A loud buzzing woke Garrett Callahan from the couch. He rubbed his bleary eyes and slapped his hand around on the coffee table until he found the vibrating device.

“Hello.”

“Hey man,” his friend Dustin said. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No.” He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the couch. His back was killing him. He stood and stretched before looking around the room. Piles of paper and dishes covered the floor and coffee table. A half-consumed bottle of Coke sat on the end table next to an empty coffee cup. He’d been up late working and must have fallen asleep. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to know how you were holding up after the news about Lisa.”

“What about Lisa?” He propped the phone against his shoulder and carried a pile of dishes into the kitchen. He set them down next to the sink, being careful not to knock over the existing mountain of dirty dishes. As soon as he made this work deadline, he needed to get this pigsty cleaned.

“Didn’t you get the invitation? She’s getting married.”

His gaze slid over to the six-inch stack of mail on the dining room table. He sorted through it, separating out bills and anything else that looked important. And there it was. A five-by-five-inch cream-colored envelope addressed to him in fancy calligraphy.

He ran his index finger along the seal to break it, nicking his skin in the process.

“Yeah, I’ve got it.” He pulled out the card. A wedding invitation on heavy cream cardstock stared back at him.

Lisa Ann Lewins and Daryl Charles Bagrin request your presence at their nuptials.

He didn’t read the rest of it.

Lisa was really getting married. He sat down on a dining room chair and stared at the invitation.

“Are you still there?” Dustin asked.

“Yeah, still here. Thanks for checking on me. I’m working on something at the moment, but we should get together next time I’m in Seattle, okay?”

“Sounds good. Talk to you later.” The phone clicked off.

He returned his attention to the invitation. The thick paper rubbed against the cut on his finger and he winced. He stared at the drop of blood smeared on the paper. How had she managed to get engaged so quickly? He and Lisa had been on and off again for the last five years and only ended their own engagement six months ago.

He needed to get out of the house. He threw the invitation on the table, took care of a few necessities, then grabbed his car keys and camera.

He drove without a destination in mind. His car turned into the Pacific Ocean overlook south of Candle Beach as if on autopilot. He parked and hung his camera on its strap around his neck. This beach trail was his favorite and he hoped it would snap him out of his foul mood.

On the downhill trek, he had too much time to think. He and Lisa hadn’t been right for each other. He knew that, but like the cut on his index finger, the news of her engagement still stung. Lisa was a sculptor, and he could count the number of times on one hand that she’d managed to make it to a date on time without getting caught up in her work. Their shared apartment had been covered in clay dust, and she seldom remembered to pay the bills.

After their final breakup, he’d vowed never to get involved with a creative again. He’d moved to Candle Beach and thrown himself into his work. When he decided to date again, it was going to be with a nice, reliable woman, maybe an accountant or a scientist, not a flaky artist. Between growing up with an absent artist mother and his relationship with Lisa, he knew better.

When he reached the beach, he shot a few photos of seagulls frolicking in the chilly April surf. Then he climbed back up the trail, pausing for a few minutes to compose a picture of the town of Candle Beach and the Peril Island lighthouse. Once finished, he lifted his face to the sun, taking in its warmth. This was why he’d moved to Candle Beach—to have the freedom to be out in nature within minutes of leaving his home.

His looming work deadline brought him back to reality and he hiked back up the hill. Near the top, a woman stood looking out toward town, the wind blowing her wavy hair into a mass of tangles. She turned to him and smiled, enchanting him with her big blue eyes and genuine smile. He knew he’d just sworn off women, but he felt a strong desire to meet her.

The sunlight glinted off the copper in her hair and without thinking, he lifted his camera to capture the moment. He snapped her picture and then stopped with the camera still up to his eye. Why had he taken a photo of a stranger? He released his grip on the camera. She must think he was insane. Still, something drew him to her.

The woman greeted him, but he fumbled trying to speak. She kept trying to make conversation, but all he could manage were a few uninspired words. She looked taken aback and waved goodbye to him before hopping into her car.

He watched her go, not knowing what had just happened. What had gotten into him? Although he’d never describe himself as a ladies’ man, he usually had no problem conversing with women. Had Lisa’s engagement affected him so much that he’d lost his ability to speak to women at all? He hoped the mystery woman was a tourist passing by and he’d never have to explain his actions to her.

* * *

For once, the fates aligned. The mechanic had told Dahlia the truth about her car being ready by Friday, and the property manager in Candle Beach agreed to let her into Aunt Ruth’s house. She planned to visit To Be Read first and meet her aunt’s sales assistant. She had high hopes of enlisting her to manage the store for the next year after she returned home to Seattle. With the way things were going, she felt good about that prospect.

With her Toyota Corolla packed to the gills with clothes and everything else she thought she might need for the weekend, she set out on the three-hour drive to Candle Beach. Her mother often chided her for her tendency to overpack, but she never took the time to make a packing list, and just threw things in a suitcase. She shuddered at the thought of how little she would be able to bring on a trip to Europe or Asia. She reminded herself that the lack of luggage space would be worth it for the experience.

Stop-and-go traffic stalled her progress and it took almost an hour to get out of the city. With the windows up to avoid as much air pollution as possible, the lack of air-conditioning was stifling. As she inched by the towering downtown skyscrapers, her car surrounded by exhaust-belching semitrucks on each side, she had to admit the idea of sampling small town life for a few days sounded amazing.

She rolled the windows down as she broke free from the city traffic and cruised along on the open highway. Fresh spring air flowed into the car, bringing with it the scent of cherry blossom and recently mowed grass. The tires whirred rhythmically over the pavement, a pleasant soundtrack for her westward trip to the ocean. She turned on the radio, but when only static came over the speakers, she popped in a homemade CD playlist her mother had dropped off the night before.

A song came over the radio—a group of men singing about California Girls—and it filled her with nostalgia. A smile stretched across her face. Her mom had always played the Beach Boys on the way to Candle Beach, telling her it was the best way to get into summer mode. Every time she heard one of their songs she was instantly transported back in time to their annual road trip to the coast.

Now she passed through other beach towns along the way to Candle Beach, some unchanged and some vastly different from what she remembered. The coastal communities had been hit hard by the demise of the logging industry. She slowed down when she neared the drive-thru hamburger shack she and her mom stopped at on every trip to the coast. Weeds covered the parking lot and diagonal boards covered broken windows. Black letters hanging from the crooked reader board formed illegible words. She mourned the loss of the best blackberry milkshakes she’d ever tasted.

A few newer gated housing developments had popped up along the way. They were most likely meant for wealthy retirees from the city and not the broad majority of area residents. However, any new construction brought jobs to the community and indicated the economy may be on the upswing. She hoped that was the case.

Before long, she neared Candle Beach. She pulled off at a graveled roadside overlook, carelessly taking up two parking spaces in the almost empty lot. After stretching out the travel kinks, she chugged half a bottle of water and jogged over to the edge of the cliff. She removed her cell phone from her pocket and snapped a picture of the famed Candle Rock sea stack, the town’s namesake rock formation, in the distance on the beach below. With the tide out, she could clearly see Candle Rock’s base, or ‘candleholder,’ from which rose a rugged spire, carved out of rock by thousands of years of the erosive force of the sea.

The ocean roared and waves rushed against the sand, taking rocks and debris back with each flowing retreat. The receding tide left pools in the bases of the numerous sea stacks, but with school still in session, there were no children to explore their wonders. The salt-tinged air filled her nostrils, a welcome change from her customary intake of exhaust-polluted city air. Far out at sea, the Peril Island lighthouse perched alone atop a rocky outcrop surrounded by miles of ocean. A few ships sailed across the horizon, carrying cargo to ports near and far.

A hundred feet below her, a hiker picked his way up the steep trail that led to the overlook. She watched as he stopped to take a picture of Candle Rock as well, and then paused to scan his surroundings before aiming his camera lens at the lighthouse. There was something reverential in the way he adjusted the focus to best capture the rugged beauty of his subjects.

After photographing the lighthouse, the man turned his face to the sun and closed his eyes for a few seconds, basking in the afternoon rays. The sunshine illuminated his profile, although she was too far away to see his features. He opened his eyes and took a deep breath before composing a few more photos. She watched as he capped his lens and returned to the trail, disappearing from view. She felt an odd sense of voyeurism after witnessing his private reverie.

She forced herself to look away and leaned over the unpainted cedar railing to catch a glimpse of the marina a few miles down the coast. Fishing vessels and pleasure boats alike were tied up at the town’s three long docks, protected by a small bay and rocky breakwater that held back the roughness of the open waters. A strong sense of homesickness for Candle Beach slapped against her like the waves on the sand.

Alone at the overlook, she allowed her mind to wander. Candle Beach had never been her home in the true sense of the word, but it had provided much-needed stability as she dealt with her parents’ divorce when she was a pre-teen. Staying with Aunt Ruth the summer they separated had given her distance from the situation at home and provided refuge as she worked through her feelings.

Back in Seattle, she’d often awake to her parents fighting, covering her ears until she could no longer stand it. They’d always stop as soon as she entered the room, but the damage was done and her grades began to slip at the end of sixth grade. In Candle Beach, with her father at home and her mother commuting to the coast on the weekends, the nights were peaceful. Aunt Ruth’s group of friends had welcomed the shy twelve-year-old into their circle, seeming to sense that she needed their friendship and a community to heal.

After such a long absence from the place, why wasn’t she rushing to get there? Was she afraid that the romantic images she’d curated about the small town would be crushed when she returned as an adult? She pushed the thought from her mind. She would find out soon enough. She turned to leave, but a rustling off to the side caught her attention.

A man carrying a professional camera on a strap around his neck stepped through the sparse tree line. His dark, wavy hair rustled slightly in the wind and he was tall enough that she had to look up to see into his eyes—rich chocolate-brown eyes that a woman could get lost in. Hiking boots adorned his feet and his khaki cargo shorts revealed muscled calves.

This was the man she’d seen on the trail, the man who’d revered the spring day and the scenic beauty around him. A magnetic pull drew her to him, as though a spiritual connection had been made between them by her accidental observation of his intimate moment alone on the trail. Without meaning to, she took several steps in his direction. He glanced at her for a moment and then picked up his camera, uncapping the lens.

“Hello,” she called out, and smiled at him. A gust of wind blew her hair into her face and she smoothed it back with one hand, while holding her phone with the other hand. The man remained entranced by his camera.

“Hello,” he mumbled back after a few seconds, shuffling forward without looking up. He pointed his camera at her, and for a minute she thought he was taking a picture of her, before she realized he was reviewing the photos he’d taken. Her mother’s advice to keep an open mind echoed through her brain. What did she have to lose?

“Beautiful day,” she said, unaccustomed to the eagerness in her voice with her second effort at communication. Candle Beach had made her soft already and she hadn’t even passed through the town limits yet.

“Yes,” the man said. He looked up at her, appearing to truly see her for the first time. “It is a nice day.” He smiled at her with the vacant smile you give to a stranger.

The connection she’d experienced had been one-sided. She blushed and gave him a slight wave before she turned away, speed-walking all the way back to her car. At least now she had a humorous anecdote for her mother.

She couldn’t put off her arrival in Candle Beach any longer. The twenty-year-old car’s engine turned over on the first try, and she studiously avoided looking at the hiker as she backed out of the parking space. As she exited the overlook, she allowed herself a peek in the rearview mirror. To her surprise, the man wasn’t taking more pictures, but had turned to watch her leave. She didn’t take the time to analyze his odd behavior and let her tires spit gravel as she sped away.