FREYA CARTER
The rest of the afternoon felt almost unreal.
After the church, something in Rowan had shifted not dramatically, not visibly to anyone else but I could feel it in the way his hand lingered at my waist as we stepped back into the sunlight.
We walked through narrow streets lined with boutiques and cafés, their windows glowing softly as the day began to fade into evening. The lake shimmered under the lowering sun, and the mountains beyond it looked almost violet against the sky.
“This is what I meant,” I said, gesturing around us. “You would’ve missed this.” I said as I looked up at him with a smile. He looked at me for a second before looking away.
“I’ve seen it before,” he replied, looking elsewhere.
“Not like this.” I said with the roll of my eyes.
He glanced at me s
