Have You Ever

The sea was her solace. Every day, Lila set up her easel by the windswept veranda of the cottage she had rented—a quaint whitewashed place that smelled of salt and rosemary. Her days were filled with long silences and crashing waves, her canvas a faithful confidant to her sorrow and healing. It had been two years since Thomas. Two years since the flag was folded and pressed into her arms like a final, cruel punctuation. She had escaped to the coast not to forget, but to feel again. That morning, the tide was a glimmering silver, and she was brushing a bold line across the horizon when a wild gust of joy came barrelling toward her—on four muddy paws and a wagging tail. The dog—a boisterous golden retriever—bounded through her easel legs, toppling everything in its wake. Lila gasped, catching the canvas just in time. A laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it—her first, in a long while. “Finn! No! I’m so sorry, he’s usually more gentleman than hurricane—” said a voice, rich ...