the tension in his jaw not entirely performative. Charlie stood, forcing himself to break the spell before he did something impulsive. "Right, okay. That’s me ruined," he called over his shoulder as he made his way to the kitchen. "You mind settin’ up the movie, love? I’ll plate us up." There was a long beat of silence, and then, from the kitchen "… Also, that was the hottest playlist I’ve ever been emotionally wrecked by. So thanks for that!"

HAVANA ROSE LIU for sundance film festival

The   moment   their   lips   met   again,   all   of   the   doubt   and   hesitation   seemed   to   disappear   from   Charlie   as   he   pulled   her   close.   The   whole   world   floated   away,   and   the   only   thing   that   was   left   was   the   dizzying   sensation   of   his   mouth   on   hers.   He   kissed   her   like   she   was   something   precious,   like   he’d   been   waiting   to   do   it   again   from   the   second   he   stopped.   When   they   finally   broke   away,   Signe   opened   her   eyes   to   see  his   still   closed   and   the   sight   cleaved   at   something   within   her.   He   opened   his   eyes   and   laughed,   low   and   quiet   and   the   corners   of   her   mouth   tugged   into   a   soft   smile.   God,   he   was   going   to   be   her   undoing.   And   maybe   it   was   too   fast.   Maybe   it   broke   every   unspoken   rule   she   usually   held   herself   to   rigidly.   But   Charlie   seemed   to   have   a   way   of   pulling   all   the   caution   out   of   her   that   bypassed   logic   and   timelines   and   every   hesitant   script   she   usually   followed.   Signe   should   have   been   scared   by   how   easily   she   could   lose   herself   in   this   but   all   she   felt   was   the   quiet,   heady   thrill   of   wanting  more.   His   whispers   to   her   had   her   cheeks   tinged   pink,   feeling   the   words   settle   in   the   part   of   her   that   still   sometimes   questioned   if   she   was   too   much   or   not   enough.  He   pulled   back   and   with   a   crooked,   playful   grin   asked   for   her   favorite   movie,   casually,   as   if   they’d   been   in   the   middle   of   a   game   of   Twenty   Questions   or   something.   Her   laugh   came   out   a   little   breathless   and   she   shook   her   head.  “That’s   what   you’re   going   with   after   kissing   me   like that?   My   favorite   movie?”  Her   eyes   glittered   with   amusement   as   she   just   watched   him   for   a   moment.  “You’re   ridiculous,”  she   said   softly,   unable   to   stop   smiling.  “My   favorite   movie   is   called The   Half   of   It.   It’s   about   a   queer   Chinese-American   girl   and   it’s   a   coming   of   age   story   and   I   saw   so   much   of   myself   not   just   in   the   main   character,   but   the   supporting   characters   too.”  It   was   a   special   story   to   her   even   if   it   was   a   more   recent   movie   than   some   she’d   watched   and   loved   in   her   childhood.  She   glanced   down   at   the   hand   still   resting   against   her   side   and   the   soft   drag   of   his   thumb   against   her   dress   making   goosebumps   raise   along   her   arms.   Signe’s   eyes   lifted   and   watched   as   he   took   a   drink   from   his   water   bottle,   a   wicked   smile   on   his   lips   as   he   drank.   Her   eyes   went   a   little   unfocused   as   she   zeroed   in   on   his   mouth,   remembering   the   feel   of   it   against   her   own   and   only   snapped   out   of   her   thoughts   when   Charlie’s   shoulder   bumped   against   hers.   She   registered   his   words   and   his   teasing   smile   and   heat   returned   to   her   cheeks  (  had   it   ever   really   left   from   the   moment   she   entered   his   presence   ?   ).   She   fought   a   smile,   knocking   her   shoulder   against   his.  “Shut   up,”   she   muttered   under   her   breath,   a   little   embarrassed   at   being   caught   staring,   but   not   at   all   remorseful.

Once Signe’s hand found the side of his neck, Charlie didn’t think, he simply pulled her closer. The last shred of doubt, the fear that she might pull away, evaporated the second her mouth met his again, firmer this time, answering him with a tenderness that made his chest ache. There was no hesitation in the way he kissed her now, no lingering shyness, only this, only them, and the dizzying certainty that whatever this thing was between them, it was real.

He breathed out through his nose as they finally, reluctantly, pulled apart, his forehead pressing lightly against hers. Charlie’s eyes stayed closed a moment longer, as if trying to trap the feeling, the way she tasted like hope and the semla he’d spent the night before working on; the way the world seemed to tilt and steady all at once when she was in his arms. He forced his eyes open, and god, she’s looking at him like that, bright and unguarded. Like he’s something good. Like maybe she’s just as wrecked as he is. A breathless laugh escaped his lips without permission, the sound low and completely sincere. And then Signe’s hand slid down to rest against his chest, right over the place where his heart was thundering like it might break free. Charlie drew a slow, deliberate breath, hoping to steady himself and he knows, he knows, she can feel what she’s doing to him.

After all the years spent wandering from place to place, nights spent with people he hadn’t seen long enough to even learn their names, let alone remember them, Charlie had never felt anything like this, the gut-punch pull to stay. The need to memorize the way she flushed at a compliment, the way her smile tugged shyly at the corners before it bloomed into something brilliant. The need to know her, really know her. Charlie stayed still, like he was afraid even breathing too hard might break the spell between them. He tucked his head beside hers, huffing a shaky little breath against her hair, smiling against it because it’s either that or say something too raw, too soon. His fingers brush along her waist, slow. “You’re somethin’ else, Signe,” he says quietly, the words barely a whisper between them. Another breath. Another half-second where he almost says more. Where he almost tells her he’s never felt like this on a first date, never wanted to stay so badly it physically aches. But he swallows it down for now.

Instead, he leans back just enough to catch her eyes properly again, his forehead brushing against hers one last time as he grins, breathless and boyish and undeniably him. “I’m definitely startin’ to like responsibility,” he murmured, his voice low and playful. His arm tightened around her for just a moment before he peppered smaller, feather-light kisses along the slope of her cheek, a low laugh rumbling from his chest, half disbelieving, half proud. “And now that we got that bit sorted…” Charlie pulls back, finally giving them a tiny sliver of space, though his hand stays curled around her side, thumb tracing absent little patterns against the fabric of her dress. His grin sharpens, playful again but his eyes stay soft, drinking her in like he can’t look away. He bumps his nose against hers, that boyish, cocky spark reigniting in his eyes, “What’s your favorite movie?”

The question was so normal he almost startled himself, like he’s inviting her into some private joke that only the two of them know now. Charlie leaned back properly for the first time all night, just enough to put an inch or two of space between them, though his hand never fully left her. He scanned her face again, greedy for it, for the look of her cheeks still tinged pink, the way her eyes softened even when she laughed. Grabbing his water bottle from the blanket, Charlie took a sip, glancing at her as he did, his grin lingering around the bottle. There was a steadiness under the teasing now, something unmistakable. Something that said he wasn’t going anywhere. That whatever this was between them, this quiet, slow-blooming fire, he wanted to stay and see exactly where it led. He lowered the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and then, without missing a beat, bumped his shoulder lightly against hers, the grin tugging at his mouth unmistakable. “Careful, love.” Charlie says, voice low and teasing, “Keep lookin’ at me like that and I’m gearin' to start askin’ a lot more questions.”

Signe   glanced   over   the   man’s   bracelet   and   bit   back   a   smile,   offering   her   own   half-finished   bracelet   over   to   him. “Honestly?   I   still   think   you’re   doing   better   than   me,” she   said   with   a   soft   laugh.   She   watched   him,   the   way   he   carefully   worked   through   the   knot   in   her   thread. “Thanks,”   she   murmured,   not   just   for   the   assistance   but   for   the   encouraging   words. “I   think   I   needed   that   reminder.” The   truth   was,   she had   been   taking   the   task   a   little   too   seriously.   It   came   second   nature   to   her   to   approach   each   task   as   if   it   were   life   or   death.   She   exerted   the   effort   because   the   bracelets   felt   like   an   apology   for   the   time   she   hadn’t   been   able   to   spend   with   her   friends   lately.   There   had   been   a   lot   of   trying,   but   not   a   lot   of   succeeding.   Signe   often   expected   perfection   when   no   one   else   demanded   it   of   her. “At   the   end   of   the   day,   it is   the   thought   that   counts.   Although,   I   can’t   say   my   ego   hasn’t   taken   a   hit   for   being   out done   by   a   bunch   of   string.”

"I don't know how much help I'll be," Isaiah wasn't faring much better, clearly having learned nothing from the jewelry making class the community put on not too long ago, "but I can certainly try." He gently set aside the mess of a friendship bracelet he was attempting to put together to lend the other a hand. "I was thinking the same thing about the one I was working on, but I think I'll still end up finishing it." He commented as he worked on untangling the string for the other. "Then again, I don't expect my friends to actually wear these, so a few imperfections on my end aren't going to be the end of the world." He figured whatever friendship bracelets he gave away by the end of the night would simply be silly little trinkets his friends could store away somewhere, just a soft reminder that they were on his mind even when busy schedules kept them from hanging out as much as he'd like. "And if they do end up wearing them, then I'd assume they likely care more about the thought behind them rather than how they end up looking." His words were a gentle recommendation to not take the activity too seriously.

⇢ 🌸 STATUS ﹕ open ⇢ 🌸 TAGGING ﹕signe + utp !! ( @palmviewstarters ) ⇢ 🌸 DETAILS ﹕ signe explores the MANGO BAY ART DISTRICT.

Signe   had   visited   the   Mango   Bay   Art   District   before,   but   somehow,   it   was   different   when   she   was   now   a   resident   of   the   neighborhood.   The   colorful   murals   along   the   walls   and   alleyways   seemed   particularly   vibrant   all   of   a   sudden.   The   Coastal   Creations   Gallery   had   its   doors   open,   and   like   a   moth   to   flame,   Signe   found   herself   pulled   in.   Music   was   drifting   in   from   somewhere   and   local   artists   were   mingling   beside   their   pieces. She   hovered   over   one   canvas   that   reminded   her   of   something   her   mother   might've   admired   in   an   old   museum   catalog.   Her   fingers   itched   with   a   need   to   recreate   it,   to   break   its   mold   and   reshape   it,   but   she   tampered   down   the   urge.   Signe   had   always   been   impulsive   when   it   came   to   her   art,   and   she'd   learn   in   college   that   she   did   not   allow   herself   enough   time   to   experience   what   inspired   her   before   she   tried   to   recreate   the   feeling. Lost   in   her   thoughts,   Signe   didn't   notice   someone   approaching   until   they   were   right   over   her   shoulder.   "Oh!"   she   blinked   in   surprise.   "I'm   sorry,   am   I   blocking   your   view?"