CHAPTER 2.
930 Words
The morning sun slid through the thin curtains before I was ready for it. I lay there for a while, staring at the slanted beams of light across the wall, until the soft rush of waves finally pushed me up.
The cottage was cool, the floorboards faint against my bare feet. I made tea, stood by the small sink as the kettle hissed, and let the view through the window remind me where I was.
Breakfast was plain—toast with the last of the butter left in the fridge, which tasted faintly like salt. I wrote a grocery list on the back of a receipt, though it looked more like scribbles than anything useful. Bread. Fruit. Coffee. Something for dinner.
When I stepped outside, the air was crisp and the tide was low. Seagulls swooped low, landing, lifting again, like the shoreline was a game. I decided to take the beach route into town, figuring it couldn’t be longer than the main road.
That’s when I saw him again.
Closer this time.
He was sitting on a piece of driftwood, elbows resting on his knees, staring out at the sea with the kind of stillness you don’t fake.
I slowed without meaning to. My grocery list crinkled in my hand.
He turned his head slightly, just enough to acknowledge me.
“Morning,” he said.
His voice carried over the sound of the water—low, even.
“Morning,” I replied, though mine came out softer, more cautious.
He gave me a small smile, nothing wide, and looked back at the water. I should’ve kept walking, but something about the ease of his presence kept me there.
“You’re new here,” he said after a pause.
The obviousness of it made me laugh once. “That obvious?”
“Pretty much.”
I lifted the paper in my hand. “Grocery run. Thought I’d take the scenic route.”
He nodded like it made sense. “Market’s small, but you’ll find what you need. Bread’s good.”
“Good bread’s all I ask.”
This time he looked at me directly, a flicker of amusement in his expression. “Then you’ll survive.”
It was the kind of easy exchange that didn’t need effort, like we’d both agreed not to complicate it.
I shifted my bag higher on my shoulder. “Elaina,” I offered.
“Alan.”
We stood in that light pause where introductions usually end, but he rose from the driftwood like he’d already decided something.
“Mind if I walk with you?”
I hesitated—not out of reluctance, but out of surprise. Strangers don’t usually offer to walk you places without some hidden angle. But he didn’t look like he was asking for anything more than company.
“Sure,” I said.
We started toward the town, the sand soft underfoot, the gulls scattering when we got too close.
He didn’t fill the air with chatter. Just let the quiet stretch, occasionally offering a remark about the town—how the fishmonger had the best catch in the mornings, how the Market closed earlier than you’d think, how the bakery’s coffee was tolerable if you were desperate.
It wasn’t much. But it was enough to make me feel like he’d lived here long enough to notice things that didn’t end up in brochures.
The market wasn’t far, just a cluster of small shops with striped awnings. The chalkboard sign I’d seen yesterday stood out again: Fresh Scones Today.
Alan stopped near the edge of the square, hands back in his pockets. “I’ll wait here. Market’s all yours.”
“You’re not going in?” I asked.
“Not today.”
I nodded, pretending not to notice the way people glanced past him without acknowledgment. Maybe that was just small-town habit—keeping to themselves, not nosy like in the city.
Inside the market, the shelves leaned with the weight of their stock. Jars of preserves, baskets of apples, bread loaves wrapped in paper. The woman behind the counter gave me a polite smile but didn’t ask where I was from. I bought bread, some fruit, and a jar of jam I didn’t really need, then stepped back out.
Alan was still there, standing exactly as I’d left him.
“Successful?” he asked.
I lifted the bag. “Survival supplies secured.”
“Good. Then let’s get you back before you regret the walk.”
The trip back felt shorter. We didn’t talk much, but when we did, it was easy.
“Does it always stay this quiet?” I asked, shifting the bag to my other hand.
“Mostly. Summer brings people, but not too many. You’ll see the same faces after a few days.”
“Yours included?” I said lightly.
He gave a small, lopsided grin. “If you’re unlucky.”
I laughed, a little surprised at how natural it sounded.
By the time we reached the cottage, the sun was brighter, the tide creeping in. He stopped at the steps, glancing at the porch as if he’d been here before.
“Well,” he said simply, “good luck with the bread.”
“Thanks for the company,” I replied.
He gave a slight nod, and then—like yesterday—he slipped away, walking down the stretch of beach until he was just another figure in the distance.
I stood there a moment longer before going inside, setting the groceries on the counter, and realizing my chest felt lighter than it had yesterday.
- Writer
