Sweet Distraction ✔︎

[16] 𝑬𝒗𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝑪𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎

Isabelle and Evans Lock Heart Road Trip. Every time she thought about it, excitement spiraled through her. She couldn’t wait to travel with Evan in her unplanned, spontaneous style, as if by doing so they would close the circle of their knowledge about each other. She’d experienced his world; now it was time for him to experience hers.

Three days before they planned to leave, she sat in her apartment and tried to make some headway on her book proposal for Franklin Publishing. She reviewed the Lock Heart archives, struggling to come up with whatever elusive element the book editor needed to tie the whole thing together. Two fruitless and frustrating hours later, she pulled on a jacket, packed her camera, and headed to Indigo Bay for a change of scenery.

She parked in a lot near the pier and walked to the sand, enjoying the cold ocean air against her face. The beach was deserted, the sand peppered with bits of shell and driftwood. The red-gold colors of the sunset glowed on the water, but the wind whipped white caps on the surface.

Even though turning her blog into a book was proving to be more difficult than she’d anticipated, Isabelle had discovered a newfound pride in what she had been doing for the past decade.

She wasn’t just an irresponsible vagabond who roamed the world with no purpose or destination. She earned a solid income with her writing and photography. She had a readership, a strong online presence, interest from a publisher. Wanting to leave Rainsville didn’t mean she was running away. It meant she was making a living.

She walked along the ocean’s edge, pausing to focus her camera and adjust the lens on various sights—a smooth, gnarled piece of driftwood, a sand crab scuttling into a hole, the brush of the water against the sand. The smell of salt and seaweed filled her noise, and the ocean stretched out endlessly in front of her. Cypress trees stood on rocky cliffs, waves crashed against natural rock outcroppings, and pockets of sand created both private and public beaches.

A few cars passed on the streets of Indigo Bay beyond the rows of oceanfront cottages and shops. Isabelle continued walking. She reached a hillside where rocks cascaded out into the ocean. Gray storm clouds gathered on the horizon, casting a metal-colored shadow over the water.

She started to go back in the opposite direction, but then turned toward the rocks. A memory of her childhood flashed in her mind, a time when she’d spent many happy hours exploring tidepools with her father. They’d picked their way over the rocks as the sun and sea air surrounded them. Just the two of them. Back when it felt as if nothing would ever change.

Then it had.

A low wave crashed against the rocks, sending up a spray of salty water. Though it was mid-tide and the clouds were growing darker, it was still light enough to see, and the water wasn’t too rough. She put her camera around her neck, found a handhold on a large rock and hauled herself up, taking care to step in shallow grooves as she made her way slowly out onto the ledge. Water pooled in the depressions, creating miniature ecosystems filled with tiny fish, sea anemones, crabs, and sea stars.

Out on the ledge, the wind gusted harder. She hiked out carefully, pausing to crouch and take pictures of the tidepools. Another wave crashed against the rocks, splashing her. She shivered as the cold penetrated her jacket. Rain started falling. She poked gently at a sea anemone and watched a crab scuttle along the sandy bottom of a tidepool.

The cold intensified, more waves washing over the rocks and wetting Isabelle’s shoes. She stood, tucking her camera into the case.