The only way it doesn't hurt

Part Four

I took a breath too.

Then I moved into the bathroom, washed my face, let cold water sharpen the edge off my thoughts. I caught my reflection-jaw tight, eyes tired but alert-and looked away before it could say too much.

After changing into something looser-a dark sweater, jeans-I headed back down, opened the window in the living room just a crack, and let the salt air inside.

I didn't light a fire, though the hearth tempted me.

Instead, I stood by the window, hands in my pockets, watching the wind play with the ivy outside, and for the first time since I'd arrived, let myself feel the stillness.

There was something about the place. Something I couldn't name.

I moved around the cottage slowly, each step a little heavier now that the adrenaline had worn off. My mind ran on lists and deadlines, but for once, my body wanted something else: stillness.

Two months in Rosebury.

That had sounded like a long time in the meeting. Even now, it stretched out in my mind like a road I hadn't agreed to walk. But here I was.

The couch welcomed me like it had been waiting. I sank into it, resting my head back against the cushion. The quiet wasn't just outside-it had settled inside me too.

My phone buzzed once. A message from Lauren:
"Everyone's settled. We'll go over the shoot plan in the morning. Rest up."

I replied with a thumbs-up emoji. I didn't feel like words.

The firewood stacked by the hearth tempted me again, but I didn't move. The weight of the drive, the strange comfort of the space, the scent of salt and thyme in the air-it lulled me.

I glanced at my camera bag in the corner. The zipper still shut. The lenses still clean, untouched. That was rare. Normally I unpacked first. Controlled. Precise.

But this wasn't normal.

This wasn't just another city backdrop or sleek editorial with models and sharp lines. This town... it had edges softened by salt wind, details whispered instead of declared.

I didn't know what story I'd be telling here yet. And that made me restless.

Still, tomorrow.

Tonight, I'd let the silence stay.

I closed my eyes, just for a moment.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn't dream about deadlines.

______

The next morning came gently, but I was already awake before the light cracked through the curtains. Rosebury had that kind of quiet—so complete it made you think more than you should.

By the time I reached the gallery office with the team, the mist was still hugging the streets, rolling off the sea in slow waves. The building itself was tucked near the town square, an old brick structure with wide windows and iron lettering above the door: Rosebury Arts Collective.

Theo stood beside me, already animated about local color palettes and textures. Leah was practically bouncing on her heels, notebook in hand, scarf too bright for the foggy street. Lauren and Naomi followed behind, both calm but curious.

“Ewan,” Theo said, giving me a small nudge with his elbow, “just look at this place. You can already smell the stories.”

I gave a small nod, eyes scanning the modest gallery front. Ivy curled near the door frame. An old copper bell above the entrance swayed slightly in the wind.