It was Max's idea.
He showed up again on Saturday, leaned halfway into the
bookstore doorway with a crooked grin and a notepad tucked under his arm.
"Come with me," he said.
Ava arched a brow from behind the counter. "That's not
creepy at all."
Max laughed. "Okay, fair. But I'm doing a walking tour of
the town for my research. Thought you could show me the local version the stuff
maps don't tell you."
"I don't really do tours," she said, flipping a page in the
inventory notebook.
"I'll buy you lunch," he offered.
She hesitated.
"And coffee," he added.
That earned him a look. "You're aware bribery isn't a
personality trait, right?"
"But it's working," he said, already grinning like he knew
she'd say yes.
They walked the old part of town first, where narrow cobbled
streets gave way to painted shop fronts and overgrown flowerbeds. Ava kept her
hands in her coat pockets, still unsure why she'd agreed to come. Max, on the
other hand, moved like he'd grown up there stopping to take notes, snapping the
occasional photo, chatting briefly with a couple who ran a local café.
Ava watched him from the corner of her eye. He had a way of
disarming people of making them feel seen without being obvious about it. It
was unnerving. And maybe a little magnetic.
"You really talk to everyone," she muttered.
Max smiled without looking up. "Everyone has a story. You
just have to ask the right question."
"And what's mine?"
He looked at her then, eyes thoughtful. "Still unfolding, I
think."
They turned down a side street that led to the cliffs. The
wind carried the scent of salt and pine, and Ava felt the tension she didn't
realize she'd been holding start to ease.
Max stopped in front of a weathered building with wide,
paned windows. "This place is why I really wanted to come here," he said. "Used
to be a boarding house in the early 1900s. People say it's haunted."
Ava quirked a smile. "Let me guess. You don't believe in
ghosts."
"I believe in the things we leave behind. That they echo.
That's haunting enough, isn't it?"
She looked up at the windows. "I used to come here when I
was a kid. My grandmother said it had good bones but bad memories."
"Sounds like most people," he said quietly.
Ava glanced at him. The wind tousled his hair, and there was
something in his expression not charm, not humour, but honesty. Raw and
unfiltered.
She looked away. "You're not what I expected."
"Let me guess," he teased. "You thought I'd be a shallow
travel blogger with a drone and too many hashtags?"
"Well," she said, deadpan, "you are wearing hiking boots
inside city limits."
He laughed, and something about the sound made her smile,
too.
They stood there for a moment, the old boarding house silent
behind them, the sea crashing below the cliffs like a heartbeat.
"You're good at hiding," he said suddenly.
Ava's breath caught.
"But not as good as you think."
He turned and started walking again, not waiting for her
response.
She stayed there for a beat, the words settling into her
chest like a stone dropped in water. Then, slowly, she followed.