The morning sun had barely begun to peek through the wooden slats of Robert's cottage window, yet his eyes had not seen slumber all night.
Harriet.
Her name alone was enough to steal his peace and gift him with a strange, thrilling unrest. He had closed his eyes countless times, hoping for sleep, but all he saw was her smile soft, real, a curve of her lips that seemed made to unmake a man. Her voice echoed through his thoughts, the way she leaned in while laughing, her dress fluttering in the breeze, the sunlight kissing her golden-brown hair. "What sorcery had she spun on my soul?"Robert asked himself.
By the time the sky turned a lighter shade of gray, he was already up, heart pounding like a boy's on his first call to a lover's porch.
He hummed as he splashed cool water on his face, shaved with a steadier hand than usual, and dressed in his cleanest shirt: white linen tucked into dark wool trousers, the kind Mama used to say brought out the green in his eyes. He left the top button loose, for once not caring for the rules of propriety. He tied his waistcoat neatly and ran a brush through his hair, pushing it back with one last glance in the mirror.
"Robert," he said to his reflection, smiling like a fool, "Do not say anything foolish. Or too foolish."
He had already told Sylvester the night before to open the shop on my behalf before he left for Lisa's place. He smirked like the devil, of course. "To love, then," he teased. "May your heart survive the blow."
He made his way through the narrow cobbled streets, past the chiming bell tower, the old bakery where the scent of rising bread always lingered, and then turned onto a quiet path that led to her small stall.
The workshop stood to the left of the house, modest, with a sign that read "Needles & Threads by Miss Harriet." The windows were open, letting in the morning breeze, and he caught sight of her before she noticed him.
Bent slightly over a dress on her worktable, hair tied in a soft bun with a few stubborn curls brushing her neck. The sunlight coming through the shutters lit up her profile those long lashes, her dainty nose, the way her lips curved inward as she concentrated. She was in a cream blouse tucked into a navy skirt, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, revealing the tiniest freckles across her arms.
Robert leaned against the wall of the shop, watching. His heart was no longer his. It belonged to this moment, to her. She hadn't seen him yet.
A laugh escaped him, quiet but genuine. "How could a woman be this beautiful just by threading a needle?" Robert thought to himself looking like a schoolboy with his first crush, standing there like an idiot with a grin stretching from ear to ear. Then she looked up and saw him.
Harriet blinked once. Her lips parted in a gasp and then curved into a slow, dazzling smile.
"Well," she said, brushing a curl from her forehead, "do you always stand there watching women work, or am I the lucky one?"
He walked toward her, slow and purposeful. "You're the only one I've ever cared to watch."
Her cheeks flushed the color of summer roses. "Flattery so early in the morning, Robert?"
"Flattery?" he smirked. "You wound me, Harriet. I speak only the truth."
She laughed, and it was music, light and free and wholly intoxicating.
"I'm almost done. Give me a minute to pack up, unless you want to help fold ribbons."she said.
He stepped into the shop, brushing a hand across the edge of the table where fabric and threads lay like scattered dreams. "If I help, I'll ruin everything. Let me stand and admire instead."
Harriet shook her head, still smiling, and quickly folded her tools with practiced ease. "You said something about sky gazing?"
"Indeed," he said, offering his arm as she stepped out with him. "The sun owes us a performance, don't you think?"
The sea always felt alive, but that day, it roared with romance. Waves lapped against the shore with a hushed whisper, and the scent of salt and wildflowers mingled in the air. The sky painted itself in hues of lavender, peach, and deepening gold as the sun began its descent. The cliffs to their left were dusted with blooms. To the right, endless water kissed the horizon.
Harriet kicked off her shoes and stepped barefoot onto the sand, her laughter ringing through the wind. She twirled once, her skirt flaring, arms out like a child unburdened by the world.
Robert couldn't help it but stared. She turned back and caught him. "You're staring again, Robert."
"I'm only human," he said, walking toward her, "and you, my dear Harriet, make it very difficult to look away."
She rolled her eyes, cheeks redder than before. "You've become quite the poet."
"Only when you're around."
They walked side by side along the shoreline, letting the tide brush against their feet, splashing each other like mischievous children. She bent once to pick a shell, and he caught a glimpse of her smile, pure and wide, and he thought: I could die a thousand times if I die knowing I made her smile like that.
"What do you want, Robert?" she asked suddenly, her tone quiet now.
"In life?"
She nodded.
He thought for a moment, then replied, "Peace. A warm home. Laughter. A good roof in the rain. A woman to love. Children maybe... if the world would be kind."
She looked at him with something soft in her eyes.
"And you?" he asked.
Harriet took a deep breath. "I want someone who sees me... not just for what I do, or how I smile, or what I wear. I want to be seen. And chosen."
"You are," Robert said, his voice low. "I see you, Harriet."
The wind picked up then, pulling strands of her hair loose, and she looked up at me, startled.
"I—" she began.
"I've loved you since the first time you walked into my shop, babbling about Lisa and business like a whirlwind," Robert said, moving closer. "And I've fallen a little more with every moment since."
Her eyes welled with tears she didn't let fall. "Robert..."
"Can I kiss you?"he asked almost like a whisper
She nodded.
His hand cupped her cheek, fingers brushing lightly against her jaw as he leaned in. Her breath hitched, and his heart raced faster than a runaway horse. And then thier lips met soft, uncertain, then growing into something deeper, something that shook my soul. Her hands found his chest, clutched his shirt, and he held her like the world might fall away beneath them.
When they parted, she smiled, her forehead against his.
"So this is love," she whispered.
And he knew he was hers.
After their first tender kiss on the shore, as though carried by the very breath of the sea, Robert was lost in a reverie of her every feature.
They resumed thier stroll along the winding lane toward her humble abode. As they walked, Harriet's soft voice broke the quiet, "Robert, pray, when shall Sylvester come to see Lisa's parents?"...
I smiled, my heart buoyed by the memory of our kiss. "Fear not, dear Harriet. Sylvester has already conveyed the tidings to his own kin. They are to depart, , as it were this very evening. All is in good order."
With such news, the weight of the morrow seemed somehow lighter. They soon found themselves settling at a small tearoom where gentle luncheon repast awaited. Over plates of warm bread and delicate pastries, Robert could not help but watch her in admiration. Her eyes shone like twin stars, and the way she delicately savoured each morsel filled him with an ineffable tenderness.
In that quiet repast, Robert reached into his vest pocket and retrieved a small, treasured token a gold hairpin, a work of exquisite artistry. Forged from the finest gold, its delicate filigree entwined gracefully in spirals, at the centre of which rested a modest, gleaming emerald reminiscent of the first light of spring. With trembling sincerity, he extended it to her, saying, "Pray, accept this, dear Harriet, as but a trifle compared to the magnificence you inspire in my heart."
Her hand, soft and graceful as the petals of a rose, accepted the gift. A blush, tender and ruby, crept across her cheeks as she fastened the hairpin into her cascading auburn tresses.
The day slowly yielded to the embrace of twilight, and with careful steps they left the tearoom, their fingers intertwined as if by a magic not wholly our own. On their way home, the heavens began to paint an exquisite canvas a setting sun that burned in hues of amber and rose, reflected in the gentle lapping of the ocean waves.
They found ourselves near the water's edge once more, where the earth met the sea in an endless, graceful dance. The warm sand between their toes, the playful spray of water against their skin, and the soft murmur of the tide conspired to draw them closer. As Robert watched Harriet, so lost in her reverie her eyes occasionally lifting, as if to capture each last dying ray of the sun, he felt an irresistible pull. He could see the tender determination in her every gesture, the way her gaze flitted to him with a shy yet burning desire.
"Robert," she murmured as he closed the distance, her voice a sultry invitation on the salt-tinged breeze, "I… I cannot bear to be apart from you."
Then, as though every star in the evening sky aligned just for us, our lips met once more but this time, the kiss was not as gentle. It was fervent, laden with a raw passion that transcended the bounds of innocence. He felt her soft hands clutch at his collar, her touch both earnest and wild. Thier kiss deepened, rough and exhilarating, each caress speaking a language of desire that no words could capture. The taste of her breath, a heady mix of peppermint and the lingering sweetness of her kiss, set his very soul aflame. In that torrid moment, time and space fell away, leaving only thier joining hearts and the pulsing, insistent beat of passion.
Every fiber of his being reached out to her, and in that heady embrace, he confessed silently with every sigh and every trembling caress: that he was utterly, irrevocably, entranced by her. Thier kiss, intense and fevered, bridged the gap between the tender and the wild, and in its ardour, they discovered both the peril and the promise of love.
At length, as night's cool whisper began to reclaim the air, they reluctantly drew apart. Breathless and flushed, he gazed into her eyes, now shimmering with the heat of thier passion. "Good night, my dearest Harriet," he whispered, his voice heavy with both desire and the soft promise of another day.
"Good night, Robert," she replied, her tone husky, a smile dancing upon her lips as she tenderly squeezed his hand.