3
1062 Words
Chapter 3
Home Is a Person
The seafood festival wasn't much to look at.
A handful of food stalls lined the boardwalk, strings of warm fairy lights swayed in the evening breeze, and a local band played so enthusiastically out of tune that several children covered their ears before dissolving into laughter.
Leah couldn't remember the last time she'd been somewhere so... imperfect.
And she loved it.
"You weren't kidding," she laughed as the singer missed another note.
Marco bit into a grilled shrimp and nodded solemnly.
"I believe in honesty."
She nudged his shoulder.
"You also said the food would make up for the music."
"It will."
He handed her a paper tray filled with grilled seafood.
"Cautiously optimistic," she teased.
Five minutes later, she looked at him in disbelief.
"You were right."
"I know."
"Don't ruin the moment."
"I wasn't going to."
A grin spread across his face.
"I was just enjoying hearing you admit it."
Leah rolled her eyes.
"You're impossible."
"So people keep telling me."
They wandered from stall to stall, sampling homemade desserts and laughing at the local artists selling seashell jewelry.
An elderly woman stopped them.
"You two are adorable."
Leah blinked.
Marco scratched the back of his neck.
"We're not—"
"Oh, nonsense," the woman interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "Young love always tries to deny itself."
Leah felt heat creep into her cheeks.
Marco smiled politely.
"We're just friends."
The woman looked at them for a long moment before chuckling.
"If that's what you need to tell yourselves."
She walked away before either of them could respond.
Leah stared after her.
"That was... embarrassing."
Marco laughed.
"A little."
"You didn't help."
"I tried."
"No, you smiled."
"I smile when I'm uncomfortable."
"You looked very comfortable."
"I've had years of practice."
She shook her head, unable to stop smiling.
Chapter 4
Later, they found themselves sitting on the end of the wooden pier.
The festival buzzed behind them, but out here only the waves mattered.
Leah rested her elbows on the railing.
"It's beautiful."
Marco followed her gaze to the moonlit water.
"It never gets old."
"You've lived here long?"
"About six years."
"Do you miss where you came from?"
His smile faded just enough for her to notice.
"Not really."
"You didn't hesitate."
"Some places aren't worth missing."
There was something final in his voice.
Leah wanted to ask more.
Instead, she asked softly,
"What made you leave?"
Marco looked down at the ocean below.
"I needed a second chance."
She frowned.
"At what?"
"My life."
His answer only created more questions.
Before she could ask another one, he pointed toward the dark water.
"Look."
A family of dolphins surfaced briefly before disappearing beneath the waves again.
Leah gasped.
"I've never seen them this close."
"They visit every few weeks."
She watched the ripples spread across the water.
"I think this is the happiest I've been in years."
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Marco didn't answer immediately.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.
"I'm glad."
—
The next morning, Leah walked into the small bookstore on Main Street.
She had exactly enough cash left for one novel.
As she reached for a copy on the highest shelf, another hand grabbed it first.
"Oh."
Marco looked down at her with a guilty smile.
"I swear I wasn't stalking you."
She crossed her arms.
"Convenient."
"I like books."
"So do I."
"I noticed."
She blinked.
"You noticed?"
"You always slow down when you pass bookstores."
"I've only been here three days."
"Exactly."
She laughed.
"You pay attention to everything."
"I try."
He handed her the novel.
"You saw it first."
"No, you did."
"I insist."
She accepted it.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
The elderly shop owner looked over the tops of her glasses.
"I was wondering when you two would finally admit you're dating."
Leah buried her face in her hands.
"Not you too."
Marco chuckled.
"We're just friends."
The old woman snorted.
"Mhm."
Neither of them argued.
Somehow...
It felt easier to simply let people believe whatever they wanted.
—
That afternoon, rain rolled into Seabrook without warning.
Within seconds, the streets emptied.
Marco and Leah sprinted beneath the awning of a tiny café.
They were soaked.
Leah looked at him.
His hair clung to his forehead.
His T-shirt was dripping wet.
He looked ridiculous.
Then she started laughing.
"What?"
"You look terrible."
He stared at her.
"I look terrible?"
"Very."
He glanced down at himself.
"I thought I looked mysterious."
"You look like a drowned puppy."
He pretended to be offended.
"I've been insulted many times."
"But never accurately?"
"Exactly."
She laughed harder.
The café owner smiled as she placed two steaming mugs of hot chocolate on the table.
"On the house."
Leah looked surprised.
"We didn't order."
"You looked like you needed warming up."
People here...
Were simply kind.
No hidden motives.
No expectations.
As the rain tapped gently against the windows, Leah wrapped both hands around the warm mug.
"I don't think I want to leave."
Marco looked at her.
"Then don't."
She met his eyes.
"I can't stay forever."
His expression softened.
"No."
"You'll have to go back someday."
The words settled heavily between them.
For the first time since arriving in Seabrook...
The future found her again.
She lowered her eyes to the swirling chocolate.
"I don't know if I can."
Marco wanted to tell her she didn't have to.
That she could stay.
That somehow they'd figure everything out.
But he didn't.
Because he knew better than anyone...
Sometimes the past always found you.
Far across town, a black SUV rolled slowly past the café.
The man behind the wheel took one glance through the rain-speckled window.
Leah was smiling again.
Always because of the same man.
He picked up his phone.
"Sir."
Richard Bennett answered immediately.
"We've confirmed it."
A pause.
"Your daughter is falling in love."
Richard was silent for a long moment.
Then he asked only one question.
"And the boy?"
The investigator looked through the windshield as Marco reached across the table and absentmindedly brushed a damp strand of hair away from Leah's face.
"He looks like he's already there."
Richard ended the call without another word.
His expression was unreadable.
But on his desk...
A thick folder had begun to grow.
Its title read only one name.
**Marco.**
- Writer
