Chapter 2 Encounter at the Seaside
# Chapter 2: Encounter at the Seaside
The small coastal town of Bayview welcomed me with a salt-kissed breeze and the rhythmic sound of waves. I had booked a quaint beachfront cottage for two weeks—time I desperately needed away from the suffocating silence of my marriage.
"This place is exactly what you need," Sophia had assured me over the phone when I told her my plan. "Clear your head, Maya. Figure out what you want."
Julian's response to my announcement had been predictably detached. "Two weeks seems excessive," he'd said, barely looking up from his laptop. "But if you need it, go ahead." No argument, no plea for me to stay. Just resigned permission, as if he were a parent dealing with a petulant child.
Now, standing on my cottage porch with the vast ocean before me, I felt something loosen in my chest—the first deep breath I'd taken in months.
The first three days were a blur of long walks on the beach, reading novels I'd been meaning to get to for years, and sleeping without the weight of expectation. No one needed anything from me here. No one was disappointed in me. I was just Maya, not Julian's wife, not half of a failing marriage.
On the fourth morning, I ventured into town for coffee. The local café, The Salty Bean, was buzzing with a mix of tourists and locals. I found a small table by the window and settled in with my sketchbook—something I hadn't touched in ages, despite it once being my constant companion.
"Is this seat taken?" a deep voice asked.
I looked up to find a man gesturing to the chair across from me. The café had filled quickly, and mine was one of the few tables with an empty seat.
"No, go ahead," I replied, then froze as I got a better look at him.
For a disorienting moment, I thought Julian had somehow followed me. The man had the same strong jawline, the same height and build. But as he sat down and thanked me with a smile, the differences became apparent. This man's eyes were lighter, his hair slightly longer and more tousled. And the smile—open, genuine, reaching his eyes in a way Julian's rarely did anymore.
"I'm Derek," he said, extending his hand.
"Maya," I replied, trying to hide my bewilderment at his resemblance to my husband.
"Visiting or local?" he asked, taking a sip of his coffee.
"Visiting. You?"
"A bit of both. I have a place here, but I'm not around all year." He nodded toward my sketchbook. "You're an artist?"
I laughed softly. "Once upon a time. Now I'm an interior designer who's forgotten how to draw for pleasure."
"The curse of turning passion into profession," he said with understanding. "What brings you to Bayview?"
I hesitated, not ready to share my marital problems with a stranger. "Just needed some time away."
Derek studied me for a moment, as if seeing more than I wanted to reveal. "Sometimes distance gives us clarity."
Our conversation flowed with surprising ease after that. Derek was a photographer who traveled extensively but kept returning to Bayview for its light and landscapes. He spoke with an animated passion that was infectious, gesturing with his hands, leaning forward when something excited him.
"You should come to the lighthouse point at sunset," he suggested as we both prepared to leave. "The colors there are incredible. Perfect for an artist trying to rediscover her passion."
I hesitated, remembering my wedding band. Derek's eyes followed my glance.
"Just as friends," he added, his tone light but respectful. "I promise not to push you off any cliffs."
I surprised myself by agreeing to meet him there at seven.
Back at my cottage, I paced nervously. Was I crossing a line? Nothing had happened, and nothing would happen. It was just sunset with a new friend. Yet why did I feel like I was standing on the edge of something dangerous?
When I arrived at the lighthouse point that evening, Derek was already there, camera in hand. He waved me over to where he stood near the cliff edge.
"Perfect timing," he said, pointing toward the horizon where the sun was beginning its dramatic descent, painting the sky in fiery oranges and pinks.
We talked as the light changed, Derek occasionally pausing to capture a particularly stunning moment with his camera. He showed me how to frame a shot, standing close behind me as he guided my hands on his camera, his breath warm against my ear.
"See how the light catches the waves?" he murmured. "It's all about capturing that perfect moment of transition."
I was acutely aware of his proximity, of the scent of his cologne mingling with the salty air, of the casual way his hand touched my shoulder. It had been so long since Julian had touched me with such easy affection.
"Tell me about yourself, Maya," Derek said as we sat on a bench watching the last sliver of sun disappear. "What makes you laugh? What keeps you up at night?"
The simple interest in his questions undid me. When was the last time Julian had asked me anything about my thoughts, my dreams, my fears?
"I'm not sure I remember what makes me laugh anymore," I admitted, surprised by my own honesty.
Derek's eyes softened. "That sounds like someone who's been carrying something heavy for a long time."
The perceptiveness of his comment brought unexpected tears to my eyes. I turned away quickly, embarrassed.
"Hey," he said gently, not touching me but leaning slightly closer. "We all have our burdens."
Over the next few days, Derek became my unofficial guide to Bayview. We explored hidden coves and local art galleries, ate at hole-in-the-wall restaurants where everyone knew him by name. He never asked directly about my marriage, but I found myself revealing pieces of it anyway—the silence, the distance, Julian's emotional absence.
"He said love is a habit," I confessed one evening as we walked along the beach. "Not passion."
Derek stopped walking, turning to face me. "That's bullshit."
His bluntness startled a laugh out of me. "Is it?"
"Completely. Love should never be just a habit. It should shake you, challenge you, make you feel alive." His eyes held mine intensely. "You deserve that, Maya."
A week into my stay, Derek invited me to a bonfire party on the beach. "Local tradition," he explained. "Good music, better company."
The party was unlike anything I would have attended with Julian. People danced freely around the fire, passing bottles of wine and sharing stories. Derek introduced me to everyone as "his friend Maya, the artist," and each person welcomed me warmly.
As the night progressed, Derek pulled me to dance near the fire. The music, the wine, the starlit sky—it all felt magical, removed from reality. His hands on my waist were steady, his eyes never leaving mine as we moved to the rhythm.
"You're beautiful when you let go," he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
Later, as the party wound down, we walked back toward my cottage, the moon lighting our path. Derek was telling a story about one of his travel adventures, making me laugh with his dramatic reenactment.
When we reached my door, he grew serious. "I'm glad you came to Bayview, Maya."
"Me too," I said softly.
He studied my face for a long moment, then suddenly took my hand in his. The touch sent electricity through me, awakening nerve endings I'd forgotten existed.
"You and him—you're different," Derek said, his voice low and intense. "You want more. You deserve more." He stepped closer, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. "You want things he can't give you. But I can. Everything you want, Maya, I can give you."
My breath caught in my throat. The desire that surged through me was overwhelming, frightening in its intensity. I hadn't felt this kind of wanting in years—this raw, primal need for someone else's touch.
"Derek," I whispered, not pulling away but not moving closer either, suspended in the moment of choice.
His eyes held mine, dark with promise. "Tell me to leave, and I will."
I should have said it. I should have stepped back, thanked him for a lovely evening, and closed the door between us. Instead, I stood frozen, my body betraying me with its responsiveness to his nearness.
When Derek finally released my hand and stepped back, his smile was knowing. "Think about what you really want, Maya. I'll be here when you decide."
As I watched him walk away, I pressed my hand against my racing heart. In just one week, this man had made me feel more alive, more desired, than I had felt in years with Julian. And that terrified me more than anything.
