MID-SUMMER DREAM

Chapter 5

"Reality is not a dream, Nor is it what it seems. A fleeting touch, a ghostly trace, We chase it still, we give it chase."

The rhythmic crash of waves against the shore lulled Isla into a deep sleep. But as the first rays of morning sun filtered through the curtains, she stirred, stretching beneath the weight of fading dreams. A new day awaited, and with it, an errand to run.

She dressed in a simple blouse and skirt, brushing her fingers through her hair before gathering a bundle of fresh flowers. Their soft fragrance clung to her fingertips, a delicate reminder of fleeting beauty. These were for Mrs. Moore, the kind old woman who ran the town's flower shop. Isla had always admired her love for flowers, her gentle wisdom, and visiting her had become something of a ritual.

Stepping outside, the morning air was crisp and cool. The town was already stirring—vendors setting up their stalls, children laughing as they chased one another down the cobbled streets. The scent of fresh bread wafted from the bakery, mingling with the salty breeze from the harbor.

As she rounded a corner,

A sudden collision sent her stumbling back, her basket tumbling from her hands. Flowers scattered across the ground, petals bruised against the stone. She gasped, steadying herself, heart leaping in surprise.

"Oh—!"

The young man before her stood tall, dressed in finely tailored clothes—dark trousers, a crisp white shirt, and a long coat draped over his shoulders. His hair was neatly styled, his sharp features striking. He had the air of someone who belonged in a grand estate, not the busy streets of a coastal town.

"My apologies," he said, his voice smooth and deep. Without hesitation, he knelt, gathering the fallen flowers with careful hands.

Isla watched him, momentarily at a loss. It was rare to see nobles here, and even rarer for one to assist with something as simple as spilled flowers. She accepted the blooms he offered, their fingers brushing for the briefest moment.

"Thank you," she murmured, shaking off her surprise.

He tilted his head slightly, studying her with curiosity. "Are these for someone special?"

"Mrs. Moore," she replied. "She owns the flower shop."

"Ah." A thoughtful pause. "Then I suppose I should accompany you, as an apology for knocking them over."

Isla hesitated. "You don’t have to."

He smiled, amusement flickering in his eyes. "But I want to."

There was something about him—an effortless charm, a quiet confidence that unsettled her. Yet, as they walked through town together, she found herself not minding the company. The morning market bustled around them, the scent of ripe fruit and fresh herbs filling the air. Vendors called out their wares, coins exchanged hands, laughter echoed between stalls.

"You don’t seem like you’re from here," Isla remarked after a moment.

He glanced at her, lips curving slightly. "I’m not."

Silence stretched between them, but not an uncomfortable one.

When they arrived at the flower shop, Mrs. Moore greeted them with a warm smile. "Isla, dear, you’ve brought the flowers! And with company, I see."

The young man dipped his head politely. "Just a passing stranger with a debt to repay."

Mrs. Moore chuckled, her eyes twinkling. "Strangers don’t stay strangers for long in a town like ours."

As Isla handed over the flowers, she felt the young man's gaze on her, thoughtful and lingering.

Who was he?

After leaving the flower shop, Isla half-expected the young man to bid her farewell and disappear into the crowd. But instead, he lingered, walking alongside her as if he had nowhere better to be.

"You never told me your name," she said finally.

"Leon," he answered, a slight smirk playing at his lips. "And you’re Isla."

She frowned. "How do you know that?"

"Mrs. Moore said it. But I admit, I already knew."

Her steps slowed. "How?"

Leon stopped as well, turning to face her fully. "Your father’s a marine engineer, isn’t he?"

A strange chill passed through her. "Yes... but how do you—?"

"Let’s just say I know more than most about the people in this town." He exhaled, running a hand through his neatly styled hair. "It’s complicated."

A tangle of emotions tightened in Isla’s chest. She had never met him before today, yet he spoke as if their lives were already intertwined. And despite her wariness, she wanted to understand why.

"Isla!" a voice called from behind.

She turned to see Isha running toward her, her little sister’s face bright with curiosity. When Isha spotted Leon, she skidded to a stop, eyes wide.

"Who’s he?"

Leon chuckled. "Just a stranger."

Isha peered at him, unconvinced. "You don’t look like a stranger."

Isla sighed, ruffling Isha’s hair. "He’s nobody, Isha. Just go home and tell Pa I’ll be back soon."

Isha huffed but nodded, giving Leon one last suspicious glance before darting away.

Leon watched her go, then turned back to Isla with a quiet smile. "You’re protective of her."

"She’s my sister. Of course I am."

"I think she likes me."

Isla rolled her eyes. "She’s suspicious of you. There’s a difference."

Leon laughed, a genuine sound that softened his aristocratic features. "Fair enough."

For a moment, Isla studied him, the way his confidence never wavered, the way he seemed perfectly at ease even in unfamiliar surroundings.

And she wondered—who exactly was Leon?