( Event: Beach Bash. ) - Blog Posts

"I think picking it up counts," she said with a laugh, "or talking about it." Leyla then nodded, "it's not mine either. I'll stay for part of the bonfire and then see if I can sneak away before one of my roommates sees me."

"Well, the best intentions means you read at least an occasion book on the list, or at least the back of the book." Aleja shook her head at the mention of camping. "No, no. That's not my style at all, but I'll be out until it's time to sleep."

"Yeah, simple switch for that one," she said. Being self-taught in the most of the ways of mixology in the last couple of years when she decided on her business idea, she was happy to share the knowledge. "I'd be happy to teach you," she offered, "which is probably terrible as a business model, but if you're wanting the alcohol version, it's not direct competition." The flight option was one of her personal favorites, but she liked the ability to sample a menu. "There's no alcohol, not a drop in the whole place," she assured, "we are fully non-alcoholic, so no back up plans needed, no hangovers the next day, just a great time."

"Oh, that's easy enough to remember." Ryn nodded, listening at the comment of replacing the syrup with the liquor. She wasn't the most knowledgeable when it came to alcohol or mixing things together, but the other seemed to be much more knowledgeable and Ryn was thankful she'd gotten to listen to her. "I'll have to see if I can find the stuff and make my own at home." she spoke. "Though, I'm thinking you'd just be much better at it then I would, so, maybe I just need to come out there anytime I want something fancy." she laughed. At the mention of the flight option, Ryn inhaled in excitement. "Ooh, yeah. Definitely have to come out and try that. Though, I need to ask, do you do flights of mixed non-alcoholic and alcoholic there? Because if not, I may need to be sure I have a backup plan." she laughed. "I haven't drank anything alcohol related in awhile, so, I can't promise I won't be a lightweight."

Leyla had spent years, before and after him, trying to believe that, and it was one thing she still struggled to accept. She would hear her parents sigh when they had to pay for another treatment, even when her mother had always been the first to comment when she looked comfortable. She was a lot of work. But at the end of the day, it was love that wasn't enough. Love: the invisible concept that was supposed to make the world better. But it didn't. It was empty. Empty words, empty hopes, empty rooms. "Only you could say that after what you've done and I still believe you," she mused. When he said it, she felt a strange sense of comfort as if it were true. As if she weren't difficult or exhausting, as if she were worth loving...

It was good while it lasted, from go, he was magnetic. He was her hero, swooping in to save her at the right moment. Back then, when she had believed in love, she used to love with every part of her being. Like an electric current that kept her alive. Even through all their troubles, they felt possible to overcome. Because they were together. She may not have survived without him, and she was almost surprised she did when she lost him. Her anorexia fueled anew by spite, and it was almost a blaze that consumed her entirely. The memory made her weak, fragile heart start to pound in her chest. No one could save her that time, she had to learn to save herself. Maybe he deserved some thanks for that.

Suddenly, she was hyperaware of the busy world around them: laughing children, people splashing in the water, running around, happily chatting about how great the day was. It was hardly the place for this, especially by the exhausted looks of him, so she nodded, "okay. Maybe you can come to Mawk Tales after closing sometime--I don't live alone." She looked over at him, not sure what to say, "enjoy the rest of your day, Vitus." Then she paused and added, "I think I mean that."

"No. It was never exhausting," he said, his voice sturdier despite his lingering tears. This was one truth that hadn't changed in all the years that had passed between them: "Loving you was the easy part."

It was true—he'd tripped over his clumsy feet and fallen straight into her when they met. Some nights were more difficult than others, certainly, but Vitus attributed that to their circumstances more than any personal faults. His love for Leyla had known no limits in its intensity. It had burned through him like wildfire, scorching every inch and edge of his skin, dizzying him with head-smoke. That all-consuming heat had lit him up during a time in his life when everything else inside him felt wholly, horribly dark. Vitus had fled to California after he lost her, searching for anything else that burned like she did, and what he found in Los Angeles almost killed him. It would be a lie, to say he didn't utterly regret losing Leyla the way he did.

"I'm sorry, I'm just—" At a loss for an appropriate adjective, Vitus gestured at the all of himself. Sleep still dragged at his eyelids. He was battling a weed-and-liquor hangover, and his hands had begun to twitch in search of a cigarette, any kind of reprieve from discomfort. Vitus rubbed his face and sniffled again, grateful the tears had begun to slow, at least. "Can we—if it's not too much to ask. Can we meet somewhere else, please? Somewhere private. And I can answer every question you have then." No way would he be able to give her anything close to satisfaction, caught off guard on the middle of a beach like this.

Leyla knew she wasn't the only one who ever had bad life circumstances or a far from dream relationship with parents or family, so it was sort of an innate learning one had to do: find the good. It just wasn't always so innate. "Exactly, like riding a bike, I guess," she mused. As she suspected, he could go when he wanted. "Do you think you'd ever go back and live there or are you here to stay?" It was a question she asked herself a lot, especially with the idea of being known in such a small town. It made her want to run. "That's the dream, though, to have something that large that you can call your own. I used to watch Shark Tank all the time when I was younger, just wishing I could be in one of those seats someday."

Rafael's smile was lopsided, but sincere. He knew what she was talking about; if you could take one good thing out of a bad situation, it hadn't been for nothing. And sometimes even those bad situations had their reasoning for happening, whether or not you realized it at the time. But that was neither here nor there, and his thoughts shifted seamlessly to the idea of languages, nodding his head, "I can understand that, sort of all comes back to you." Listening to his mother talk to herself in Italian, or his father speaking Spanish on the phone, sometimes shifted things in his brain, as well. "Sometimes," he nodded. "But I'm lucky enough that I can take the trip when I like to, and there is the beach here, even if it's not quite the same," he grinned, at that thought. Different worlds, really. "By now, I'm used to it. But about the time that I got into real estate and realized that I had really, actually created something quite… large, it absolutely felt surreal."

"We have the best intentions, don't we?" She agreed with a giggle. "Keep things exciting." She wasn't sure if that sounded pathetic or not because that was true. She read way more than she actually went out for things, even if she was sure her roommates were planning on changing that. "Are you going to be camping tonight?"

"That's about my whole bookshelf," she said with a laugh and a grin. "It's good to have something light as a palate cleanser, or to just keep the genres in a good variety rotation."

Since the moment of his confession, she had wanted something to make it better. Some word, some revenge, some idea...anything that would just make it better. He could offer her none of it. She knew he was sorry, but it wasn't a word that made it go away. It didn't bring the trust back or make her feel less unworthy; it didn't take the carefully crafted walls down or ease the self-talk that plagued her.

She couldn't leave him like this, even after everything. If any of the old Leyla was still alive, she had to care. She hated him, that was still true, but she loved him too. Not in the same way, that was long in the rearview, but people who made it to her heart never really left. Wiping quickly at her own tear, she started to reach for him but pulled her hand away like a flame that would burn. "You'll be okay," she murmured instead.

More of that poison-laced truth. If he wanted it, then why didn't he? That elusive why continued to taunt and torment her. "I'm having trouble believing that," she confessed honestly because it was all she could say. It still felt like her fault. You're too difficult, Leyla... "Maybe you're still just looking for something." Something not in her.

Her heart caved in as that question struck her with a million memories. Hands shaking, fork nervously tapping the plate, 'it's not the food' she would sob as if he didn't already know that. He was a great cook, and he never took any offense when she struggled to eat whatever he made. What do you need from me? When she looked too long in the mirror, counting every flaw. What do you need from me? When her mother called and made some fleeting jab of a remark. What do you need from me? "We're adults, there's no need to avoid each other, it's a small town," she said, leaving all emotion out of her voice. Her questions seemed pointless, and she wasn't sure if he had any more answers. But it came out anyway. "Was it...exhausting to love me? Was it too dark? Did you just need light?"

It was on the tip of his tongue again—another apology, trying to flee his parted lips and find her. Apologizing for apologizing too much was one of Vitus's most stubborn habits, formed over the last few years. He swallowed the rest of his I'm sorry's, forcing the horde of them back down into the core of his body. Leyla didn't want them anymore. Maybe she never had.

Here they were, both crying because Vitus hurt her ten years ago, and yet. Leyla was the one being patient with him. Guiding him back to some semblance of calm, the same way she used to. Deep breaths. She'd told him that when he stumbled home and splintered into a thousand sharp pieces after seeing his mother for the first time in years. As he had back then, Vitus followed her voice, drawing and releasing each breath one at a time. It helped. Of course it helped. And the fact that he'd burdened her with caretaking here, now, with him of all people, only drove the guilt deeper into his chest.

"I know, how it made you feel. How it made you doubt. But I did want to be faithful to you. I swear, I did. I've always wanted to be that guy." The one who could leave home for days at a time and think only of the connection waiting for him there. The one who didn't become excited, in some small part, whenever he cheated on someone. Vitus wanted the happily-ever-after kind of love, just never knew how to hold onto it long enough to make it last. She was right—he needed to figure it out, for the sake of every partner he'd ever hurt and every one he might still hurt down the line.

"What do you need from me?" He had asked her this question before. Intermittently throughout their relationship, as she struggled to look at the food on her plate or keep the future she wanted within sight. Back then it had been a matter of supporting her through personal troubles. This time, it was a matter of yielding to her amid the mess he made. "I can... answer any questions you have. I can steer clear of you around town." Intentional avoidance would heap more pain atop his shoulders, but this wasn't about him. "Whatever you need, Leyla."

She meant it when she said she wanted Mawk Tales to be for everyone. It was safe. "Good, I'm going to be putting on some events, trivia, live music, things like that, over time." She wanted to have more reasons to bring people in to have fun and enjoy some non-alcoholic drinks. She smiled in understanding as he said it depended on the day. "Yeah, I can see that. It's the kind of day for friends not dads," she remarked with a small laugh.

He nodded in understanding as Leyla encouraged stopping by Mawk Tales with Ary. "I'll have to make sure I stop by and check it out," he agreed. It was always nice checking out new spots around town anyway. Wes couldn't help but chuckle at the question of whether his daughter was outright ignoring him or if she still thought he was cool. "Depends on the day," he shook his head. Pre-teens were interesting to navigate parenthood with. "Right now, she'd rather be out with her friends," he added as he looked back out at his daughter, then back at Leyla. At least that was the case in that present moment.

"Yeah, there's usually some good in every experience," Leyla regurgitated some therapist's advice, though she was still working on that as a consistent mindset. "I met some really great people while I was there," she admitted. Nodding, she said, "if I spend too much time with my parents, I do." She was actually enjoying having this conversation with someone who also had the experience of not being born in America. It was so different sometimes. "Do you ever miss it?" Then again, with the business he owned, he could probably go home whenever he wanted. A quick and easy jump on a plane. Smiling, she agreed, "go us. Does it ever start feeling real? Or do you still sometimes wake up thinking 'there's no way this business is mine'?"

"Then that's all that matters, is that you found something enjoyable out of the whole experience," he knew not to push past that, understanding that family could be a tricky subject, especially when discussing with a stranger at a beach party. But discovering more about where you came from and your history was never a bad thing, either, that was for sure. "Do you ever find yourself thinking in one language over another?" he aksed curiously. "It took me a long time to realize I had started thinking in English, since I grew up speaking Italian and then Spanish," and then moved to the States and everything changed. "It's beautiful," he smied, a wistful expression. Rafael got to visit 'home' every now and then, but it was still a dream when the opportunity arose and he loved every moment of it. "I have," he nodded thoughtfully. "And now you have, too. Go us, right?"

"Thank you," Leyla replied, still beaming. It was maybe her favorite thing about the business she decided to open: the creativity. She hadn't previously considered herself a very creative person, but this had brought beautiful new challenges. "Easy peasy," she laughed. "Oh, blue curaçao is a liqueur, the syrup substitutes for that to make it non-alcoholic, so you'd just take out that syrup and add the liqueur. Voila, mocktail becomes cocktail." She believed in their being a time for everything, so she didn't have any problem making the suggestion. Especially since the woman did confirm she'd also like to check her place out. "I would love to have you stop by. I offer flight options as well, so you can sample a bit of different things. I can pick out my prettiest ones for you. We'll eventually have some live music nights too, so that'll be something to come enjoy."

"Well, I have to say this is probably the most beautiful drink I've ever seen." Ryn admitted, taking a look at it, trying to really get an idea for how beautiful the drink was. "Oh that's some simple stuff that people just have laying around a lot anyways." she smiled. "It looks delicious. In the chance someone wanted the alcoholic version, what would you suggest they put int it? Though, you did such a good job I may have to just come down to Mawk Tales a lot and get some of these."

"Some of these comments sound like high school all over again," Leyla joked, though she liked seeing everyone in town get so into the competition. Like a really big family. "Please do," she offered, "I guarantee atmosphere." She smiled as the other woman undersold her job a bit. She was not the most tech-savvy, so she admired people who were. "My business relies a lot on technology, so I'd say it's a very sexy job and now I know who to call if my systems go down," she teased.

"Can I? Sure, but I think it makes for a lot messier of a situation." Which was true, but obviously they couldn't control who drank or didn't. Most people could handle it okay but obviously it only took one person going too far. "I would love to stop by sometime, see what it's like and honestly it sounds like a perfect atmosphere , I like quiet sometimes." she said. "Oh." she cleared her throat, it wasn't something she could explain being a hacker, "I work in IT security, an analyst." she shrugged, "Not a very sexy job."

Leyla wasn't sure kids would be in her future, not now, not after everything, but she loved watching others experience that joy. Especially mothers and daughters, there was a special bond with them--or there was supposed to be. "Beautiful," she complimented, "she looks like you. Are you two very close?"

Lara nodded in agreement. She was pretty proud of how adventurous Lily had become. And moreso in the past few years. She liked to see her daughter take on different interests. "She's..." Lara looked around. "Ah... there she is," she nodded towards a lanky girl with curly hair in a ponytail in shorts and a tank top talking to other kids who looked like young teens.

Leyla paused for a moment, trying to figure out how best to describe the trip which had been a rollercoaster. "Um, it's family," she decided to go more vague, "but I did enjoy connecting more to parts of myself and my family's history." She didn't completely regret going, but she did try to reflect too much. "I enjoyed learning them and then practicing them. I wanted to be connected to all parts of myself, language included, besides I loved learning, always have." The work had always made sense before the people. "I hope so," she remarked. She did want to leave an impact on the town with her business, a good one. "I'll add it to my list," she said, all the more wanting to go based on his recommendation. "We're alike in that, sometimes new beginnings are important. Clear the slate and build something you're proud of, which you clearly have."

"Oh!" he nodded his head with understanding when she mentioned that her parents were Iranian, that it had been a trip to visit relatives. "Did you enjoy it, getting to visit family?" Sometimes it was a pleasure visit, sometimes you wanted to pull your hair out. Rafael had family in both Italy and Mexico, loved to visit both, but knew that by the end of it, sometimes he was happy to get back home and not be social. For a little while, anyway. "That's very handy, being able to speak both languages. I know from experience that it's always respected and appreciated when you visit a place and speak to the people in their own language, rather than expecting them to understand yours." Maybe not something entirely possible for everyone, but still worth a shot. "It does, absolutely. You're doing a good thing for the town," he assured her with a sincere smile. "I grew up on the Amalfi Coast, so I'm biased… but highly recommend it," it was, after all, a gorgeous town. Whether living there, or visiting. "A change. I just needed to get out of the city and start over."

"Oh, definitely. I have a row or two on my bookshelf basically dedicated to those," she admitted, which pretty much consisted of non-business books as that's all she'd been soaking up lately. "I'll probably need something like when I finish my current list."

"Some books you buy in good faith and never get around to reading, right?" She knew who she was, with her cheap romance novels and tasty thrillers. That's what she liked. "I would, especially if you want something that doesn't require much thinking."

"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."

"It's one of my mocktails," Leyla explained giddily. Talking about her business and the drinks she made always brightened her day, "it's sort of space-themed. I call it our Galaxy Mocktail. It's got a blue curaçao syrup, grenadine, lemonade, and an orange & sweet lime simple syrup. You make it in two layers, so the purple and blue can sort of swirl together like a galaxy, hence the name. We serve it at Mawk Tales if you ever want to stop by and enjoy one while you read a book or something. What did you bring to read?"

"I'm not sure what you're drinking but it looks absolutely delicious!" She'd been eyeballing the drink in the other person's hand for the majority of the time they'd been sitting next to each other. "Did you make it? And if you didn't do you know what's in it because I wouldn't mind remaking a batch of that. It's almost too pretty to drink." @leyla-tehrani

"Completely understand," Leyla said with a hint of a laugh, "I've got a couple of those myself." She kept telling herself she'd read something that wasn't business or professional development related, and yet, her bag did not contain any such other genre. "I'll still give you exciting," she offered. "Would you recommend it?"

"Oh, I would put it on my tbr list and then swear I'm going to read it for months and months and then not read it, but thank you for the offer." Aleja was too old to not be self aware about her own habits. "They're fairly spicy, but nothing compared to what's popular these days."

"I'm at a good stopping point anyway," Leyla offered, but her smile was so sweet it would have felt like kicking a puppy to not meet her at least halfway in her desire to be friends. "Because it's more fun to enjoy the sweaty, sculpted views than to get hit in the face with a ball?" She answered the rhetorical question with a bit of a laugh. Maybe it was the warmth of the sun or the zen of the ocean waves, book reading, and mocktail combination or maybe Aisha's jovial nature was a bit infectious, but Leyla was not exactly miserable. "No, but let's go anyway," she said, readying herself to chase this thing into the water when she inevitably missed.

"Really?" her expression brightened when Leyla had finally relented to hang out with her, and she shook her head. "I definitely won't laugh, considering I'm probably just as bad as you are at it. Why do you think I'm not playing in the Volleyball game?" she was as uncoordinated as it got, but tossing a frisbee wouldn't be as pressuring as the competitive nature of the upcoming game. She dug in her beach bag for her frisbee, trying to find it before she changed her mind, and got it out, putting her bag on the ground near Leyla's chair. "Ready?" she gave a grin.

"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."

Squeezing some into her hand, Leyla tried to warm it just a little in his hands before massaging it into the other woman's back. She was sort of getting this small town hospitality, but she was a little worried about how it would affect her plans to let no one under the surface again ever. "Yes, I feel like I always make a mess of one hand and not the other," she agreed. Smiling, she replied, "that's the best kind of weekend. Mine has been largely relaxing as well. Leyla, pleasure's all mine. Are you going to participate in all the activities or are you going to see how long people will let you sit here?"

A sense of relief rushed through Libby as the other agreed to help her. "Thank you!" she spoke, handing her the bottle before turning around so the other could access the area she needed to cover. Kindness from others, especially strangers, was one of the reasons why Libby preferred living in a small town. In Libby's experience, people were generally more generous when it came to small town life. She could remember countless times that she would be flipped off or cursed out back in Boston for so much as looking at someone the wrong way. "Right?! It's kind of like when you're trying to paint your nails. It's better to have some help or an extra pair of hands." Libby replied, before nodding her head. "I am! It's been fairly relaxing. How about you? I'm Libby, by the way. It's nice to meet you."

"A lot of competitive spirit," she laughed. She hadn't been here very long, but that was clear. "Me too, my sport was running," she said, before glancing over at where some kids were before looking back, "which one's yours?"

Lara gave her a smile. “Yes! Hope that everyone just has a lot of fun. I know this town has a lot of team spirit,” she said, trying to give extra context to what she meant. “I played in school… for gym class. My daughter is more athletic,” she added.

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."

She knew he never meant to, and that just made it worse. He loved love, which had once been something she herself had loved about him. When you were his moment, it was the most intoxicating thing in the world because you were everything. But that's the thing about moments, there's always another right after it. They're fleeting. She'd never been more loved than that time Vitus had loved her, but she had also never had the kind of pain the end brought. She had tried to hurt him back, make him feel what she was feeling, but by the look on his face, he was still the same. It hadn't deterred him from doing it again and again, still chasing love like another high. In actuality, that's all it was by Leyla's estimation.

"Don't." She replied, a mix of malice and flicker of that old brokenness, "you don't get to talk about what I deserve." Because no matter how much she had wanted him to know that she made it, she didn't want to need anything from him. Not now. Everyone in town saw the end result, the polished version she spent decades perfecting. He knew, though, knew what she didn't want anyone to know: it had been a messy, twisted journey, and there had almost been no Leyla Tehrani left to open Mawk Tales at all.

They were both really fucked up, back then and probably still now. She still said mean things like she knew how to hurt him, as if his life had been happy and hers alone had not, but they both knew that wasn't true. He'd had plenty ripped away from him in the blink of an eye. It just still didn't give him the right to be reckless with others. His silence said he knew that.

"I know I am," she replied, once again wishing he wasn't being kind about it. "Then what would it have taken? I spent so much time playing it all back in my head, and--I know I wasn't perfect. I was a lot of work, but I loved you as best I knew how--I couldn't love myself, but you--you were easy to love. If love is really some beautiful and powerful thing, why wasn't that enough to stop you? Did you just want more?" For all the therapy she'd received, this is the one wound she wouldn't let anyone in to see, so it was the one that could re-open so easily. She wanted to pull him close and drown him in the nearby ocean all at the same time, with the same fire. He didn't have any right to ask, and after what he'd done, part of her still wanted the same punishment for him: to never know the answer to those questions. "--Eating? Yes," she relented, "okay might be a totally different question altogether. It doesn't go away, but I've been seeing Dr. Lane at the community center. Keeps me on top of things. But what's still broken in me, Vitus, you cannot fix." She took a breath, lip wobbling in a way that made her curse herself. He could still get right through, and it just made her want to push harder to close right back up. No one was allowed this close, not anymore. He looked better, still sad behind the eyes, but physically, he seemed okay. She wasn't ready to ask yet about him. "I know I said I wanted you to always be miserable, but it doesn't actually make me feel better to see you like this. Love's not real, stop chasing it."

Another agonized wince, as Leyla sliced deeper. But she said it without anger this time. Just laid the truth at his feet, left it there for him to take back, because it wasn't hers anymore and never would be again. And she was right; he'd done his damage. He'd done it over and over, winding lovers and friends around his hands and then spinning them loose repeatedly. Never with the intent to harm, but what difference did it make when harm was all he seemed to be capable of sometimes? Too choked to answer her question directly, Vitus let the remorse in his expression be his response.

And as she spoke of her business, the quaint atmosphere she'd cultivated for herself, Vitus's empathy leaked into his eyes. He tried to rein it in without much success. "That's fantastic, Leyla. Nobody deserves it more than you," he said, and he meant it. Because he remembered how hard she worked for it. How her constant battle for control had left her bone-brittle and frail, on the brink of fracture between his arms.

He did know what it was like, to go to bed happy and have his life turned upside down in the matter of a single day. He'd fallen asleep that fateful November in 2005 as a son, a love-drunk kid, a boyfriend. By the end of the next night, he'd been reduced to a barren street corner and a duffle bag that smelled like a home he no longer had. But he'd never told her that. Vitus had told her about his parents and his homelessness, of course; hers had been the arms he'd retreated to when he finally got that phone call from his mother, saying she wanted to reconnect. But Leyla had only poked around the edges of his wounds, never seen what they looked like when they were bloody and raw. He almost never shared his hurt with anyone back then. And he wouldn't share it with her now. Couldn't, not when he'd already forced her to hold far too much of it when he abruptly exited her life.

"I know. And you're right to. Hate me, I mean." It stung to admit that, especially as he continued picking through the rubble of their short-lived time together. "But it wasn't... Leyla," he sighed, as if exhaling her name could help alleviate some of the weight that had settled over his torso, threatening to cave his ribs in. "It wasn't because you weren't enough. It was never that. It was about me. It's always me." She hadn't believed him back then, and he had no idea if she would believe him now. The animal caged in his chest howled, screamed, wailed for something just out of reach. Vitus wanted to let it out, wanted to show it to her. As it was, he just sighed again and raked his hands through his hair. The ocean breeze almost swallowed his voice as he added, "I know I don't have any right to ask, but are you okay? I mean, have you been... how are you doing, these days?"

She wanted more for him, same as she wanted from him. It was six months ten years ago, and she could still remember every bit of it. If she let it, her mind would trick her into believing he was safe again. That was the thing about Vitus, though. She would push him, say things that would piss off any other person, and he'd only acknowledge it in his own quiet, self-destructive way. Sometimes, she almost wished he wasn't sorry because it would make the truth so much easier to bear.

But he was. It just didn't take it away: the pain, the anger, the feeling that if she'd been somebody else it wouldn't have happened. She wasn't the first, though, and by the looks of his face, not the last. He left a wake behind him, and that's what she fought against. It's why she couldn't forgive him. "So you've already done your damage, haven't you?" She asked, venom draining momentarily from her words. She almost wanted the anger back, then she wouldn't feel so...sad.

Once upon a time, he'd have held her when she felt this way and all the broken pieces would have just slid right back into place. Like a puzzle. But that's all it was...a Once Upon a Time, a fairytale, a happily ever after that never gets finished. The book just closes on all the unanswered questions. "Yeah," she muttered, "it's a safe place. The kind of place I wanted growing up--the kind of place we would have benefitted from. Where people are kind, know you, accept you...it's warm." It wasn't a reflection of her, thank goodness, but it was the dream. It was the little girl she'd been once. It was for her.

How did he do that? Even when she hated him, she told him things. "Listen, I know I said some things last we talked that I--I shouldn't have said," in the closest thing to an apology he would get, "but you broke me. Do you know what it's like to go to bed one night the happiest you've ever been in your life and the next day, it's...gone? Trust doesn't grow back the same when it's ripped from you, the innocent, naive belief that the person who loves you can't possibly hurt you--would be absolutely incapable of it--it doesn't come back. And whether I get hit by a bus tomorrow or live past 100, I think I'll hate you forever for that. For saying you loved me and all the ways that wasn't enough--for making me believe that meant I wasn't enough."

He'd lost entire days with Leyla, but he hadn't lost her. He remembered small details, and they came into sharper focus the more she talked, reaching with her voice to tug them loose. Details like her father's name, Rahim; her birthday, late May; the roses he had woken her with the morning she turned twenty-four. Vitus rubbed his sternum while she spoke, like he could still feel her after all these years.

And she could still feel him too, it seemed, because she turned the last sentence into a projectile and struck him right across the face with it. A wince tangled his expression.

"I'm..." Sorry. But he'd already said that, so many times, and she'd never wanted to hear it. He couldn't ease Leyla's pain like he used to, but he could give her the truth, at least: "I moved last August. Been here a full year now. I—" Cheated on my girlfriend and lost her and needed a change of scenery. Another blink, at that, as he realized what he was about to say. Ten years, during which time she'd opened that business she always wanted for herself, and what had he done meanwhile? The very same thing that had destroyed their relationship. Even after arriving here for his fresh start, he'd broken multiple people's trust. Her reminder of that lodged itself in his throat, clawing down into his ribcage, until all he could do was laugh incredulously at himself. Or try to, at least. The sound grabbed his guilt on its way out and morphed into something painful. "God. Fuck."

He forced his eyes to stay on her, lest he run again. She really did look the same—that same strong nose he'd once admired, the same hands he'd once held between his own. A few bits of tenderness, aching and bruised, pushed through to the surface. "That's... really good. That you opened your own place."

"It truly is," she agreed, "I've never been in a town so small that everyone does things like this and knows everyone else, it's an experience." She found it beautiful, even if she couldn't imagine what that had to feel like to grow up here. It seemed a little magical. As he confirmed that was him, she smiled brightly, "very happy. It's great, a dream. The coast here is beautiful, and I couldn't have imagined a better place to put my bar. You should stop by, a mocktail on me for all your firm's help."

"That's the wild part, isn't it?" he laughed, shaking his head, "not just that everyone spends time together at these events, but that they genuinely enjoy doing it, like seeing each other, hanging out." And they didn't get tired of one another, that was perhaps the most miraculous part of all. "Very nice to meet you, Leyla," he smiled, giving her hand a warm, firm shake before letting his head fall to a tilt when she mentioned the firm. "Yes, that's me. And aha! So you're -- hopefully -- a happy client of ours, then. How is the space working out for you?"

"It is! Once I'm done, I'm happy to let you borrow it if you would like," she offered, "even if you don't own your own business, I think any woman can benefit from some of the lessons." Anything female empowerment should be shared in Leyla's opinion. "Aren't those quite spicy or is the show overselling? I would think that's very exciting," she quipped.

"Oh, that sounds interesting," she commented. She loved anything about empowerment and that sort of thing, and loved how readily available. "That's very bold of you. I'm reading through the Bridgerton books, not very exciting at all, but I enjoy it for what it is."

Leyla smiled warmly, though it had been a little jarring to have a ball flying at her face, it had clearly not been intentional. Following his gaze for a second, she wondered if one of the kids over there was his. "Very," she answered his question first, "it's a book for female entrepreneurs, Girl Code. I read a lot of business books these days. Is one of those kids over there yours? I saw you do a Dad check."

"You got it," Wesley couldn't help but chuckle at Leyla's response. Well, at least she wasn't upset. He glanced over at Ary for a second then back over at Leyla. "Good read?" he asked, head tilting in an attempt to make out just what book she had been reading anyway.

Leyla was actually forward to the game, watching was participating and no one would try to make her do anything during that timeframe. Best of both worlds. "That's where you say you hope for a good game and wish all the best," she agreed, "do you know anything about volleyball?"

"That sounds like fun," Lara said in response. She was excited to watch both teams play. It would be a great experience to be out there and just enjoy it while being out in the summer sun. "I think it'll be fun. I also have friends on both sides, so I have to root for both!" she chuckled.

"Yeah, can you imagine adding alcohol to the smack-talking that's already going down?" Even sitting reading her book, she could feel the competitive nature in the air and hear some of the conversations around her. "Definitely not," she agreed. Besides, when it basically tasted the same why add something more volatile to the mix. "I do," she said proudly, "it's been sort of a lifelong dream come true. I would love it if you stopped by, it's a place for everyone. Something like a bar atmosphere without the alcohol, but it's quieter so you can actually enjoy your friends. What do you do?"

"I mean it's far too early to break out the booze anyway, especially with kids around. Last thing they need are adults liquored up playing volleyball and getting into arguments." she chuckled, not that she expected that to happen often but you know, anything could happen when you mixed alcohol with heat, competition, and time in the sun. "Don't need to be breaking up potential issues before the fun has even begun." And this was away to enjoy something like a cocktail without worrying and it was hydrating. "Oh! You own the business? I keep meaning to stop in, one night after work I would love to see more of what it's like. Think having a place you can go and feel like you're getting a drink without it being just some kind of soda is amazing."

Leyla usually tried to keep her looking back to therapy sessions, especially to that time, this man. However, looking directly at him made that part hard to ignore. If she was supposed to feel any relief he was still alive, it was jumbled up in all the other emotions she was rapidly trying to process. Fury was winning out as she stared at her own personal nightmare.

She waited for an explanation, one she hoped would be just stumbling through, not here to hurt kind, trusting people. None was offered as he looked at her like he was just struck dumb. "Yes, I do," she snipped, "I finally started my own business. It's called Mawk Tales, it's here on the coast." Part of her still told him like she hoped he'd be proud, but if he actually said that, she might lose her shit in front of all of these people. "What are you doing here? These people still trust--at least most of them seem to, and you and I both know that you are not built to hold anyone's trust."

Vitus had lost the borders of his twenties to a head-fogged downward spiral, crafted by his parents and accelerated by his own hand. Without structure, his memories had buckled and bent inward toward each other. Some had collapsed entirely. He'd carried the pieces with him ever since. And now, up from the rubble of those years, Leyla rose like pinpoint-sharp debris, resurrected. She brought the same blaze with which she'd bitten him during those last few conversations they had. Her rage had followed him cross-country back then, bleeding across the width of the States. Before his eyes had even finished clearing, his skin began to itch. With flame, with scar tissue, with memory.

She looked the same. No, she looked better, healthier, than he recalled. Even as decade-old remorse slammed him sideways, squeezing all the breath from his lungs at once, he couldn't help but feel a touch of relief at that. Despite everything, she'd made it to her thirties. So many other loved ones from back then hadn't. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came right away, so he closed it again. Another few blinks, like he couldn't be sure she was real. And then, stupidly, quietly, "Leyla? What are you—What? You live here now?"