Celine's   expression   shifted,   barely   concealing   her   amusement.   Her   eyes 

#𝐁𝐲𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞: a study in soft things

⇢ 🌸 STATUS ﹕ closed. ⇢ 🌸 TAGGING ﹕signe + sigrid!! (@ofelation) ⇢ 🌸 LOCATION ﹕ palmview university.

Signe   made   her   way   up   the   familiar   staircase   of   the   humanities   building   with   a   to-go   iced   coffee   in   one   hand   and   a   wax   paper   bag   in   the   other   containing   a   cinnamon   bun.   A   peace   offering,   if   she   was   being   honest   with   herself.   Signe   didn't   visit   her   mother's   office   often,   not   because   she   didn't   love   visiting   her   mom,   but   because   Sigrid   Holmström   was   a   consummate   professional.   The   girl   had   always   felt   guilty   about   disrupting   her   mother's   crisp,   orderly   and   polished   world   at   the   university.   Switching   the   coffee   to   her   other   hand,   she   knocked   twice   on   the   office   door   before   opening   it   without   waiting   for   a   reply.   “Professor   Holmström,”   Signe   began,   her   voice   full   of   playful   formality.   “I   come   bearing   caffeine   and   carbs.   And   maybe   a   bit   of   daughterly   guilt.   You   free   for   a   little   break?”

@anchorsfm

Driven (2018)

⇢ 🌸 STATUS ﹕ open. ⇢ 🌸 TAGGING ﹕signe + utp !! ( @palmviewstarters ) ⇢ 🌸 DETAILS ﹕ at the friendship bracelet station.

Signe   sat   cross-legged   at   the   friendship   bracelet   station,   brow   furrowed   in   quiet   frustration   as   she   tried   to   untangle   a   note   that   definitely   wasn't   supposed   to   be   there.   "You'd   think   this   would   be   easier,"   she   muttered,   half   to   herself.   She   sewed   clothes   for   fun,   and   yet   she   was   being   completely   made   a   fool   of   by   a   few   pieces   of   string.   The   embarrassed   flush   of   her   cheeks   was   hidden   in   the   shadow   of   the   bonfire   behind   her.   Another   moment   and   she   let   out   a   frustrated   sigh,   she   turned   to   the   person   beside   her   with   a   sheepish   smile.   "Care   to   save   me   from   myself   and   help   me   get   this   thing   untangled?"   she   said,   holding   out   her   tangled   mess   of   string.   "I   think   it's   a   lost   cause   frankly.   I   should   probably   just   start   over."

[ … ] ❀ you’re not from around here , are you? i figured because you totally just missed { OPHELIA JANE YOUNG  } walking by. don’t tell me you don’t know who { SHE } is ? they kind of look like { SOPHIE COOKSON } and i could be wrong but i think that they might be { 31 } years old right now. they’ve been living in palmview for the last { 10 YEARS }. and i don’t know if anyone has ever told them this before but they kind of remind me of { DAISY JONES } from { DAISY JONES AND THE SIX }. if you stick around the town long enough you might catch them in action working at { MANGO BAY RECORD STORE } as a { SALES CLERK }. you see this town isn’t really that big of a place, some folks like to call them the { THE MISFIT } of palmview! they took a liking to the name too after a while, go figure. oh crap, they must have heard me yapping. they’re coming this way. i got to warn you though, rumor has it they can pretty { CYNICAL } at times. i wouldn’t take it too seriously though, from the times i’ve spoken to them they seemed pretty { PASSIONATE } to me. we see each other all the time since they live in that { 2 BEDROOM } apartment beside me over in { CORAL COVE }. i better leave you to it. it was nice meeting you!  { KRYS. 32. SHE/HER. EST. }

𝓲. 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚜

name: ophelia jane young nickname(s): lia age: thirty1 birthday: 15 july 1993 gender/pronouns: cis woman + she/her sexuality: pansexual occupation: sales clerk at mango bay record store residence: harborview residences #4C time in palmview: 10 years

𝓲𝓲. 𝚝𝚕𝚍𝚛

ophelia jane young grew up just outside of chicago, raised by her steady, loving father after her free-spirited mother walked out when she was five. the emotional void left by her mother shaped much of her early life, as did the bullying she endured throughout school for her eccentric style and quiet nature. she found solace in music, which became both her refuge and her voice. after thriving in college in new york ( and falling in and out of her first real love ) ophelia fled heartbreak by relocating to palmview, florida. she works at the mango bay record store and plays local gigs, still chasing the dream she's nurtured since childhood, but increasingly uncertain about what comes next.

full bio here.

𝓲𝓲𝓲. 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜

🎸 open mic confidant – a fellow local musician she regularly shares sets and cigarettes with—someone who truly gets the grind 🎸 the one that got away – a former love from her nyc days who shows up in palmview unexpectedly, reigniting unresolved feelings 🎸 coworker turned co-dreamer – someone at the record store who challenges her creative stagnation and pushes her toward risk 🎸 the muse – someone who sees something in ophelia she can’t yet see in herself; either a new crush or an infuriatingly inspiring friend 🎸 the skeptic – someone who questions her choices, unintentionally forcing her to define what she actually wants 🎸 musical collaborator – a person she starts writing or performing with, whose energy shifts how she approaches her own art 🎸 ghost of a past life – a figure from college or childhood who shows up just as she’s trying to move forward, complicating everything 🎸 neighbors 🎸 roommate 🎸 former crushes/flings/exes 🎸 current crushes 🎸 college friends 🎸 work friends/coworkers 🎸 i'm up for anything!! just DM me!

She   clinked   her   glass   against   his,   smiling   as   she   took   a   sip.   Signe   allowed   herself   to   be   led   to   the   living   room   and   sat   on   the   couch   in   front   of   the   television.   It   warmed   her   heart   that   he   was   so   excited,   that   he   had   actually   put   thought   and   effort   into   the   silly   little   game   she’d   thought   up.   She   felt   his   hand   brush   against   her   knee   as   they   settled   into   their   seats   and   simply   scooted   closer.   Charlie   gave   her   a   sheepish   look,   begging   her   to   be   gentle   and   she   couldn’t   help   but   lean   in   to   brush   her   lips   against   his   cheek. “Don’t   worry,   you’re   safe   with   me,” she   murmured,   the   words   not   light-hearted   but   not   quite   teasing.   She was   being   honest   with   him,   but   she   wanted   some   of   the   tension   in   his   shoulders   to   ease. 

 Signe   felt   the   shift   the   moment  Nothing   started   to   play   –   the   way   Charlie   settled   into   the   cushions   like   he   was   bracing   for   impact.   She   didn’t   say   anything,   just   let   the   song   speak   for   itself.   The   first   category   was   the   song   that   made   them   think   of   each   other.   The   way   he   picked   this   one   first   made   her   chest   ache   in   a   way   that   surprised   her.   She   felt   her   eyes   sting   at   the   raw   vulnerability   the   song   displayed.   She   glanced   at   him,   but   he   wasn’t   looking   at   her.   So,   she   just   reached   and   brushed   her   fingers   along   the   back   of   his   hand.   She   didn’t   press   for   a   look   or   a   smile,   just   letting   him   know   that   she   was  here. 

 The   second   song,  Seventeen   Going   Under,   came   on   and   she   nodded   as   he   explained.   Something   boat   it   felt   like   something   Charlie   would   have   had   in   his   headphones   as   a   teenager.   She   could   feel   the   old   bruises   tucked   under   every   lyric.   She   cracked   a   smile   the   second Red   Wine   Supernova   started,   recognizing   the   song   immediately.   “I   would never   judge   your   hyperpop   era,”   she   teased. “Honestly,   it’s   a   little   hot   picturing   this   on   your   running   music   set.” She   watched   him   sway   along,   foot   tapping   and   warmth   filled   her.   She   playfully   bumped   his   knee   and   gave   her   a   cheeky   little   smile. 

 The   opening   to  My Boo   pulled   a   surprised   laugh   from   her.   She   looked   at   him   as   he   explained   why   it   had   made   the   list. “Of   course you   would   start   impromptu   Usher   dance   breaks   at   work.”   Signe   giggled   into   her   wine   glass,   but   her   smile   was   soft.   She   was   definitely   storing   this   little   factoid   to   pull   out   randomly   as   some   point   in   the   future.   The   final   song   started   playing   –   the   one   whose   category   she’d   thrown   in   on   a   whim   –   and   Signe   just   sat   there,   listening   intently.   This   was   a   version   of   him   that   no   one   else   got   to   see. 

 When   his   playlist   finished,   she   set   her   glass   down   and   reached   for   his   hand   again,   this   time   holding   it   properly.   “Charlie,   that   was   –”   she   stopped   herself   before   she   got   too   earnest   to   fast,   her   eyes   flicking   to   the   TV. “Spectacular.   I   can’t   believe   you   made   that   for   me.”   She   squeezed   his   hand,   and   then   the   corners   of   her   mouth   quirked   up   into   a   grin.   She   reached   for   the   remote   and   started   queuing   hers   up. “Alright,   Mr.   Emotionally   Rinsed…   I   don’t   know   if   my   playlist   will   hold   a   candle   to   yours,   but   the   gentle   rule   applies   to   you   as   well!” 

 First   up   was  Think   I   Wanna   See   You   Again   by   Grace   Enger.   She   offered   up   no   explanation,   but   her   cheeks   heated   immediately.   The   first   time   she’d   heard   the   song,   there   was   only   one   face   and   name   that   had   come   to   mind.   The   same   face   that   she   hadn’t   been   able   to   stop   thinking   about   since   they’d   crossed   paths   in   the   art   district.   It   was   almost   as   if   she   could   have   written   the   lyrics   herself,   and   it   left   Signe   feeling   terribly   exposed. 

 Up   next   was  White   Houses   by   Vanessa   Carlton.   She   smiled   softly,   only   braving   to   look   at   Charlie   from   the   corner   of   her   eye. “I’ve   got   a   thing   for   singer/songwriter   vibes,   you’ll   notice.   Vanessa   Carlton   is   queen.”   She   paused   briefly.   “This   song   also   felt   incredibly   relevant   to   me   when   I   first   moved   to   the   United   States.   Like   you   said   for   your   song,   I   identified   with   the   song   so   much,   it’s   just   an   all-time   favorite   of   mine.”

 Then,   the   familiar   notes   of  Mamma   Mia filled   the   room.   Only   it   wasn’t   ABBA’s   original,   but   the   cover   by   A*Teens.   Signe   laughed   and   buried   her   face   in   her   hands. “Okay,   this   is   more   a   guilty   pleasure   because   of   the   group,” she   said,   glancing   at   him. “I’m   a   true   Swede   so,   of   course,   my   parents   brought   me   up   on   ABBA,   but   A*Teens   was   this   whole   project   to   bring   ABBA’s   music   to   a   younger   generation   and   it   was   a   whole   moment   in   my   life.”

 The   fourth   song   was  Night   Changes   by   One   Direction,   but   the   live   acoustic   version.   Signe   had   grown   up   at   the   peak   of   1D-mania,   but   she   had   always   gravitated   to   the   soft,   more   intimate   cuts.   She   would   never   admit   how   often   she   still   plays   this   song   but   she   still   smiled. “I   was   a   total   Directioner   as   a   kid,   and   when   I   tell   you   I   sobbed   when   Zayn   left   the   group,   it   was   world-shattering   for   me,”   she   admitted   with   a    soft   chuckle   at   her   younger   self. 

Then   finally   came  Dangerous   Woman by   Ariana   Grande. “You   didn’t   misinterpret   at   all” was   all   that   she   murmured,   leaning   back   into   the   couch   and   into   Charlie’s   side,   almost   as   if   she   could   hide   from   the   words   that   she   was   putting   out   there   between   them.   One   would   think   after   Kissin’   On   My   Tattoos,   she   would   no   longer   be   embarrassed,   but   who   said   she   was   logical?   As   the   song   came   to   an   end,   Signe   cleared   her   throat,   pushing   her   hair   back   behind   her   ears. “So   there   you   have   it,   I’m   still   not   completely   happy   with   it   but   that’s   me   in   playlist   format.”

Charlie laughed at her comment, cheeks flushing even as he tried to mask it with a sip of wine. Of course she could tell how eager he was, how much this playlist thing meant to him. She saw through him with terrifying ease. It was thrilling and slightly disarming. "Alright, fine," he muttered with mock defeat, tapping the rim of his glass against hers. "I am very excited. No one’s ever made me do a playlist like this before, alright? I’m emotionally compromised." He took the glass, tipping the rim against hers in a clink. "I have the order written down, so we can go through it." He took a sip, then gave her a crooked grin before tipping his head toward the couch. "Come on. We’ll set it up on the telly. Proper presentation and all that. Like a tasting menu, just… with musical emotional baggage." He grabbed the crostini on the way out, a proud smile resting on his lips.

Once they were settled, he scrolled through his Xbox to pull up the songs, his hand briefly brushing against her knee as he reached for the remote. It lingered a second longer than it needed to, nothing overly dramatic, just that electric, I know you’re here and I like that you are kind of touch. "Alright then," he exhaled, suddenly more serious, almost sheepish. "Signe Holmström. This is me barin’ my soul. If I start cryin’ halfway through, just pretend I’ve got allergies or somethin’, yeah? Be gentle with my heart."

The first notes of Nothing by Bruno Major filled the room, and his posture shifted, shoulders tucked in slightly, like he could make himself smaller while the words did the talking. His hands fiddled with the edge of his sleeve as the lyrics poured out everything he hadn’t had the nerve to say aloud. He didn’t dare look at her until the song ended, but when he did, it was with a quiet, searching softness.

Next was Seventeen Going Under by Sam Fender. That one, he could explain. "Grew up with this one in my bones," he murmured, voice low. "First time I heard it I kinda freaked at how me it felt.. It’s angry and sad and weirdly hopeful. Like.. I dunno, like ‘yeah, it’s all gone to shit, but I’m still runnin'.." He chuckled, but it didn’t quite hide the way his thumb kept rubbing his knuckles.

Then came Red Wine Supernova. Charlie shot her a look, cheeky again now. "Right. Don’t judge. This is my guilty pleasure. No idea what she’s even singin’ about half the time but, God, it gets in my blood." He tapped his foot along to the beat, shoulders swaying and grinning to himself before casting her a quick glance. "It’s good runnin’ music. Good tryin’ not to think music. The girl can sing."

The fourth song was My Boo. The instant the intro played, he let out a laugh, leaning his head back on the cushion. "This one’s just joy, innit? Played all the time in the kitchen at work when we’re preppin’. I started it back in France, had a mate there that also loved Usher and it became a tradition. Makes everyone start dancin’. And by everyone, I mean me." He turned to her with a flash of that grin that meant I’m letting you in on something no one else gets.

Then came the last one. The one that sat a little heavier in his chest. Kissin’ On My Tattoos. He didn’t give an explanation this time. Just stared ahead for a long moment, hands folded between his knees as the smooth, intimate melody filled the room. When it ended, he looked over at her. Not cocky. Not even teasing. Just honest. "I'm hopin' I didn't misinterpret what ya meant with that," he said quietly. "But it is what I think about at two in the mornin'.." He chuckled lightly now, a bit of tension leaving his chest.

Then, finally, he looked back at her, smile pulling gently at the corner of his mouth. "So… that’s me. Emotionally rinsed and dried. Winnin' the race." He bumped her knee gently with his. "Your turn, love. But fair warnin’.. you cry and I’m makin’ you a cuppa and wrappin’ you in a blanket whether you like it or not." There was a gleam in his eye, a flicker of nerves under the humor. But he wasn’t running from it. Not this time. Not with her.

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."

The   way   Charlie   lit   up   when   he   talked   about   his   time   in   Denmark,   the   way   he   described   her   people   with   a   kind   of   reverence   had   her   feeling   like   something   warm   curled   up   in   her   chest.   She   hadn’t   expected   the   way   he   said it’s   a   date   with   such   ease   it   had   her   heart   tripping   up   a   little.   She   liked   listening   to   him   talk   –   his   words   earnest   and   unfiltered   –   about   his   passion   for   cooking,   for   growth,   about   his   mum.   There   was   a   quiet   sort   of   intensity   to   him   that   drew   her   in.   She   hadn’t   realized   how   close   they   were   until   her   skin   touched   his,   and   her   eyes   widened   though   she   didn’t   pull   away   when   Charlie   focused   his   gaze   on   her   and   placed   his   hand   over   her   own.   Then   he   said   the   words   –  Would   you   wanna   let   me   take   you   out   sometime?  Signe   blinked,   just   once,   as   if   double-checking   that   this   was,   in   fact,   her   life.   She   felt   the   warmth   on   her   face   before   she   recognized   that   she   was   blushing   something   awful.   Signe   let   out   a   soft,   nervous   laugh,   the   corners   of   her   mouth   tilting   up   into   a   bashful   curve.   Not   her   practiced,   polite   smile,   but   a   genuine   expression.   She   glanced   down   at   their   joined   hands,   then   back   up   at   him–suddenly   feeling   shy,   a   little   stunned,   but  definitely   interested.   Realizing   she’d   gone   quiet   for   a   beat   too   long,   Signe   cleared   her   throat   and   took   a   small   step   back,   gently   untangling   her   hands   from   his.   “I–yeah,”  she   breathed,   tucking   her   hair   behind   her   ears   just   to   give   her   hands   something   to   do.  “Yes.   Please.   I’d   really   like   that.”   But,   of   course,   the   words   didn’t   stop   there.  “There’s   a   bonfire   party   coming   up–we   could   go   together?   Or,   I   mean,   you   asked   me   out,   so   obviously   you   should   decide.   Wait,   I   didn’t   mean   to   hijack   your   plan.   You   know   what?   Forget   I   said   anything,”   Her   face   remained   flushed,   but   there   was   a   hint   of   amusement   flickering   in   her   eyes.  “I’m   terrible   at   this,   clearly.”

“My specialty? Alright then.” Charlie’s lips curled into a soft, knowing smile. “It’s a date.” His eyes lit up when she mentioned her summers in Denmark, and the warmth in his tone deepened. “You lot are somethin’ else. I’ve never had to be so precise in my life, Signe. Everythin’ had to be exact. And they’re dead talented, yeah? Scarily good. I’ve never been so nervous to mess up. But they were all so kind about it, which made it worse somehow. Like… it felt less like I’d be lettin’ them down and more like I’d be lettin’ myself down. That’s how they get you.” He laughed lightly, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. “They build you up without sayin’ much at all. It’s clever. Makes you want to be better.”

Charlie hadn’t meant to say so much. He rarely did. Usually, he kept it simple, “I’ve always loved food” or “some of my favorite memories are in the kitchen with my mum". They were easy, safe versions of the truth. But Signe made it feel different. The way she listened. The way she looked at him like she already saw the rest of the story. And then she stopped him.

Her hand wrapped gently around his forearm, and the warmth of her skin against his pulled him back into the moment. His breath caught before he even realized it had left him. His eyes flicked down to where she held him, then back up to hers own, steady and unwavering. “I’m glad I found my way here too.” His voice came out quieter now, stripped of performance. Just truth. 'You were healing'. Somehow it was exactly what he needed to hear.

He huffed out a breath, half a laugh, half a release, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and admiration. “You don’t even know the full story,” he murmured, “and I think you still nailed it.” Without thinking, or maybe thinking too much, he shifted, sliding his hand down to hers, curling his fingers gently around it. “Signe.. Would you wanna let me take you out sometime? A proper date. I mean, I’ll cook for you whenever you want, but I’d like to take you out too. Just us. Somewhere we’re not talkin’ shop.” He searched her expression, his smile crooked and sincere. “Only if you’re interested. No pressure. I just… I’d like to get to know you. Outside of all this.”

The   way   Charlie   was   looking   at   her–like   she   was   the   only   thing   that   mattered–made   it   impossible   for   Signe   to   think   straight.   The   kiss   he   pressed   to   the   back   of   her   hand   sent   a   shiver   up   her   spine   and   even   though   she   tried   to   hide   it,   her   breath   hitched   just   enough   to   betray   her.   Her   heart   was   slamming   against   her   ribs   so   loudly,   she   was   certain   he   could   hear   it.   She   opened   her   mouth   once.   Closed   it.   Tried   again,   but   all   that   came   out   was   a   breathy   little   laugh   that   sounded   way   too   much   like   a   gasp.  “I–you–”  she   stammered,   feeling   the   heat   crawl   up   her   neck   all   the   way   to   the   tips   of   her   ears.  “You’re   not–you   can’t   just   say things   like   that   and   expect   me   to   function,   Charlie   Hughes,”    she   reprimanded   although   there   was   no   heat   in   her   words,   only   her   face.   Then   he   started   talking   about   her   wearing   her   own   designs   and   Signe   thought   she   might   actually   melt   into   the   floor.   Without   ever   seeing   her   designs,   he   made   he   feel   like   her   work–like she–   was   something   worth   admiring   like   that.   Signe   let   out   a   breath   she   hadn’t   realized   she   was   holding,   a   smile   tugging   at   her   lips.  “I   guess   it’s   only   fair,”    she   said,   her   voice   still   breathless,   threaded   with   something   that   matched   the   softness   he   offered.  “You’ll   stare,   and   I’ll   be   quietly   losing   my   mind   every   time   you   look   at   me   like   that.”   It   was   meant   to   be   a   joke   but   even   that   revealed   too   much.   She   laughed,   light   and   awkward,   and   ducked   to   hide   her   face   in   his   shoulder   for   a   moment   because   it   was   either   that   or   actually   lose   her   mind.   She   took   a   moment   to   steady   herself   before   pulling   back   just   enough   to   look   up   at   him   again,   her   eyes   shining   and   cheeks   burning,   and   gave   him   a   helpless   little   smile.  “You’re   already   ruining me...   Take   some   responsibility   will   you?”

“Just wanted to hear ya say it.” Charlie’s body swayed a little where he sat, clearly pleased with her answer, delight dancing in his expression as he looked over at her without even a flicker of hesitation. “Lucky for you, love,” he added smoothly, “I’ve got no plans to deny ya anything you want.” His voice dipped just enough to make the words feel like more than teasing. Without letting go of her hand, he lifted it between them, pressing a soft, deliberate kiss to the back of her fingers, slow, deliberate, like the moment deserved more than a joke.

When she brought up the contract, his grin kicked back into place, easy and wide. He leaned closer, their hands still laced, and gave the smallest tilt of his head, that boyish glint in his eyes returning. “Think we could make it a verbal agreement then, yeah? I’m afraid my hand’s a bit occupied at the moment... super important business.” Charlie glanced up at her through his lashes, smile soft but playful, clearly enjoying the game she was playing, and happy to meet her there.

But when she spoke about wearing her own designs, his expression shifted, that teasing smile softening into something gentler. The way she answered, hesitating and thoughtful, had him leaning in just a touch, genuinely curious now. “I’d actually really like that,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, earnest, even as the corners of his mouth still tugged upward. “If you’re comfortable, of course. I mean… sketches are one thing.. but you? Wearin’ something you made with your own hands?” His smile broke a little wider, a quiet laugh huffing out of him like he couldn’t quite believe how sincere he sounded. “That’s what I’d call art, yeah?”

He gave a small shrug, but the admiration was written all over his face as his gaze stayed locked on hers, softer than before, the flirtation not gone, but folded now into something sweeter, something real. “Fair warning though,” he added, leaning in just enough to close the space between them again, looking both ways like this was top secret information, “I’ve got a terrible habit of starin’ when I’m impressed. And somethin’ tells me I’d be absolutely ruined watchin’ you in one of your own designs.” His lips curved, eyes gleaming, but the look he gave her wasn’t just about charm, it was full of that growing ache he couldn’t quite hide anymore. Like he already knew he was in trouble with her. And maybe he liked it that way.

Signe   glanced   sideways   at   the   voice,   offering   a   small   smile,   an   automatic   response   to   being   engaged   in   small-talk.   She   took   a   moment,   her   eyes   drifting   back   to   the   canvas   before   she   spoke.   The   subject   of   the   painting   was   a   female   flamenco   dancer,   mid-dance.  “It   really   is,”   she   agreed   softly   with   a   quick   nod.  “I   think   it’s   acrylic,   but   the   way   the   colors   just   melt   into   each   other.   It   almost   looks   like   watercolor.   Like,   they’re   bleeding   at   the   edges   but   still   holding   control.”   Her   green   eyes   remained   fixed   on   the   dancer’s   dress.  “It’s   the   skirt   that   got   me.   The   way   it   moves…like   it’s   caught   mid-spin.   And   that   red!   It’s   layered   with   these   deep   crimsons   and   hints   of   coral   and   orange,   but   they   all   blur   into   each   other   without   getting   muddled.”   She   tilted   her   head,   thinking   through   something.  “I   just   keep   wondering   how   you’d   even   begin   to   replicate   that   on   real   fabric.   Not   just   print   it–like actually   dye   it   that   way   and   make   it   look   like   that   when   it’s   worn.   It   would   have   to   be   sheer…maybe   layered?   Something   that   picks   up   the   light   the   right   way…”   Her   words   trailed   off   and   Signe’s   posture   straightened,   suddenly    remembering   her   audience.  “Oh   my   god,   I   am   so   sorry,”   she   laughed.  “I’m   telling   you   the   painting   hypnotized   me.   I   did   not   mean   to   ramble   on   like   that.”

mango  bay  art  district  sure  lived  up  to  the  hype  that  echoed  from  the  seasonal  tourists  that  came  and  went  ,  cataloguing  their  trips  digitally  through  vlogs  and  various  yelp  reviews  .  clark  had  spent  months  researching  the  hub  ,  calculating  whether  or  not  this  would  be  viable  to  place  roots  down  in  .  standing  across  from  the  works  that  graced  the  walls  ,  he  could  see  that  is  was  all  worth  the  effort  .  soon  ,  this  would  be  home  .  wandering  mindlessly  through  the  gallery  ,  clark  was  drawn  to  a  particular  painting  adorning  the  center  of  the  room  .  more  so  ,  curious  about  the  person  standing  in  awe  ,  gazing  at  it  .  a  fellow  artist  ?  an  admirer  ?  someone  to  pick  the  brains  of  ?  “  it's  a  beauty  ,  isn't  it  ?  ”  he  responds  ,  artfully  dodging  her  initial  ask  .