The Red-Haired descendant

Chapter 2 - Asher

                                                                    Asher

       I moved back to Italy a month ago from Canada, determined to prepare everything for my daughter Isabella's arrival. She was scheduled to fly in from Canada in a week, having spent some time with my parents. The anticipation of seeing her again filled me with both excitement and anxiety. I could hardly wait to introduce her to this beautiful country—the history, the culture, and the family that awaited her.

Before her arrival, I needed to open my café and reconnect with old friends. It felt like a lifetime since I’d been in this place—the small eatery that had been my family’s pride and joy. I spent the previous day making final arrangements, ensuring everything was in order for the grand opening. With the warm scent of freshly brewed coffee still lingering in the air, I envisioned the laughter and conversations that would soon fill the space once more.

After a long day of setting up, I decided to take a break and clear my head. As night fell, I stepped out into the crisp evening air, drawn to the promise of the ocean. I walked along the beach, the soft sound of waves crashing gently against the shore providing a soothing backdrop. It was a perfect evening, the sun dipping below the horizon and painting the sky in hues of orange and lavender.

That’s when I spotted her—a strikingly beautiful woman sitting alone at the water's edge. Her silhouette was framed against the fading light, the waves lapping at her feet. There was an air of solitude about her, as if she were lost in thought, contemplating the vastness of the sea. I felt an inexplicable urge to approach her, to bask in her presence.

Gathering my courage, I took a few hesitant steps closer, but something held me back. She seemed to possess a quiet strength, an intensity that hinted at deeper stories hidden beneath the surface. There was also a trace of sadness that clung to her. It crossed my mind that she might be the introspective type, content in her own world.

I watched her for a moment, admiring how the evening breeze tangled her hair, the way she embraced the solitude. I wanted to learn her name, to ask her what brought her here tonight, but the words lodged in my throat. Would she want to talk? Would she open up to a stranger intruding on her peaceful moment?

Still, a feeling tugged at me—an undeniable connection, a fleeting encounter that might lead to something more. I settled beside her, heart pounding in my chest. "What’s your name?" I asked, my voice a mix of curiosity and hesitation.

The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy as she turned her gaze back to the ocean. I couldn’t tell if she hadn’t heard me or if she simply chose not to respond. There was something about her aura that felt dangerous, as if she carried secrets within her that could unravel my carefully ordered life. Yet, against my better judgment, I felt drawn to this stranger.

Thinking quickly, I recalled what my mother used to tell me: discussing happy things could brighten another person's day. I took a deep breath, pushing through the discomfort, and began to share my life. “My happiness comes from my daughter, Isabella. She’s flying in from Canada next week. I can’t wait to see her again.”

I watched her closely, hoping to spark some recognition in her eyes. My heart swelled as I spoke about Isabella—the light of my life, a bundle of joy with a contagious laugh. I mentioned her love for adventure, her curiosity about the world, and her spirit that could brighten even the darkest days. But as my words tumbled out, her face remained blank, as if I were speaking into a void.

I paused, feeling the weight of my voice in the stillness. "You know, she loves the beach," I continued, trying to bridge the distance between us. "We would spend hours building sandcastles and searching for seashells. She could spend days just chasing the waves."