In the kitchen, the espresso machine began to hiss. The smell of dark roast filled the air, cutting through the saltiness of the sea breeze. He thought about the years spent chasing ghosts, the nights spent in hotel rooms where the only company was a minibar and a muted television. He had become an expert at the "lonely exit"—leaving before the sun could expose the fact that he didn’t want to stay. But this was different.

Calum smiled, kissing the top of her head. “Just thinking about the playlist.”

He didn't feel the urge to run. He didn't feel the weight of a looming goodbye. For the first time in a long time, the song in his head matched the life in his living room.