Ali smiled, tucking her hands into her pockets. “Ordinary doesn’t mean bad. Sometimes ordinary is just… comfortable.”
He glanced at her, something unreadable flickering in his expression before he nodded. “Yeah. Comfortable.”
They walked through the center of town, pausing occasionally when Ray wanted to peer into a shop window or ask about a landmark. He teased her mercilessly when she admitted she’d never actually been inside the touristy gift store she had walked by hundreds of times.
“Three years of telling me about this town and you’ve never even been inside the place with the giant wooden bear out front?” he said, incredulous.
Ali crossed her arms defensively. “Because it’s for tourists! I live here.”
“Which makes this even better.” He grabbed her wrist, pulling her gently but firmly toward the door. “Come on. We’re going in.”
The bell above the door jingled as they stepped inside. Ali groaned softly at the rows of kitschy souvenirs—keychains, mugs, snow globes—even as Ray wandered through them like he’d stepped into a treasure trove.
“This is amazing,” he said, holding up a mug with the town’s name printed in bold letters. “I’m buying this.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously supportive of local business,” he countered with a grin.
Ali shook her head but couldn’t suppress her laughter. Watching him marvel over trinkets she’d always dismissed made her see the place differently—maybe it wasn’t ordinary after all.
---
By midday, they ended up at the lake. The water stretched wide and still, reflecting the pale blue of the sky and the drifting clouds. Leaves skittered across the surface, carried by the breeze. Ali led him to a spot on the wooden dock where she often came alone, dangling her legs over the edge.
Ray dropped down beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed. The contact sent a shiver down her spine, though she forced herself to focus on the view.
“It’s even prettier than you described,” Ray murmured after a long silence. His voice had softened, low and thoughtful.
Ali hugged her knees loosely. “I come here a lot when I need to think. Or when I just want to… breathe.”
Ray nodded, his gaze steady on the water. “Makes sense. It feels… peaceful.”
The wind carried their words away, leaving a companionable silence. Ali risked a glance at him, catching the way the sunlight lit his profile, the faint crease between his brows as if he were lost in thought.
Her chest ached with the weight of everything unspoken—the years of longing, the endless nights spent wondering what it would be like to sit beside him like this.
“Ray?” she asked quietly.
He turned, his eyes locking with hers. “Yeah?”
The question she wanted to ask tangled in her throat. She wanted to know if he felt it too, this pull between them, this thread that had tied them together long before either of them admitted it. But instead, she swallowed it back. Not yet.
“Nothing,” she said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… thanks. For coming here.”
His expression softened, and he reached out, his hand covering hers where it rested on her knee. The warmth of his palm spread through her, grounding and electrifying all at once.
“I’d do it again,” he said simply.
Ali’s breath hitched. She looked away, afraid her eyes would give too much away.
---
They spent the afternoon wandering further—grabbing lunch at the small diner where Ali had practically grown up, exploring the park with its winding paths and fading flowers, laughing over ice cream even though the chill made their fingers numb. Everywhere they went, Ray fit seamlessly into the rhythm of her world, as though he’d always belonged there.
By the time the sun dipped low, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, they made their way back to her house.
Inside, the quiet wrapped around them again. The day had worn them out in the best way, leaving a comfortable exhaustion. Ali kicked off her shoes, stretching her arms above her head with a groan.
“Long day?” Ray teased, dropping his backpack by the door.
“Fun day,” she corrected, shooting him a small smile.
Their eyes lingered on each other a little too long before Ali turned toward the kitchen. “I’ll get us something for dinner.”
As she busied herself with reheating leftovers, Ray leaned against the counter, watching her with that same unreadable expression. Ali felt his gaze like a physical touch, her hands fumbling slightly with the plates.
When they finally sat down to eat, the conversation was lighter again—jokes, stories, teasing remarks—but beneath it all, the current of tension still hummed. Every brush of his hand against hers, every shared glance across the table, felt loaded with meaning.
After dinner, they settled in the living room, watching an old movie neither of them paid much attention to. Ali curled into the corner of the couch, and Ray stretched out beside her, their shoulders pressed together, their laughter filling the small space whenever the movie made an unintentional joke of itself.
At some point, Ali realized her head had tipped against his shoulder. She froze, waiting for him to move, but instead, he shifted slightly, tucking her closer against him. His arm came to rest along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing her hair in a way that felt far too intimate for something so casual.
Her heart raced, but she didn’t move. She let herself stay there, wrapped in the warmth of him, savoring the moment as the movie played on.
By the time they finally headed to bed, the silence between them carried all the weight of everything left unsaid.
