The late morning sunlight poured gently through the wide windows of Jace's apartment.The place smelled faintly of coffee, paint, and something sweet Amy had baked early in the morning.
Amy sat at the dining table, her laptop open, glasses perched loosely on her nose, her hair twisted up in a messy bun that somehow made her look both effortlessly beautiful and deeply focused. The only sound in the room was the soft clack of her keyboard followed by a groan as she hit backspace again.
She typed another sentence, frowned, deleted it, and sighed. "Come on, Amy," she muttered under her breath, rubbing the back of her neck. The screen stared back at her like it was taunting her, that blinking cursor reminding her she hadn't written a decent paragraph in hours.
Jace walked past, his camera slung over his shoulder and a glass of milk in his hand.He paused beside her, leaned down, kept the glass in the table for her and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
"You can do it," he murmured, his voice low and warm. "You've written tougher scenes."
Amy smiled faintly without looking up. "Yeah, but those scenes actually made sense."
"They will again," he said confidently. "You just need to let your mind breathe a little."
She looked up at him, his calm confidence softening her frustration. "You always make it sound so easy."
He grinned. "That's my job. You stress, I simplify."
Amy chuckled quietly as he moved toward his desk to check his camera equipment, adjusting a few lenses with that precise care she loved watching. There was something soothing about the way Jace worked..... focused, quiet, intentional.
Time slipped by and when Jace returned from the other room, he found Amy still seated in the same position, her fingers resting idly on the keyboard, eyes fixed on the screen.
He shook his head fondly, setting a glass of milk beside her. "Okay, this looks serious. You haven't moved in almost two hours."
Amy looked at the glass and smiled weakly. "I think my brain's gone on strike. Nothing I write feels right anymore."
Jace crouched beside her chair, resting his hands on the edge of the table. "Then maybe it's not about the writing," he said gently. "Maybe you just need a break. Let your head clear out a little."
She turned to look at him, curiosity replacing her frustration. "A break? You mean like a nap?"
He shook his head with a small smile. "No, something better. Fresh air. Movement. Fun, maybe?"
Amy raised an eyebrow. "Fun? You? Since when do you suggest fun when we are supposed to be busy?"
He grinned. "Since I started dating a writer who forgets to breathe when she's in front of her laptop."
She laughed softly. "Alright, Mr. Prescott. What kind of fun are we talking about?"
Jace leaned in close, his nose brushing hers before he placed a soft kiss on her cheek. Then another on the bridge of her nose. And then, finally, one on her lips slow and lingering.
When he pulled back, he whispered, "I was thinking the museum."
Amy blinked. "The museum?"
He shrugged, still smiling. "You love stories. The museum tells its story through paintings and history instead of words. Maybe it'll spark something."
She leaned back, pretending to think about it. "Hmm, the museum and not, say, a beach or a movie?"
"Too predictable," he teased. "Come on, go get ready. I'll grab my keys."
Amy smiled as she stood, closing her laptop. "Fine. But I'm driving."
"Not a chance."
A few minutes later, she emerged from the bedroom dressed simply but stylishly, a pair of light-wash jeans that hugged her figure perfectly, a white fitted top and a soft beige jacket that made her look effortlessly elegant. She slipped on white sneakers, her hair now brushed out of its bun and flowing gently around her shoulders.
Jace, waiting by the door, wore a dark denim jacket over a charcoal shirt and black jeans, casual yet undeniably sharp. When he looked up at her, his lips parted slightly, a smile tugging at the corners.
"You look beautiful," he said softly.
Amy rolled her eyes, blushing. "You always say that."
"That's because it's always true."
She shook her head, grabbing her bag. "Flattery won't make me forget you owe me dinner."
He grinned. "Good thing the museum café has great sandwiches."
They both laughed as they left the apartment, hand in hand looking like a power couple.The afternoon sunlight greeted them, warm and golden, and Jace unlocked his car opening the passenger door for her.
As she settled in, Amy glanced over at him, smiling faintly. "You really think a museum's going to fix my writer's block?"
He looked at her as the engine purred to life. "I think spending time with you fixes just about everything."
Amy shook her head, still smiling, as they pulled out onto the street, the city unfolding before them, full of light, laughter, and unwritten words waiting to be found.
.....
The museum stood like a quiet little chapel for prayers,its tall glass façade reflecting the blue sky swirled sky. Beautiful flowers planted close to the entrance.
Inside, the polished marble floors shone, the faint echo of shoes, and the low murmur of visitors drifting through. The air practically smelled like history.
They walked toward the reception desk, where a young woman with a sleek bob and a clipboard smiled brightly. "Welcome to the National Museum of Contemporary and Fine Arts. You're just in time for the late afternoon guided tour."
Amy nodded eagerly. "We'd love that."
"Great," the woman said. "The tour starts in a minute. If you follow the group to the east wing, your guide will meet you there."
"Thank you" Jace said.
They joined a small crowd of about twenty people,families, couples, and two students with sketchbooks. The tour began with a voice calling from the front, confident and smooth.
"Alright, everyone, welcome!,I'm going to be your guide today.We're going to start with one of my personal favorites."
The guide gestured toward a massive oil painting of an abstract landscape. "This piece is called The Constant Drift. It was painted in 1894 by William Corneil.The artist painted it after losing his home in a flood,see how the strokes blur at the edges? That's intentional. It represents movement, uncertainty, the impossibility of staying still."
Amy tilted her head trying to see the painting."That's beautiful."
Jace nodded as they continued to move with the crowd.
The guide walked on, her voice rich with detail and humor. She had a knack for storytelling, explaining brushstrokes like they were sentences in a book.
"Now, here we have A Study in Blue by Lewis Hartley," the voice said. "One of the many paintings that make people say things like, 'My five-year-old could've done that.' Which, to be fair, your five-year-old probably couldn't. Not unless they've also mastered existential dread."
The group chuckled, and Amy exchanged an amused glance with Jace.
"Alright, I like her," Amy murmured under her breath.
"Sounds almost like Sophie" Jace replaced.
"Right??,I thought the same thing too" Amy said eye widened.
They still hadn't seen the guide's face, she stood a few steps ahead, tall and poised, gesturing animatedly toward a large canvas. Her hair was tied back in a low ponytail, and the sound of her heels clicking lightly on the floor seemed to keep time with her speech.
"The interesting thing about Hartley," she continued, "is that he painted emotions as if they were weather,unpredictable, stormy, sometimes gentle. He once said color was his way of arguing with silence. Personally, I think that's poetic. Or just dramatic. Either way, I respect the man."
Amy leaned close to Jace. "She sounds like Sophie. Same humor, same bite."
He smiled faintly. "Yeah… she does."
The tour wound through different exhibits,romantic portraits, modern installations, sculptures that cast long shadows across marble floors. The guide's energy carried the group along effortlessly.
"In this section," she said, pausing before a display of ancient artifacts, "we have relics from the early maritime era. Including this compass that was allegedly used by a merchant who got lost on purpose. I like that energy."
Amy laughed softly, whispering, "I might actually enjoy museums now."
Jace found himself enjoying it too.
By the time the tour ended, the group clapped lightly,something that rarely happened at a museum. The guide turned, her voice softening. "Thank you all for wandering through time and color with me. Remember, art doesn't always need to be understood. Sometimes it just needs to be felt."
As she walked through the crowd, Jace looked genuinely surprised.
It was her.
"Kyra?" he called before he could stop himself.
She looked up, eyebrows shooting up in surprise and then a grin spread across her face. "No way. Mr Coffee spiller?"
Amy blinked, curious, as Jace let out a quiet laugh. "Yeah. Long time no accidental coffee spill."
Kyra chuckled, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. " I'm impressed. You've come a long way from ruining my cappuccino to clapping for my museum tours."
Amy smiled politely, stepping closer. "So you two know each other?"
"Yeah," Jace said. "We met a while back. I was… let's just say, not having the best morning."
"He daydreamed himself into spilling my cappuccino on me" Kyra said and Amy and Jace laughed. Kyra extended a hand to Amy. "Kyra Mason. I'm the museum's Head of Curation for Modern Arts."
Amy shook her hand warmly. "Amy. It's lovely to meet you. You're really good at this. I actually forgot I was supposed to be learning something, I basically just enjoyed the Inbetween jokes."
Kyra laughed. "That's the goal, trick people into enjoying culture."
"Mission accomplished," Jace added with a grin.
Kyra tilted her head thoughtfully. "Since you two actually listened instead of scrolling through your phones, I'll show you something special. It's not open to the public yet."
She gestured for them to follow her down a quieter hall lined with security ropes and dimmer lighting. They entered a private gallery filled with large canvases and striking artifacts.
"This is part of our Unseen Realities collection," Kyra explained. "We'll unveil it next month. Every piece here was painted by artists who never got mainstream recognition. Most of them died before anyone saw their work."
Amy stood silently before a painting of a woman looking into a fractured mirror,each shard reflecting a different expression. "It's haunting," she whispered.
Kyra nodded softly. "That one's called The Versions of Me. The artist painted it after she was diagnosed with dementia. Said she wanted to remember herself in every way possible before she forgot."
Jace felt something shift quietly in his chest. He glanced at Amy, who was completely still, her gaze locked on the painting.
When she finally looked at Kyra, she said, "Thank you for showing us this. It's… beautiful. Sad, but beautiful."
Kyra smiled faintly. "That's art for you, sometimes it's tragedy wearing makeup."
Amy chuckled, shaking her head. "You and my friend Sophie would get along so well."
"Oh," Kyra said. "Guess I just have that 'sarcastic but lovable' aura."
Jace smirked. "You've definitely got the first part right."
She nudged him playfully.
"Still a charmer, I see." Kyra added.
As they exited the restricted area, Kyra stretched her arms. "Whew. I think that's my good deed for the day. Now I'm starving. And exhausted. That's what happens when you swap boardroom air-conditioning for public enthusiasm."
"What do you mean?" Amy smiled at her.
"My official work is upstairs but all the action is down here so I volunteered to give a tour today and" she says looking down at her watch. "It's past time for lunch"
Jace raised a brow. "You're skipping lunch?"
Kyra shrugged. "Its nothing...Wasn't planning to eat here anyways.The café food's too… civilized and kind of sad."
He chuckled. "I'll take that as a challenge. Come on, I'm buying."
She started to protest, but Jace held up a hand. "You gave us the best tour I've ever had. The least I can do is feed you and besides you never called"
Kyra grinned. "That's blackmail,if I could remember correctly,you said call if I needed to make fun of my horrible dates.So far.....nothing."
"Let's just go Kyra" He said.
Amy laughed as the three of them made their way to the museum café,a cozy spot with tall glass windows overlooking the sculpture garden.
They ordered lunch sandwiches, iced tea, and a carrot cake that Amy insisted they should have. Conversation flowed easily.
Kyra talked about her job, about how she managed acquisitions and exhibitions for the museum, and how she often slipped into tours when she got bored. "It's funny," she said, stirring her drink lazily. "Everyone thinks being Head Curator means glamour and creativity. It's mostly emails and budget meetings. The tours remind me why I fell in love with art in the first place."
Amy nodded in understanding. "I get that. Writing used to be like that for me but suddenly I feel like I needed to do better"
Kyra pointed her straw at her. "Exactly. You get it."
Jace watched them both with quiet amusement Amy's eyes bright again, Kyra's laughter loud and contagious. He loved how they got along quite well..
When they finished eating, Kyra leaned back with a satisfied sigh. "Alright, fine. The sandwiches here aren't terrible. You win, Prescott."
Jace grinned. "Told you."
Amy chuckled, gathering her bag. "This was nice. Unexpected, but nice."
Kyra stood too, smiling at both of them. "You two make a good pair.Creative energy all over the place, I'm almost jealous Mr. Daydream."
Amy smiled faintly.
Kyra said with a wink. "The world needs people who make beautiful things even if they spill coffee doing it."
"You'd hold that against me forever, I thought we were past that" Jace chuckled.
They all laughed as Kyra walked them toward the exit, sunlight spilling through the glass walls once more.
"Alright, gotta go back,it was nice seeing you again Jace and you Amy, it was definitely nice meeting you" Kyra said hugging Amy.
"Yeah you too, thanks for today" Amy said.
"Hope we bump into each other some other time" Jace teased.
"Well I hope I ain't holding a coffee when that happens" Kyra said stepping backwards as they laughed.
Outside, Amy slipped her arm through Jace's. "You were right," she said softly. "The museum helped."
He smiled down at her. "Told you, stories come in all forms."
Amy nodded as they walked towards his car.