Under the Grit

Lonesome

The first rays of morning sunlight spilled through the curtains, painting the room in soft hues of gold and amber. Evangeline blinked against the light, her head heavy with the remnants of the previous night's emotions. But there was something different this morning-a faint sense of clarity, like the storm that had raged inside her had finally begun to settle.

She sat up slowly, the crisp linen sheets pooling around her waist as she rubbed her eyes and stretched. The distant sound of waves crashing against the shore reached her ears, a rhythmic and comforting backdrop that made the heaviness in her chest feel just a little lighter.

Slipping out of bed, she padded to the small en suite bathroom, splashing cool water on her face to wash away the lingering fatigue. She caught her reflection in the mirror-her dark hair mussed from sleep, faint shadows under her eyes-but she didn't linger. She wanted coffee, and she wanted it now.

Pulling on a pair of shorts and a loose-fitting tank top, she made her way down the hall toward the kitchen, her bare feet making soft sounds against the hardwood floor. The house was quiet, the echoes of last night's tension still lingering in the silence.

When she entered the kitchen, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee hit her immediately, warm and inviting. She sighed softly, stepping inside, but froze mid-step when her eyes landed on the lone figure at the island.

John.

He was sitting at the bar, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he leaned over his phone, scrolling with one hand while the other held a steaming mug of coffee. He looked comfortable, still in his sleep clothes-a plain gray T-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants-but his presence made her stomach tighten.

Evangeline hesitated, her first instinct to turn and walk back to her room. After all, she hadn't spoken much to John-or any of the band-since their argument about the record deal. The tension between them had been palpable, and she wasn't ready to wade back into it.

But the smell of coffee was too tempting, and her feet betrayed her, carrying her toward the counter before she could change her mind. She moved quietly, hoping to slip past him unnoticed as she reached for one of the clean mugs on the drying rack.

John didn't look up immediately, but as she poured her coffee, she felt his gaze shift.

"Mornin'," he said, his voice low and gruff from sleep.

Evangeline stiffened, her fingers tightening on the handle of the coffee pot. "Morning," she replied curtly, not turning to meet his gaze. She kept her movements brisk, adding a splash of cream and stirring quickly before retreating to the far end of the counter, putting as much distance between them as possible.

John leaned back in his chair, his phone forgotten as he watched her. "You sleep okay?" he asked after a moment, his tone casual but carrying an undercurrent she couldn't quite place.

"Fine," she said shortly, taking a sip of her coffee and keeping her eyes fixed on the window above the sink.

The silence that followed was heavy, the tension between them as thick as the aroma of coffee that filled the room.

"Look, Evie," John began, setting his mug down with a soft clink. "About the other night-"

"I don't want to talk about it," she interrupted, her voice sharper than she intended. She winced slightly at her own tone but didn't backpedal, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the ocean view outside.

John sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "Figured you'd say that," he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Evangeline glanced at him then, just briefly, catching the faint crease in his brow and the way he tapped his fingers against the counter in a restless rhythm. He looked uncomfortable, maybe even remorseful, but she wasn't ready to let her guard down.