Steve sang along loudly to a Beyoncé song, voice off-key but full of energy, the old SUV rattling slightly with each note. Aiden sat beside him, shoulders relaxed, lips twitching in a faint, private smile. He didn't comment, just let the amusement settle quietly in his chest, enjoying the rare levity of the moment.
"Beyoncé really speaks to the soul, kid," Steve said mid-chorus, not noticing the smirk.
"Suurre, you just like her big ass" Aiden replied low but evenly, voice calm, letting Steve carry the energy alone.
They pulled into the harbor-side parking lot, the smell of salt and fish immediately filling the air. The cry of gulls circled above, mixing with the distant clang of boat masts against wooden docks. Steve's eyes lit up at the crates of fresh fish being unloaded.
"I'll be a minute," he said, grinning. "Check out the fish, chat with the guys. You do your thing."
Aiden nodded, slipping his phone into his pocket. Art supplies for a class project, and for himself, were the goal.
Steve led the way through the market, walking with a natural ease and calling out greetings to every familiar face.
"Morning, Carl! Those crabs look amazing today!" he said, pausing to pat the fisherman on the shoulder. Aiden watched him shake hands with a woman selling clams. "Clara! How's the family? Oh, and that chowder last week was incredible!"
"Wow," Aiden muttered quietly to himself, impressed. "You really know everyone here."
Steve laughed. "Of course! Part of being in a community is actually being in it, not just passing through. It's great to know people, talk to people, all types of people. Makes life… richer."
Aiden observed as Steve chatted with an elderly man arranging oysters, then a couple of younger fishmongers unloading boxes. Each interaction was effortless, genuine, and full of warmth.
Even the regular market cats seemed to acknowledge him, winding between his legs as he walked past. The faint briny scent of seaweed mingled with the salt air, and the distant screech of gulls provided a soundtrack to the bustling market.
"See that?" Steve said, nudging Aiden slightly as a vendor waved. "This is why I love it here. Everyone has a story, a little part to play. Makes you feel alive, connected."
Aiden smiled faintly, letting the scene wash over him. He might be more aloof than Steve, but he appreciated the energy, the rhythm, and the sense of belonging that radiated from his father and the market alike.
After wandering through the first few stalls, Steve waved him off. "Go ahead. Find your craft store," he said, still greeting vendors as he moved toward a fish stall.
Aiden nodded, stepping into the streets beyond the market, ready to follow his GPS, and, as fate would have it, soon to cross paths with Rosalie.
The streets were narrow and uneven, lined with small shops, cafés, and weathered brick walls. Steam curled from café drains, mingling with the faint aroma of fresh pastries.
A busker played a soft tune on a worn guitar near a lamppost, while a black-and-white cat slinked along the curb, watching passersby.
Aiden pulled up his GPS and began walking, eyes scanning the buildings. After a few blocks, he stopped a man carrying a crate of fish. "Excuse me, do you know where the craft store is?"
The man scratched his head. "Craft store? Hmm… think it's on Main Street now. Been there a couple months, maybe?"
Aiden thanked him and continued, frown tugging at his lips. A few steps later, he approached a woman walking a dog. "Hi, could you tell me where the craft store is?"
She smiled faintly. "Oh, I think it moved to that new plaza… or maybe it closed? Haven't seen it in a while."
Finally, he stopped a teenager on a bicycle. "Hey, you know where the craft store is?"
The teenager laughed. "Uh… craft store? There's one by the pier, or was it near the old bookstore? Can't remember, dude."
Sighing quietly, Aiden adjusted his phone, frustration bubbling. Every answer was different, misleading, wrong, or uncertain. He muttered under his breath, Great. Everyone but one person has no idea.
That's when he saw her, Rosalie, sitting on a weathered bench, a cup in one hand, a book in the other. Her gaze flicked to the gray waves and overcast sky, her composure calm and elegant, even here by the harbor. Small ripples lapped against the wooden pilings, and the soft chime of a distant foghorn punctuated the quiet.
He noticed her noticing him. Her head tilted, an eyebrow raised, lips curving faintly. "If you're going to stare, you should at least take a picture," she said, voice calm, precise, with a teasing undercurrent.
Aiden's mind flickered, maybe I should… He subtly lifted his phone, angled to capture the rare, unguarded moment.
Her eyes snapped to the movement.
"Don't even think about it," she said sharply, cold but perfectly controlled, a trace of amusement hidden beneath the authority. Her gaze held him in place, unyielding.
He lowered the phone, a faint, private smirk tugging at his lips. Noted, he thought, impressed by her effortless command.
He lowered himself onto the bench beside her, careful not to break his aloof exterior. His eyes flicked to the book. A quiet laugh escaped him, soft, amused, but private.
"You find it funny?" she asked, voice clipped but composed, eyes on him.
"Impressive," he said evenly. "Never thought I'd see this here."
Her lips twitched into the barest smirk. "Careful. Sounds like mockery."
"Maybe a little," he admitted, letting the quiet tension linger. "Or maybe appreciation."
They fell into a quiet rhythm, discussing the book briefly, the strange, haunting stories sparking small debate. The conversation naturally shifted toward their class poem project, Rosalie spoke about Love, precise and passionate, while Aiden remained calm, quietly challenging her points without confrontation.
After a pause, she set the book aside and tilted her head toward him. "So… what are you doing here?" Her voice remained smooth, measured, but curiosity lingered in her tone.
"Just… looking around," he said carefully, hiding the truth that he couldn't find the craft store.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Mm-hm. That's not what I saw," she said, corners of her lips lifting. "You're looking for something."
Aiden paused, caught, but maintained his calm facade.
"Craft store?" she asked, cool, almost factual, yet the faintest teasing undertone laced her words.
"Yes," he admitted softly, suppressing a sigh of frustration.
She leaned over his shoulder as he pulled out his phone. "Closed a few months ago," she said smoothly. "There's another one two blocks down."
Aiden ran a hand through his hair, letting out a quiet exhale. Of course she's right, he thought. Everyone else was wrong.
As they prepared to walk, Aiden's gaze fell on a display of vibrant potted plants and flowers beside a small sidewalk stall. The elderly woman arranging them looked up, her eyes twinkling. Sunlight flickered across the petals of violets, daisies, and small ferns, and a faint scent of earth and water drifted toward them.
"Well, hello there!" she called warmly. "A fine pair, you two!"
Rosalie smiled faintly, keeping her composed demeanor, while Aiden felt drawn to the delicate violets in the pots.
"And you," the old woman said, peering at Rosalie, "he looks like a good one, snatch him up quick!"
Aiden smirked privately, while Rosalie's lips twitched in a near-smile.
He handed over a few coins and carefully selected a small pot of violets, tucking it under his arm. The scent of the flowers mixed with the salt and sea breeze, grounding him.
Rosalie glanced at the violets, her composed gaze flicking toward him. "Why violets?" she asked, voice measured but curious, a slight teasing edge underlining the question.
Aiden looked down at the flowers, smirking faintly. "That," he said softly, "is a secret."
Her lips curved just slightly, the barest twitch of a smile betraying her amusement. "A secret, huh? You're full of surprises," she said lightly, letting her voice remain calm and graceful while her eyes lingered on him, searching for any hint of honesty.
He shrugged subtly, still keeping his aloof composure. "Maybe. Maybe not. Depends on who asks."
Rosalie shook her head, the faintest laugh escaping her as she fell into step beside him. "I'll figure it out eventually," she said, voice smooth but playful, letting the tension linger as they continued toward the craft store.
Aiden's smirk deepened just slightly, enjoying the quiet game forming between them. Maybe I'll do a portrait of her one day, he thought. Capture this calm, untouchable side… before she notices.
Gulls wheeled overhead, their cries echoing faintly against the docks. A small rowboat rocked gently in the water, ropes creaking. A few tourists wandered by, snapping photos and pausing to admire the harbor's weathered charm.
Finally, two blocks later, they reached the new craft store. Rosalie paused at the entrance, turning to him with a composed, evaluating gaze. "Here," she said softly. "You can't get lost from here."
Aiden glanced at her, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "So… want to go in?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.
She shook her head, calm and graceful. "No. I don't think I'd have a good time," she said lightly, almost dismissive.
He raised an eyebrow, a playful edge in his tone. "I think it would be fun," he said, before grabbing her hand and gently leading her inside. "Come on, it couldn't hurt."
Her lips parted slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing her composed features, but she let herself be pulled forward. The harbor noises faded behind them as they stepped inside, the subtle energy between them simmering, charged with the quiet tension of the moment, playful, teasing, and unspoken.