All Leyla Had Been Reading Lately Was Business-related, And She Thought It Might Be Time To Mix In Something

Leyla wanted her place to be as good as any other bar, and you could always send those drinks back too. Even if she was very confident in the quality of her menu, everyone had different tastes. "The option is always available," she promised. Since it was her recommendation, Leyla did hope she'd like it. "That's what I thought," she replied with a laugh. "Okay, I'll do it then. Maybe I'll take your recommendation on your favorite flavors." Her brow briefly furrowed as the other woman laughed before she explained. "Good thing I sent the last one into early retirement, so there's a vacancy," she teased, "but I think that's perspective, it could make you an angel."

Valentina nodded. She didn't want the brunette to go out of her way just for her drink but she appreciated the gesture. "I'm sure it'll be just fine." After all, she seemed to know what she was doing with all the mocktails and smoothies. "I'm the only adult who allows them to eat candies, of course I'm their favorite person," she joked. "But yes please, come and have a look. I'll make you an ice cream, if you're not into candy." All of a sudden, she let out a short laugh as she realized something, "You're making me a healthy drink and I'm offering you candy in return, I feel like a little devil on your shoulder."

Leyla wasn't sure kids would be in her future, not now, not after everything, but she loved watching others experience that joy. Especially mothers and daughters, there was a special bond with them--or there was supposed to be. "Beautiful," she complimented, "she looks like you. Are you two very close?"

Lara nodded in agreement. She was pretty proud of how adventurous Lily had become. And moreso in the past few years. She liked to see her daughter take on different interests. "She's..." Lara looked around. "Ah... there she is," she nodded towards a lanky girl with curly hair in a ponytail in shorts and a tank top talking to other kids who looked like young teens.

Leyla knew there had been a concert about a month ago, but she hadn't gone. The idea of really being part of the town, opening herself up to people again, it sort of scared her. It was much easier to do it all in the context of work. Still, she had seen the posters and thought she remembered seeing his face in one somewhere. "Do you mind if we talk a little business then?" She asked, "because I want to put on some events in the bar, and I thought live music would be a great option. I know you're more of a...louder band, but do you ever perform any acoustic sets?"

"Thanks!" he offered up a warm smile as she began working on his drinks. At the question of being in a band, he confirmed with a nod. He wasn't entirely sure which band she was referring to, but he could probably safely assume she wasn't a devoted fan of any sort and just had heard around town. "I am, yeah."

Dunkirk (2017) dir. Christopher Nolan

Most people were reading fiction or memoirs, and she was reading like she was still in school. It's what she liked though, working made sense more than anything else did. "I did," she said proudly, "it's called Mawk Tales. The only bar you can feel safe to bring your kids too, but we do have smoothies and italian sodas if you don't want her having something called a mocktail." Finding the yellow swimsuit, she smiled warmly, "she looks like she's having a blast. Is she pretending you're not here or are you still cool?"

Wes lifted a brow in curiosity as Leyla explained the contents of the book she had been reading. It sounded kind of interesting, it definitely made sense. "You opened up the new mocktail place out this way, right?" He may not have had the chance to have checked it out yet, but he had certainly heard good things. He chuckled at the question of whether one of the tweens out on the shoreline was his. "Yeah, the one in the yellow swimsuit is mine," he laughed, "Arabella."

"Quality control," she quipped back. This was the sort of thing she had wanted in the bar, a place could relax and be themselves. A place for good conversation and memories. "Oh, what sort of things do you write?"

"Well, part of the fun of running a business is getting to sample the goods, right?" Che teased, good naturedly. He appreciated the ambiance of the bar that Leyla had set up and could see himself doing work there now and then. "I work for a bank, but I'm also a writer. I'm trying to get more into doing the writing thing as an actual way to make money and such."

"Oh good because I do," Leyla admitted, not in a rude way--well, maybe sometimes in a rude way. Just not aloud. She also didn't have the most faith in people, so maybe that was part of it. "I feel oddly at peace with them, there is something about them, which is probably why equine therapy is a thing, I guess." Her interest piqued as the woman beside her brought up dressage. "I always thought that much be such fun. Nostalgic? So you don't compete anymore?"

"You can always judge for taste," Elise said, a bit cheeky. She had cultivated an image for herself that veered just an ounce into snobby territory, but never too far. "Yeah, it's an awesome place, and an awesome opportunity. They're the coolest animals out there, and Harmony Healers does such a good job." She patted the horse's neck. "We do, when we can. We both did dressage growing up, so it's kinda nostalgic."

Leyla usually tried to keep her looking back to therapy sessions, especially to that time, this man. However, looking directly at him made that part hard to ignore. If she was supposed to feel any relief he was still alive, it was jumbled up in all the other emotions she was rapidly trying to process. Fury was winning out as she stared at her own personal nightmare.

She waited for an explanation, one she hoped would be just stumbling through, not here to hurt kind, trusting people. None was offered as he looked at her like he was just struck dumb. "Yes, I do," she snipped, "I finally started my own business. It's called Mawk Tales, it's here on the coast." Part of her still told him like she hoped he'd be proud, but if he actually said that, she might lose her shit in front of all of these people. "What are you doing here? These people still trust--at least most of them seem to, and you and I both know that you are not built to hold anyone's trust."

Vitus had lost the borders of his twenties to a head-fogged downward spiral, crafted by his parents and accelerated by his own hand. Without structure, his memories had buckled and bent inward toward each other. Some had collapsed entirely. He'd carried the pieces with him ever since. And now, up from the rubble of those years, Leyla rose like pinpoint-sharp debris, resurrected. She brought the same blaze with which she'd bitten him during those last few conversations they had. Her rage had followed him cross-country back then, bleeding across the width of the States. Before his eyes had even finished clearing, his skin began to itch. With flame, with scar tissue, with memory.

She looked the same. No, she looked better, healthier, than he recalled. Even as decade-old remorse slammed him sideways, squeezing all the breath from his lungs at once, he couldn't help but feel a touch of relief at that. Despite everything, she'd made it to her thirties. So many other loved ones from back then hadn't. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came right away, so he closed it again. Another few blinks, like he couldn't be sure she was real. And then, stupidly, quietly, "Leyla? What are you—What? You live here now?"

She knew he never meant to, and that just made it worse. He loved love, which had once been something she herself had loved about him. When you were his moment, it was the most intoxicating thing in the world because you were everything. But that's the thing about moments, there's always another right after it. They're fleeting. She'd never been more loved than that time Vitus had loved her, but she had also never had the kind of pain the end brought. She had tried to hurt him back, make him feel what she was feeling, but by the look on his face, he was still the same. It hadn't deterred him from doing it again and again, still chasing love like another high. In actuality, that's all it was by Leyla's estimation.

"Don't." She replied, a mix of malice and flicker of that old brokenness, "you don't get to talk about what I deserve." Because no matter how much she had wanted him to know that she made it, she didn't want to need anything from him. Not now. Everyone in town saw the end result, the polished version she spent decades perfecting. He knew, though, knew what she didn't want anyone to know: it had been a messy, twisted journey, and there had almost been no Leyla Tehrani left to open Mawk Tales at all.

They were both really fucked up, back then and probably still now. She still said mean things like she knew how to hurt him, as if his life had been happy and hers alone had not, but they both knew that wasn't true. He'd had plenty ripped away from him in the blink of an eye. It just still didn't give him the right to be reckless with others. His silence said he knew that.

"I know I am," she replied, once again wishing he wasn't being kind about it. "Then what would it have taken? I spent so much time playing it all back in my head, and--I know I wasn't perfect. I was a lot of work, but I loved you as best I knew how--I couldn't love myself, but you--you were easy to love. If love is really some beautiful and powerful thing, why wasn't that enough to stop you? Did you just want more?" For all the therapy she'd received, this is the one wound she wouldn't let anyone in to see, so it was the one that could re-open so easily. She wanted to pull him close and drown him in the nearby ocean all at the same time, with the same fire. He didn't have any right to ask, and after what he'd done, part of her still wanted the same punishment for him: to never know the answer to those questions. "--Eating? Yes," she relented, "okay might be a totally different question altogether. It doesn't go away, but I've been seeing Dr. Lane at the community center. Keeps me on top of things. But what's still broken in me, Vitus, you cannot fix." She took a breath, lip wobbling in a way that made her curse herself. He could still get right through, and it just made her want to push harder to close right back up. No one was allowed this close, not anymore. He looked better, still sad behind the eyes, but physically, he seemed okay. She wasn't ready to ask yet about him. "I know I said I wanted you to always be miserable, but it doesn't actually make me feel better to see you like this. Love's not real, stop chasing it."

Another agonized wince, as Leyla sliced deeper. But she said it without anger this time. Just laid the truth at his feet, left it there for him to take back, because it wasn't hers anymore and never would be again. And she was right; he'd done his damage. He'd done it over and over, winding lovers and friends around his hands and then spinning them loose repeatedly. Never with the intent to harm, but what difference did it make when harm was all he seemed to be capable of sometimes? Too choked to answer her question directly, Vitus let the remorse in his expression be his response.

And as she spoke of her business, the quaint atmosphere she'd cultivated for herself, Vitus's empathy leaked into his eyes. He tried to rein it in without much success. "That's fantastic, Leyla. Nobody deserves it more than you," he said, and he meant it. Because he remembered how hard she worked for it. How her constant battle for control had left her bone-brittle and frail, on the brink of fracture between his arms.

He did know what it was like, to go to bed happy and have his life turned upside down in the matter of a single day. He'd fallen asleep that fateful November in 2005 as a son, a love-drunk kid, a boyfriend. By the end of the next night, he'd been reduced to a barren street corner and a duffle bag that smelled like a home he no longer had. But he'd never told her that. Vitus had told her about his parents and his homelessness, of course; hers had been the arms he'd retreated to when he finally got that phone call from his mother, saying she wanted to reconnect. But Leyla had only poked around the edges of his wounds, never seen what they looked like when they were bloody and raw. He almost never shared his hurt with anyone back then. And he wouldn't share it with her now. Couldn't, not when he'd already forced her to hold far too much of it when he abruptly exited her life.

"I know. And you're right to. Hate me, I mean." It stung to admit that, especially as he continued picking through the rubble of their short-lived time together. "But it wasn't... Leyla," he sighed, as if exhaling her name could help alleviate some of the weight that had settled over his torso, threatening to cave his ribs in. "It wasn't because you weren't enough. It was never that. It was about me. It's always me." She hadn't believed him back then, and he had no idea if she would believe him now. The animal caged in his chest howled, screamed, wailed for something just out of reach. Vitus wanted to let it out, wanted to show it to her. As it was, he just sighed again and raked his hands through his hair. The ocean breeze almost swallowed his voice as he added, "I know I don't have any right to ask, but are you okay? I mean, have you been... how are you doing, these days?"

Leyla laughed as they both moved for her phone, navigating around each other to not go full comedy of errors. Stopping, she let him get it, just holding her hand out for it. "Thank you. I invest in solid cases, not the first time my phone has hit the ground," she said with a warm smile as she brushed some grass and dirt off it, "but our conversation was done anyway, my employees probably wish you'd bumped into me earlier." She laughed again before teasing, "so you think you can manage to get that where you're going without taking out small children along the way or do you need some help?"

“Oh!” Vince said quickly as he realized she had dropped her phone. He tried to strategically move down to grab it, swerving his body quickly enough so that they wouldn’t bump into each other again, making a bigger mess of things. He laughed and grinned. “Hope the phone’s not too damaged, though. You can say there was a big doofus who doesn’t look where he’s going which is why the call got interrupted,” he chuckled.