The salty breeze carried whispers of the ocean as Emma sat sketching on the weathered bench overlooking the shore. Her charcoal pencil danced across the page, capturing the restless waves and the golden hues of the setting sun. Lost in her art, she didn't notice the figure approaching until a shadow crossed her canvas. Startled, she looked up to meet a pair of striking green eyes, their intensity softened by a warm, disarming smile.
"I hope I'm not interrupting," the man said, his voice rich and smooth like the tide rolling in. Emma blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his presence. "Not at all," she replied, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest. He gestured toward the empty space on the bench, and she nodded. As he sat, the air between them seemed to hum with an unspoken connection, fragile yet undeniable.
"Liam," he introduced himself, extending a hand that was calloused yet gentle. "Emma," she replied, her fingers brushing his briefly before retreating. They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the rhythm of the waves filling the gaps in their conversation. Though they had just met, it felt as though the universe had conspired to bring them together in this fleeting, perfect moment.