Evening Air

A cool breeze brushed against Colin's warm cheeks.

The young doctor pulled up the collar of his hoodie and tucked his hands into his pockets. The evenings were surprisingly chilly compared to the warm days. At least he had learned his lesson from last night and brought a hoodie this time.

Last night, huh?

He barely held back a pathetic sigh.

He wanted to glance back at the house he had just left, but he forced himself not to. He didn't want to betray, even in the smallest way, that his thoughts stubbornly kept drifting back to Brad Lipski—especially not while Brad might still be watching.

Unconsciously, he pressed his lips together.

This time, he couldn't suppress the sigh.

So much for keeping life uncomplicated.

The problem wasn't Brad himself—who was an incredibly handsome guy, with almost black hair that danced unruly in the wind. Nor was it his deep, dark eyes, the kind that seemed to pull in the heart of anyone he spoke to. Not even the intoxicating mix of a rebellious bad boy and a protective family man. Ah, that combination was like sugar powder—harmless ingredients on their own, but together, they could cause quite an explosion.

Colin felt something tearing through his heart—or rather, someone—but it really wasn't Brad Lipski's fault. No, it was him, Colin, the idiot who had clearly learned nothing from the painful lesson that had brought him here in the first place.

Unconsciously, he started fiddling with the smartphone in his pocket. Maybe he should call Ashton?

And say what? "I'm sorry" for the thousandth time?

They hadn't broken up because Colin wanted to, but after what had happened, staying together just wasn't an option. Even a thousand, even ten thousand "I'm sorry"s wouldn't change that.

The store was only a few minutes' walk from the Lipskis' house, so before he could sink too deep into self-recrimination, he was already standing in front of its door. A cheerful bell jingled as he stepped inside. An elderly woman peeked out from behind the counter. Stone nodded politely and headed toward the toiletries section.

White Shore was supposed to be a tourist town, yet Colin could feel the shopkeeper's gaze on him—watchful, curious—as if he were the first outsider she had seen in months. He tried to ignore it and focus on browsing, but the discomfort made him grab the first shower gel he saw, along with a few small items, and head straight for the checkout.

"You're the new doctor, aren't you?" the old woman asked as she scanned his items. "Do you need a shopping bag?"

"Uh, yes," he looked at her, surprised. "Yes, I'm the new doctor. And yes, please add a bag. Thank you. How did you know I'm a doctor?"

"Rosalie, my friend, said our new doctor is very handsome. How do you like staying with Brad?"

Rosalie? Oh, right—he had a patient with that name earlier today.

"It's great, thank you. I guess everyone around here knows each other?" he asked out of politeness, not curiosity.

"The Lipski boys used to come here for candy when my husband was still alive." A deep sigh escaped her chest.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he replied politely, though he had no desire to engage in small talk with the neighborhood elder. "How much do I owe you?"

She told him the total, then added, "No need for sympathy. I buried and mourned him a long time ago. A long time…"

"I see," he nodded, paid for his things, and was about to leave—

"But you do like staying with Brad, don't you?"

'With Brad,' not with 'the Lipskis'. Brad had told him he was just the caretaker of the house, not the owner. So why had this woman phrased it that way? And twice? Was she trying to tell him something?

Colin hesitated for a split second, holding the plastic bag in his hand. The old woman was watching him expectantly—not pushy, but with a look of quiet concern, maybe the kind of curiosity older people often had toward the younger generation.

He didn't want to chat, but he also didn't want to be rude.

"Yes, thank you," he said, forcing a slight smile. "I have no complaints."

The words were cautious but honest. Brad had treated him well, even if their relationship was… peculiar. Yet the old woman kept looking at him as if she were waiting for something more.

"That's good, that's good…" she nodded, but her tone lacked the usual cheerful warmth Colin had come to expect from older patients.

He wanted to ask, 'Why do you ask? Is something wrong?' But he held back. Maybe she was just an old lady with her own thoughts and habits. Maybe she asked every newcomer in town the same questions.

"Thank you for the purchase," he added politely, giving her a small nod before stepping out into the cool air.

He didn't turn around, but he could still feel her gaze on his back for several more steps. And yet, that question kept echoing in his head:

"Do you like staying with Brad?"

No, he had no intention of digging into it. It wasn't his business. Maybe she had simply misspoken, maybe she had her reasons, maybe in White Shore, everyone had a reason to ask overly personal questions.

Or maybe, a stubborn little voice in the back of his head suggested, you'd be better off knowing exactly what you're getting yourself into.

Colin sighed. No, not this time. He wasn't going to get caught up in anything again, he wasn't going to—

He adjusted the strap of the shopping bag in his hand, instinctively tucking his chin into the collar of his hoodie. The crisp air carried more than just the scent of salt and moisture—it also carried a low, rumbling growl.

At first, he thought it was just old pickups he'd seen along street—but no. This wasn't the steady hum of an engine; it was something growing, pulsing, expanding into the darkness.

Motorcycles.

One, two, three… no, a whole group.

Colin instinctively stepped closer to the fences lining the street, moving aside even though they had the entire road to themselves. The motorcycles sped past in a tight formation, headlights slashing through the darkness, their reflections flickering in the windows of silent houses.

He wasn't a coward, but he felt that familiar, barely perceptible unease—a quiet reminder to never trust first impressions.

Maybe this town isn't as peaceful as I thought.

As the first bike passed him, for a split second, he had the distinct feeling that someone was watching him from behind the visor of a helmet.