I turned and saw a man—maybe late fifties, gray-streaked hair, sun-worn face—walking toward the dock. He gave me a friendly nod as he approached.
"Afternoon," he said.
"Hi."
"Didn't expect anyone to be out here this early. Thought I'd get the place to myself," he said, setting a small cooler down near the far edge of the dock.
"Sorry. I didn't know it was a hotspot."
He chuckled. "No worries. Plenty of space."
He cast his line like someone who actually knew what he was doing. I watched for a bit, then went back to my own fishing line, which still hadn't moved an inch.
"Out here alone?" he asked casually.
"Oh—uh, no," I said, gesturing to the space beside me. "I'm with someone. He just stepped away for a bit."
The man glanced around, as if expecting to see someone close by.
"A friend?"
"Sort of. His name's Alan. He's local—I don't know if you know him. Alan Mayer?"
He frowned slightly. "Don't think I've met anyone by that name."
I looked at him. "Really? He said he's lived here for a while."
The man shook his head slowly. "I've lived in this town all my life. Know most folks around. Doesn't ring a bell."
"Oh." I blinked, trying to keep my face neutral. "Maybe he just keeps to himself."
"Maybe," he said, though something about his tone was uncertain.
Before I could ask anything else, he glanced at his watch.
"Shoot—I've gotta head out earlier than I thought," he said, already reeling in his line. "My granddaughter's recital. Can't miss it or I'm dead meat."
I smiled politely. "Of course. Have a good one."
He nodded. "You too. Hope you catch something."
With that, he packed up and left, footsteps fading into the distance.
I sat there, suddenly very aware of how quiet it had gotten again.
I replayed the conversation in my head.
Alan Mayer.
Doesn't ring a bell.
How?
I glanced back down the path he'd taken. Still no sign of him.
When he finally returned, maybe twenty minutes later, I didn't say anything right away.
He sat down next to me again, like he'd never left.
"Miss me?" he asked casually.
"You came back just in time to witness me not catching anything," I said.
"Impeccable timing, as always."
We sat in silence for a bit.
I turned my head slightly. "Alan?"
"Hmm?"
"Have you always lived here?"
He was still watching the water. "Why?"
"Just curious."
He didn't answer right away. Then: "A while now."
I nodded slowly, then looked away.
There were things I wanted to ask. But the ease of the moment tugged at me. His voice, calm and warm, pulled me back into the quiet.
So I let it go.
For now.
By the time we got back to the cottage, the sun was already dipping into the water, turning everything gold and quiet. The bikes rested by the porch. Our shoes were dusty. We hadn't caught a single fish.
But Alan smiled when I offered him a leftover granola bar like it was a victory prize, and I couldn't bring myself to care about the empty basket.
Still, something sat in the back of my mind.
The man on the dock. The pause when I said Alan's name. The "doesn't ring a bell."
I hadn't told Alan about it yet. I wasn't sure why.
Maybe I didn't want to ruin the quiet. Or maybe I didn't want to see his face when I asked, "Are you lying to me?"
Instead, I kept the thought folded up and tucked away.