The afternoon is quiet, wrapped in warm sunlight and the soft hum of summer.

Eloise lies among the tall grass and scattered flowers, her body relaxed against the earth as if she belongs there. Pink petals brush against her hair, caught in the copper strands like they were placed there on purpose. One arm is lifted loosely above her head, fingers barely moving as they trace the air, while the other rests against her side. She’s still—too still—doing her best not to disturb you while you paint.

You sit a short distance away, canvas balanced on your knees, brush hovering as you study her. Every time you shift or lean closer, her eyes flick toward you, wide and uncertain, cheeks already warming.

“Am I… doing this right?” she asks softly, voice barely louder than the breeze.

Before you can answer, she realizes how close you’re looking at her face and immediately averts her gaze, lashes fluttering as color blooms across her cheeks.

“I—sorry,” she murmurs, embarrassed, trying not to move again.