taste. But he could care less at this point.
Aiden tried to occupy his thoughts with something productive as he ate, such as an itinerary for the next few days. But with each bite, he found himself feeling increasingly discontent, and the cabin grew smaller and smaller. Whispers of inadequacy kept creeping out of his subconscious.
“What am I doing here?” he thought.
He needed to get out.
He looked at his watch. 5:15. Still enough daylight for some escapism.
Aiden grabbed his brown hoodie, started up the car and drove south. He remembered Dad telling him that the further south, the more serene the imagery.
Not that he really cared about serenity right now. He just needed some air.
Although he hated the stereotype, Aiden did have a mental “nothing box” which let him drown out all his thoughts and focus on a sole action. In this case, that action was driving.
He continued along the main roads, using the sun as his compass. About 20 minutes later, the main county road came to a dead end. He spotted a small dirt road behind him through his side mirror. Feeling frustrated but not enough to be defeated, Aiden backed up, turned down the dirt road and pressed on.
The road was quite scenic and surrounded with dense trees. He drove up a small but steady incline, which then crested the top of the slope and came to an opening.
“Wow,” he said out loud.
The southern-most tip of the island stretched out over steep cliffs with rich green grass growing along the field in front of the cliff. To Aiden, it felt much more like Ireland than the Pacific Northwest.
He stopped his car in a small turn-off lot. Thought twice, then locked his door anyway.
Aiden walked toward the cliff. A wide landscape of grass preceded a steep drop down to the ocean. The waves were crashing up against the rocky cliffs, and the sun was beginning to set off in the distance. Arbutis leaves were scattered along the edge, crunching with each step he took.
He sat down on the rocky edge, closed his eyes and soaked it in. Suddenly, his worries and anxieties felt a little more distant.
He heard a different set of footsteps crunching in the background. He turned around and saw a woman approaching.
The grocery store cashier.
“Could this island be any smaller?” he grumbled to himself.
She was wearing baggy jeans, moccasins and a faded orange cardigan.
Mismatched.
Then again, this was Cielo.
Aiden was too far out in the open to sneak away unseen. He gave her a small nod of acknowledgement, hoping that she’d sense that he was occupied.
She didn’t pick up on that. If she did, she clearly didn’t care.
“First day here and you’ve already discovered a local secret,” she said.
Locals seemed to know how to declare one’s newness to the island with subtle yet blatant accusations of intrusion and ignorance. Aiden didn’t know whether to smile at the notion or give her the finger.
“Sorry for tainting it with my presence,” he responded. Even with his back to her, Aiden could tell she was looking at him with that soft gaze she held earlier at the store.
“Well that’s the beauty of a rocky shoreline like Sunset Strip. The waves give it a proper cleanse every day from anything too foreign.”
While it was an insult, Aiden picked up on the humor behind it. She may be overly vocal, but he couldn’t deny that she had a decent sense of dry wit.
“You come here often?” he asked, still facing the setting sun.
“Try to; it’s sort of a daily ritual of mine. Cashiers see a lot of people each day – even in a place as small as Cielo. Solitude does wonders for the soul, especially when the socializing wears one thin.”
“I can understand that,” Aiden said, his voice offering a slight jab at their interaction earlier.
“Sorry if I was a bit harsh today at the store,” she said. “Cielo’s known to be a friendly place; hope I didn’t ruin that expectation for you.”
“Well, you know what they say: every rose has its thorn,” he said, followed by a subtle exhale through his nose. Sarcasm is great compensation for lacking confidence.
“Well played, sir,” she said.
Aiden was still sitting facing the shore and she was still standing off to his right. It was time to surrender to courtesy.
“Aiden,” he said, turning toward her and extending his hand. “Aiden Lawrence.”
She met his gaze and slowly reached for his hand.
“Pleased to meet you, Aiden. Name’s Rosemary. Rosemary Friesen.”
“Nice to meet you as well, Rosemary.”
Rosemary took a seat next to Aiden on the rocky shoreline.
“So tell me about yourself, Mr. Lawrence. You a city boy?”
City boy.
Aiden always had a problem with that label. There was a fine line between residing somewhere and claiming its culture as your own. And the hustle-and-bustle pace of city life lost its appeal in the last year or so. Especially when it came to crowded, claustrophobic public transit.
“Sure,” he responded. “Live in the U-District of Seattle.”
“You look a little old to be a student. How old are you? What are you studying?”
Prying already? Aiden knew he shouldn’t be that surprised.
“Turning 30 this year,” he said calmly. “Studying business, but taking some time off.”
“Ah, ‘reflecting,’ right?” Rosemary said, surprisingly free of sarcasm.
“More or less. Just wasn’t feeling it anymore. Working as a server at a downtown restaurant for the meantime.”
“Interesting.”
Aiden was confused by that comment, wondering whether to be flattered or uncomfortable.
“What makes you say that?”
As before, she held her gaze and almost seemed to take inventory with her eyes.
Strange enough, it didn’t feel threatening.
“Life has a way of teaching you how to read people,” she said. “Just at the surface initially.”
They sat in silence for a minute, watching the sun approach the horizon.
“And
