Leyla-tehrani - Almost Here.

"Well, I was born in Canada, but spent a lot of years down in New York. Made some of my best and worst decisions there as one does. Spent a summer in Iran and a year in Paris. So this is very very new. I'm used to busy and 'hey watch where you're going'" She mimicked the last part in her best attempt at a New York accent. "It's an amazing location for those exact reasons. I had worried a bit about the bars in the area, but when you're close to the coast, something refreshing can compete a bit with something that will ultimately be dehydrating." She nodded, "good. It's a standing offer whenever you want it. Have you ever gone anywhere or are you a lifelong Merrock..ian? Merrockite?"

"Where have you lived before?" Rafael asked, genuinely curious. It wasn't as though he expected everyone he talked with to have lived in one tiny town only to come to another, but he found it interesting to hear about how they came to be in Merrock, none the less. How different it was from where they called home. "I was going to say, if you're set up on the coast, you're set up well, because you can't go wrong with the views. And I can imagine when people just want the chance to kick back, relax, have a drink, it's great for that." When she offered a drink on her, he grinned, "I might just have to take you up on that."

Most people were reading fiction or memoirs, and she was reading like she was still in school. It's what she liked though, working made sense more than anything else did. "I did," she said proudly, "it's called Mawk Tales. The only bar you can feel safe to bring your kids too, but we do have smoothies and italian sodas if you don't want her having something called a mocktail." Finding the yellow swimsuit, she smiled warmly, "she looks like she's having a blast. Is she pretending you're not here or are you still cool?"

Wes lifted a brow in curiosity as Leyla explained the contents of the book she had been reading. It sounded kind of interesting, it definitely made sense. "You opened up the new mocktail place out this way, right?" He may not have had the chance to have checked it out yet, but he had certainly heard good things. He chuckled at the question of whether one of the tweens out on the shoreline was his. "Yeah, the one in the yellow swimsuit is mine," he laughed, "Arabella."

Leyla sighed, knowing that was very much true. One of the reasons she preferred the company of women far more, it was hard to know which men you could really trust. "I'm doing my part, I guess," she said, wanting to put the good in the world that she had needed growing up.

"You're welcome, you seem like the horse whisperer type," she complimented. She nodded as the woman mentioned it taking her back, scents were usually very strongly attached to memory. Unfortunately, not all could be good. This one was though. It represented healing. "Uh, not really. Not as much as I would have liked. I was in New York before this, and there's less opportunity. I would like to get into it more again."

"They're everywhere," she scrunched her nose, knowing that there wasn't a single woman on the planet who hadn't, at some point in their life, dealt with that exact kind of man. Unfortunately. "I think that's really admirable. We need more good in the world, less of the bad stuff." And if Leyla was here, trying to volunteer with the program, than Livvy already believed that she was heading in the right direction.

"Thank you," she laughed, reaching up to touch her hair, no longer in a braid, but still pulled back loosely at the back of her neck. Some habits died hard, after all. She had changed a lot since high school and the younger years, but there were some parts of her that she knew would never actually change, and she was grateful for that. "Oh, me too," an eager nod, "the smell of hay, or leather… takes me back, you know? Outside of what you mentioned earlier, do you ride horses a lot?"

"Great," she said excitedly, looking forward to the opportunity this would provide her business. "I can do that, and then once you give it a listen, we can set up a more formal meeting to work out all the details," she offered, before with a small smile, adding, "so you can enjoy the rest of your visit sans business." She beamed, rather proud of her drinks despite not being much of a non-alcoholic mixologist before deciding on the business idea. She was largely self-taught, and she liked to see good feedback to her products.

"I can make that work.." he thought over options in his mind, "maybe but together a playlist, send it over, I can put something together." Sure, they would have to discuss details, contracts and the like but overall, he was in. As Leyla set the fight of drinks down in front of him, Alec took a moment to inspect each of the drink as he debated which to try first. He picked up the watermelon lime to start, taking a sip to taste, then another. "Mmm.. not bad," he nodded.

Flights were always one of her favorite options, especially at new places. It gave a good sampling for customers to come back and order more of the ones they liked the best. "I'll get that going," Leyla stated, giving a few moments of thought to what to include. When she started to shake one up, she asked, "you're in a band, right?"

At the suggestion of the flight, Alec paused for a moment. "Let's do that then. You can pick the other two, just no smoothies," her shook his head at the last part. Nothing better than recommendations straight from the owner, right?

"Ah, you're familiar," she joked, laughing as they both clearly gave away that they were not born there. She nodded, agreeing, "quite." Smiling, she was grateful for the experiences she had, even if not all were full of positive memories. "My parents are Iranian," she explained, "that trip was to see some relatives. I speak both fluent Farsi and French, so both places allowed me to exercise those languages more. But it is, I would go back to Paris if the opportunity arose." Leaning against the arm of her beach chair, she beamed at the compliment to her business idea. "Thank you for saying so," she said quietly, "it seems to fill a need. I was hoping it would, but the feedback has been really positive." It was one thing to know and to hear it from customers, and another to get the praise of someone who had long run his own business. "I've always wanted to go to Italy, but I never got that far. What brought you here?"

"Spoken like a true New Yorker," he replied, trying his best to imitate the accent, as well. Something that he should have had down pat, after spending a few years there, himself. But he had spent much more time in Maine, was almost disappointing to find the accent a reach to achieve. "I can imagine it's a little bit of culture shock, though. Iran and Paris -- and then here to Merrock, you've really seen a lot," he smiled at the thought. "Can't say I've visited Iran, but Paris is gorgeous. One of those cities worth seeing just to say that you did, right?" He leaned back on his arms where he had settled onto his towel and let out a low laugh, "oh yes, we have quite a few bars, but your business is truly unique. And truth be told, I think sometimes people go to bars just because they're traditional meeting, social areas. Offer them something else, and why not take it?" He knew that it would happily be a place for him to visit with clients. "I was born in Italy, actually. Moved to New York City for law school, practiced for a few years before I made the move here."

Dunkirk (2017) dir. Christopher Nolan

Leyla has happy to see more and more people discover Mawk Tales and start to come in when they were in the mood for a mocktail, but she still had to keep working. The momentum of the new(er) wouldn't last forever. It was up to her to make it into something. "Also delicious," she said, pausing as she noticed him continue to look over the menu. "We have a flight option too if you want to try a few. It comes with any four you want."

Alec was on his way back home from work when he decided to drop in by Mawk Tales for a bit. While Anchors Away was his usual hang out, mocktails were probably the better option at the moment. "Uhh.. let me do the sparkling blackberry lemonade," his eyes stayed glued to the menu as he spoke, double checking the options to make sure that was what he wanted. His attention finally turned back to Leyla once he was sure. "I'll try the strawberry basil one too."

Maybe it was the escapism from the harshness that was often her own reality, but Leyla had found solace, education, and a sense of belonging in books for as long as she could remember. A bookstore or library had an otherworldly sense to it at times, like the world could be shut out, an invisible sign on the door that read 'bad things, keep out.' "I've read a few of her others, My Sister's Keeper and Nineteen Minutes, but I'm sort of rediscovering at the moment. All I've read as of recently is business- or entrepreneur-related, so before my roommates stage a workaholic intervention, I thought I'd add in some pleasure reading. Have you read the Scarpetta series? It's American Crime from Patricia Cornwell. Or someone at the Beach Bash recommended the Bridgerton books to me, if you enjoy a bit of spice."

Summer had always been picky when it came to her reading choices, usually wanting something more gripping to start off with but every once in a while she would pick up something outside of her scope and actually enjoy it; "I think I've read this, or maybe it was a movie that I saw" perhaps it was both; "Are you new to her work?" questioning the other before answering her question; "I have read her work before maybe only once with My Sisters Keeper but I am not quite sure exactly what is on my mind when it comes to a new book, what suggestions do you have?" / @leyla-tehrani

Vitus hadn't built the walls, those were under construction long before him, but he'd been the one to slide under as it sealed shut. Like an action hero. Then, his betrayal had simply melded it in place. Opening up would mean pain, and no amount of therapy had successfully opened the cage that protected her heart, her very brittle, fragile heart.

She hadn't meant to break him--or maybe she had. But she had meant every word. Sleepless nights spent at his side pressing all the broken pieces back together, solid when he shook, warm when he was too exhausted to fall easily into dreams, a breath when he couldn't find air. There was never anywhere else she wanted to be. The irony of the Lighthouse in view wasn't lost on her. She had tried to be a light in the storm, a guide back home. Even when it got complicated, it was easy. And it wasn't enough.

She wanted answers. Answers he couldn't offer, ones she wasn't even sure would make her feel better. "Deep breaths," she whispered, cursing herself for showing him any mercy. She had sworn to herself she wouldn't if they were ever to cross paths again, but they were the same broken. "You need to find out why," she said, "the people you'll keep hurting until you do, they deserve that."

His promise that he did love her went unacknowledged because she did know he had, but it hadn't been real. Real love, if it existed, did not do what he did. She simply chose to no longer believe. Part of her would have given him her hand, let him find comfort in it. In her. But she couldn't, she had to protect herself first. No one else was going to.

"Please stop saying sorry," she breathed out, a single stray tear sliding down her cheek unchecked, "you had reason to worry, and I know I have punished you enough. But I don't want your apology. You broke my heart, you broke my trust, you made my nightmare a reality. Someone newer, shinier, thinner, prettier, more exciting, whatever it was. I know you said it wasn't me, and I know that, but you can see how I'll struggle with that anyway, right? I asked you for faithfulness, a lot of other people make different arrangements. You could have just told me you didn't want to do that anymore." She was circling back to the question that screamed in echos within her mind. Why, why, why. And there was no why. With an exhale, she let it go out with the waves retreating back into the ocean. At least for now. "Deep breaths, Vitus, take deep breaths."

Vitus had hoped for something softer, with her, after all these years. Time had a way of doing that—taking the bite out of memories, until the once-visceral pain turned phantom, like a long-gone limb. But Leyla's eyes didn't melt into her core like his own did. Her voice didn't compress and fold itself over, bowing under the weight of him. No, Leyla remained as hardened and sharp as the day he lost her.

Out on the beach in broad daylight, the last event of summer buzzing around him, Vitus was trying his best not to cry. But then she said that—You were easy to love. Why wasn't that enough?—and the thing in his chest quit howling long enough to crumble. It punched a shuddering breath out of his lungs. Vitus wrapped his arms around himself, trying to stabilize, as the first tears finally tipped over and fell down his face.

He had never thought himself easy to love, but especially not when he was in his twenties, and especially not when they met. Leyla had held him on the bathroom floor while his hands shook, on the tail end of a coke comedown. She'd seen him crawl into bed at four in the morning, exhausted and empty after draining sessions with his clients. She'd let him cry into the cradle of her neck after a day's worth of panic attacks as he tried to build a new place in his life for his parents. And through it all, she'd loved him. She'd loved him, she'd loved him. And he'd loved her too, because she knew what it was, to live like that. To be shredded and unwilling to look at her pieces long enough to reassemble them.

And yet. He'd still cheated on her. And then he'd done it again, and again, and again, to other partners that came after her. How many people had come up against his fever, promised to love him through it, only to end up burning to death in his arms?

"I don't... know. I mean, yes, but it wasn't you," he said again, speaking through the guilt pouring down his cheeks. Vitus pawed at his face, if only to save her the sight of him like that, but it didn't quite work. "Nothing is ever enough. I don't know why. I wish I could tell you, but I don't—Something in me is just—" He gestured at his sternum, trying to indicate the ache in there, the beast that had been demanding more more more for as long as he could remember. "I know how much you loved me. And I loved you like that too. I really did."

To make matters worse—Leyla's lips quivered, too, and Vitus immediately wanted to step forward. He wanted to reach, offer his open palm to her, say what can I give you? just like he did the night they met. He didn't. He stayed in place, battered by guilt over the fact that he had broken her so severely ten years ago that she still didn't believe in love, still couldn't talk to him without crying.

"I'm sorry. I'm really glad you're doing better. I worried about you, a lot, after—" A sniffle. Another hand across his face, as if he could wipe his identity right off of himself, bury it in the sand, and start fresh as someone new. "I'm so sorry, Leyla. I know it can't fix anything. But I just—I never stopped being sorry."