Page 7 of Ripple Effect

I stand, brushing off more sand from my clothes. Despite my towering height, I’m oddly self-conscious beneath her unwavering gaze. She rises to her feet, effortlessly matching my pace as Bentley leads the way.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” I say, half statement, half question.

“You wouldn’t have. I’m new, just transferred in from Dayton. It’s my first semester,” she says, her tone bright. I catch the sparkle in her eyes, the reflection of the morning light making them appear almost golden.

“Been here a few weeks, and you’re already out on the beach before the birds?” I ask, a reluctant curiosity sneaking into my tone. She chuckles, a light, airy sound that blends in with the soft lull of the waves.

“No better way to start the day.”

Her easygoing nature is infectious, causing the ghost of a smile to pull at my lips. But as I watch her laugh, a strange sense of unease creeps inside of me. Something isn’t right here.

It’s not her; it’s the situation. Talking to someone like this—someone so bright and full of life—is a sharp detour from the night I’ve just had.

“I should get going,” I say, more abruptly than I intend to. But I need to get away, go back to my apartment, retreat into my careful solitude.

Her smile wanes a little, replaced by a slight furrow of her brow. “Oh, okay,” she says simply. But instead of stepping back, she keeps pace with me, her footprints trailing beside mine in the sand, Bentley happily prancing on ahead of us.

“So, do you live around here?” she asks, her voice pulling me back from the edge of my thoughts.

I nod, keeping my gaze fixed on the path ahead.

“And what’s your name?”

“Elio.”

“Nice to meet you, Elio,” she says with a bright smile. The name seems to roll off her tongue easily, as if she’s known it forever. “What brings you here so early?”

I gesture down at Bentley, who’s eagerly sniffing at a patch of sand. “Just fell asleep after walking my dog.”

“Hm, any chance you surf?”

A dry chuckle escapes me. “No, I don’t surf. Never have, never will.”

“I don’t know about that. There’s always a first time for everything.”

From there, her chatter continues—a stream of consciousness that keeps the silence at bay.It’s such a pretty morning, don’t you think? How often do you come here? Does Bentley like to swim?

Each question’s met with a monosyllabic answer or a noncommittal grunt, a poor substitute for a real conversation.And yet, she keeps talking, her words filling up the quiet morning air.

I’d usually hate this—prefer the quiet, the peace, especially with a stranger. Yet for some reason, I let her talk.

Maybe it’s the change of pace, or maybe it’s just her, but I find myself not minding the company. Her presence offers a distraction from my fears, my worries, my racing heart. For the first time in a long while, I’m not alone with my thoughts.

And it feels . . . strangely nice.

4

DAISY

I carefully treadinside my apartment, a scattering of sand from my shoes tracing my path to Gracie. She’s absorbed in a thick law textbook, her brow puckered in concentration. It’s a sight I’ve grown used to over the past few weeks, one that provides a comforting sense of normalcy after my unexpected morning.

“Hey,” she greets me without looking up, her attention unwavering from the book. “You’re back early.”

With the memory of the mystery man still fresh in my mind, I dive right into it. “Yeah, I met someone new this morning,” I say, kicking off my shoes and padding into the kitchen.

Gracie’s gaze finally leaves her book, and her brows shoot up. “Hmm, someone else wakes up as early as our dear Daisy Grey?”

“Well, no. Not exactly.”

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