As I stepped outside, the salty evening breeze brushed against my face. I turned to head back and—
Alan was there.
Leaning casually against the low stone wall that lined the edge of the street, like he hadn't just made a polite excuse to leave fifteen minutes ago.
"You came back," I said as I slowed beside him.
He gave a small shrug, glancing toward the horizon. "Didn't get very far."
I raised an eyebrow. "Changed your mind?"
"Something like that."
I tried not to smile, but it crept onto my face anyway. We started walking, side by side, in no real rush.
"Thanks, by the way," I said. "For pointing me in the right direction."
"Least I could do," he said, his tone light.
We walked in easy silence for a moment, the quiet stretching between us in that strangely comfortable way again. The gravel path crackled beneath our shoes.
"You know," I started, hugging the paper bag to my chest, "I'm starting to think you might be allergic to direct answers."
That made him glance over, and for a second, there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Maybe I just like hearing the questions."
I rolled my eyes but laughed. "Of course you do."
The sky had shifted to a dusky blue by the time we reached the curve that led toward the beach cottages. Alan slowed, his steps growing more deliberate.
"This is where I leave you," he said, his voice softer now.
I stopped too, turning toward him. "Not heading back?"
He shook his head. "I've got something to check on."
It wasn't a strange thing to say, but something about the way he said it made me pause. Still, I nodded.
"Alright," I said. "Thanks again."
His gaze held mine for a beat longer than expected. "Goodnight, Elaina."
"Goodnight, Alan."
He turned and walked back the way we came, disappearing into the soft shadows of the evening like he belonged to them.
Back at the cottage, I kicked off my shoes, dropped the paper bag on the kitchen counter, and grabbed a glass from the cabinet. The orange-ginger drink fizzed softly as I poured it. I tore off a piece of bread and chewed absentmindedly, staring out the window toward the darkening shore.
It was quiet. Not the kind of silence that presses in from all sides, but the kind that settles, like a blanket. Peaceful. Still.
I didn't know what it was about him—Alan. The way he spoke, the way he moved through the world like it didn't quite stick to him.
But somehow, I wasn't in a rush to figure it out.
The sun filtered into the room slowly, warming the side of my face before I was fully awake. I rolled onto my back, letting out a quiet sigh. No alarms. No meetings. Just the sound of waves rolling in and out, and the faint creaking of wood as the breeze brushed against the cottage.
I stayed like that for a few more minutes, my eyes half-open, staring at the ceiling.
Yesterday came back to me in pieces—the walk to the market, the quiet town, Nora's dry attitude, and… Alan.
I wasn't exactly sure what to make of him yet.
He was strange, but not in a threatening way. Just… out of place. Calm in a way most people aren't. He didn't talk too much, but somehow, I hadn't felt the need to fill the silence when he didn't. Which was new for me.
I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The cottage floor was cool against my feet. I stretched, moved to the window, and pulled the curtain aside. The ocean looked the same as yesterday—quiet, endless, peaceful.
I made coffee, toast, and stood at the window while I drank, watching the water shift.
Eventually, I grabbed my sandals, threw on a clean shirt, and stepped outside.
The morning air was crisp, carrying that same salty scent. I didn't really have a reason to go for a walk again, but I found myself headed toward the shoreline anyway.
And just like yesterday—there he was.
Alan was sitting on a familiar stretch of driftwood, elbows resting casually on his knees, looking out at the sea. I couldn't tell if he saw me first, but when I got closer, he turned his head slightly.
"You really do have a favorite spot," I said.
He nodded once. "It's quiet."
"I'm starting to think you just wait here until I show up."
"Maybe I do."
I gave him a look. "You know that sounds weird, right?"
He glanced sideways at me. "You're the one walking straight toward me."
Fair.
I sat down a small distance from him, brushing sand off my palms as I settled.
"You always out here this early?"
"Not always," he replied. "But lately, yeah."
I didn't ask what he meant by "lately." Something about the way he said it didn't invite questions.
We sat for a bit, the breeze occasionally tugging at my shirt. The silence between us was easy again—like it didn't need to be filled.
"You don't talk much," I said after a while.
"That's not a bad thing."
"No, just… different. Most people I know talk just to hear themselves."
"And you don't?"
"Depends on the day."
He nodded like he understood that. Maybe he did.
"You said you were on a break from work," he said. "What do you do?"
I let out a small breath. "Office job. Communications. Emails, meetings, more emails."
"Sounds thrilling."
"Oh yeah, it's the dream," I deadpanned. "I get paid to slowly become a coffee-dependent shell of my former self."
He let out a low chuckle. "Why'd you come here?"
"I needed to breathe," I said, and I meant it more than I expected.
He didn't say anything right away, but his expression shifted slightly. Like he understood something I hadn't said.
I tilted my head at him. "What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Why are you here every day?"
He paused. "I like the stillness."
"That's not really an answer."
"It's the only one I've got."
I frowned at him, but not in a serious way. More like I was trying to figure out a puzzle I hadn't seen all the pieces to yet.
"You know, you don't make sense half the time," I said.
"Maybe you're not asking the right questions."
"That sounds like something someone guilty would say."
"Guilty of what?"
I shrugged. "Being too quiet. Too mysterious. Possibly spying on tourists."
He looked amused. "Should I be worried you're investigating me?"
"I'm just saying, if I turn on the news and see a sketch that looks like you…"
"You'll what?"
"I'll be a little disappointed."
He let out another quiet laugh and turned his head, watching the waves again.
The wind shifted slightly, carrying the faint scent of seaweed. A few gulls flew overhead. I looked out across the water, feeling strangely okay.
More than okay.
I didn't know what this was—if anything—but I wasn't itching to get away. That, in itself, said something.
"Do you ever get tired of this place?" I asked quietly.
"No."
"Not even a little?"
"It's not the kind of place you get tired of," he said.
I looked over at him again. There was something about the way he said it—firm, like he meant it in a way I couldn't fully understand.
"You talk like someone who's been here a long time," I said.
He turned to meet my gaze. "Maybe I have."
Something about that answer stuck to my ribs, but I let it go.
We sat a little longer before I stood and dusted the sand from my hands.
"I should head back," I said.
He stood too. "I'll walk with you."
We walked side by side in silence. Not because there was nothing to say, but because it didn't feel like we needed to say anything.
When we reached the steps of my cottage, I stopped and turned toward him.
"Thanks… for the company."
He gave a small nod. "Anytime."
And then, just like yesterday, he turned and walked away without a sound.
I watched him for a few seconds before heading inside.
It wasn't anything big. Just a conversation. A quiet walk. A calm presence.
But somehow, it felt like more.