Tulipsandtearss
Brighton always smells like salt and something unfinished.
Arabella Harp built her life on the edge of the sea - ink-stained fingers, black hair down to her hips, a tattoo studio lit like a confession booth. She's twenty-five, permanently marked and permanently leaving before anyone can leave her first.
She doesn't date musicians.
Especially not ones who write songs like they're trying to survive something.
James Marriott crashes into her life on a night neither of them were supposed to be out - rain-soaked, loud-mouthed, and too observant for his own good.
And suddenly, Brighton doesn't feel like the edge anymore.
It feels like a beginning.