hometown & length of time in br: born and raised in br, lived in new york from 18-29. moved back about 6 years ago.
✍︎ penned by: tee
☆ dot point bio | connections / pinterest / timeline
tw: death mention, pregnancy, grief.
Town local Leyla Eda Yilmaz has had a love/hate relationship with living in Briar Ridge. She loved growing up the way she did, with her dad and brother and sister. But something about New York called to her; it felt like there was nothing for her in her home town. She initially left town after graduation for Columbia University to chase success and study literature, a determination that saw her become a published writer of a two-book series some years after college. But alas, life, as it does, would get in the way. Her brother’s tragic death caused her to return to the Ridge just a decade ago. After his funeral, she pulled yet another disappearing act, leaving town for good. That is, until she fell pregnant to her then boyfriend, coming back home to raise her baby alone. Soon after Billie was born, Leyla began to work at Everything Goes, which was recently left to her by the elderly owner. Nobody can make a pastry like Evelyn Girard, but Leyla’s learnt a thing or two and come pretty close. She’s often seen making coffee, overseeing the baking process and recommending novels to those interested. When people ask why Leyla hasn’t written another novel, she quickly shuts it down by telling them that raising a daughter and running a business has taken up almost all of her time. But really, dabbling with words and emotions and throwing herself into her own writing feels impossible when she knows it brings about the possibility of having to face her grief. And that terrifies the hell out of her.
headcanons.
Every so often, she closes Everything Goes for a day to teach children in town how to bake.
Always has a book in hand, hanging out her bag, etc.
A horrible driver, genuinely. If your car has a dent in it, it's most likely due to Leyla's terrible driving.
Is always late everywhere, despite being a hard working citizen.
Wears a necklace with a small October birth stone, representative of her brother and mother's birth stone.
CANNOT live without coffee. If she looks mad, give her coffee immediately. If the coffee machine is broken at the bakery, leave. Just run.
Knows ASL
Inspired by — Lorelai Gilmore, (gilmore girls), Rachel Green (friends), Carrie Bradshaw (sex and the city), Summer Roberts (the oc) & Brooke Davis (one tree hill).
wanted connections.
sister: wanted connection link
baby daddy/ex: wanted connection link
cousins: must be turkish
childhood/high school connections: she grew up in briar ridge.
high school sweetheart: this can go any which way! but i'm thinking they broke up before/after she left for new york after graduation.
new york connections: leyla lived there for over ten years (age 18-29) and went to columbia university.
downtown neighbours: she lives in a three bedroom apartment with her daughter and Valentina Flores.
parent friends: people who understand parent life lol
coffee addicts: speaks for itself. she respects coffee lovers but just like people who need coffee like an iv drip, hanging out and talking smack/gossiping about the town. i need it!!!!
Beck doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he's too busy looking at Leyla, admiring her and those dimples—and for a split second, something in him falters at the sight. Like maybe he hadn't meant to let any of it show, or maybe he’s realizing too late just how much he wants her to know it. There’s that familiar crooked smile of his again, the one that never quite reaches both sides of his mouth. But this time, there’s something undeniably earnest in it too—something that slips past his usual guardedness.
He leans back just slightly, arms draped lazily over the back of the bench, like he's trying to play it cool, but his eyes? Are still locked on hers. Still saying things he hasn’t quite figured out how to voice out loud, yet.
“Well,” he says, voice low and edged with a quiet amusement, “if you are letting your imagination run wild… I’m not about to stop it from happening.” There's a beat, before his gaze flicks over her face, softening at the edges. “But no, you're not imagining it, Ley. I meant it.”
Just then, he leans forward a bit, his elbows now resting on his knees, his fingers loosely laced as he looks up at her. “Also yeah,” he adds, slower now, like the words are weightier than they seem to be on the surface, “I guess I am asking you out on a date. That is, if your answer's a yes?"
His smile deepens, tentatively, like the truth of what could come out of her mouth next, both scares him and thrills him at the same time. “But if you’re buying, I might let you think it was your idea.” A playful raise of his brow follows, the teasing behind it light but the intention clear underneath it.
He stands, stretching his arms over his head, shirt pulling up just enough to betray the v-shape of his hips, his wetsuits typically tend to hide. Then he offers her his hand—not because she needs help up, but because he wants to. Wants to hold hers, if she'll let him.
“Come on,” he says, glancing down at her with that warm glint in his eye. “Let’s go tame your haunted dishwasher. And after that… you can tell me what else your imagination’s been up to.”
The second she caught sight of that crooked smile of his, she was done for. Something in her chest squeezed so tight it was almost unfair.. her cheeks heated instantly, and she pressed her lips together to stop the little smile tugging at them. "I—wow, Beck.. you're not allowed to be this smooth." She looked over at the blonde now with a dimpled smile, her eyes alight with amusement and, admittedly, joy. She'd never expected Beck Foster to ask her out, but here he was.. If I'm imagining this, if I'm dreaming.. don't you dare wake me up.
Leyla feigned deep thought, letting out a soft hmm as she gazed at the ocean, even though her entire body was buzzing with nerves. She really hadn't ever thought Beck was interested in her in that way, though she had always lowkey had a crush on him. But, this.. this was completely unexpected. She turned back to him now, a shy but unmistakable smile tugging at her lips. “Okay… yes,” she finally said. “I’ll go on a date with you.” Tilting her head as she studied him, her dimples deepened as her grin curved wider. “But only if you let me buy at least the first round, considering how often you've saved me from the cafe's haunted appliances.”
Oh boy. She shouldn't've looked, but of course she did. Was the man a literal greek god carved from the earth? Who on earth allowed him to have a body like that? She was ogling, she knew she was, and yet she couldn't help herself. Be cool, Ley!! What the hell is wrong with you? Quickly looking away, the brunette gathered up what was left of her pastries in a bag, and the book she'd suddenly forgotten all about, and somehow her hand found his. Like, she hadn't even willed it to, it just came naturally, and yet.. the simple touch sent a flutter through her chest. She rose to stand beside Beck, a sudden wave of shyness hitting her after a few moments as she realised her hand was still curled in his, unable to meet his gaze. "Alright, Foster. Lead the way."
He chuckled at her comparison. "That it is. The real question is will they ever actually get a turn?" Shaking his head, he let out a sigh as he thought about all of the different elements that had to play a bigger role in his decision making process than his actual feelings.
As she spoke, he buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans, head down as he listened to her. "Thanks, Ley." he said quietly. "Sometimes, it feels like poor Eli just got stuck with me." Going into this, he knew she'd be supportive, that was just the kind of loyalty Leyla was known for, but it still helped more than he could say to hear someone else say they thought he was a good dad. He'd found himself questioning that very thought more often than he'd like to admit lately.
"She's told me bits and pieces. At the Spring Fling, she told me to name a time and place and she'd tell me what I wanted to know... But I don't know if I'm ready to hear her out yet," he admitted. "Because," he paused, Shane was terrible at admitting he didn't know what to do, so it took him a moment to work up to it. When he spoke, his voice was raw, the man who always had a plan, who immediately flew into action whenever there was a problem, didn't have a clue what to do about all this. "Because then I have to figure out what the hell to do and I don't know if I'm ready for that yet."
Leyla's lips curved into a soft smile, the laugh that escaped her a knowing one. "That's the million dollar question every parent wonders, isn't it?" Her gaze softened as he went on, but she shook her head firmly at his self doubt. "Nope, don't you dare! Eli didn't get stuck with you. He got lucky. You know I'd tell you straight if I thought otherwise." She was strong on the opinion that Shane was a good dad, and she refused to let him think otherwise. Whilst he explained about the Spring Fling, she fell quiet, listening intently. At his admission, her heart tugged in her chest. She couldn't imagine the gravity of the situation he was in. How hard it was, both for himself as a father and.. as someone who loved Sonny so deeply. She knew what it felt like to do this all alone, she knew how hard it was, despite the village they both leant on.
"Well, you don't have to decide anything right away. I mean, this has got to be the one of the toughest things to face, and I can only imagine how it feels. Just know that whenever you are ready, I'm a firm believer in information is key. As difficult as it is to face Sonny, I think knowing her perspective will really help you." Truthfully, she couldn't help but feel for Sonny in a way.. maybe she made a huge mistake and she was trying to make up for it? Leyla wanted to give the girl the benefit of the doubt. But she also knew, as a single parent, how difficult this would be for Shane. She felt for him, too. She hesitated, then added with a faint, lopsided smile, “You’ve carried Eli this far, figured it out every single day, even when you didn’t feel ready. You’ll figure this out too.”
Beck leans his head back against the bench, eyes closing for a brief second as if her words had hit somewhere between amusement and surrender. When he looks at her again, it’s with that same, quiet intensity he always carries when he’s thinking too much about something and trying not to show it. But the smile is still there—crooked, half-formed, like he doesn’t want her to see all of it just yet.
“Yeah, my things,” he confirms to her, voice dipping like the thought’s been marinating for longer than he cares to admit. “Call it territorial. Or just honest.” His gaze lingers on her for a second, something unspoken passing between them before he leans forward to brush the last few flakes of pastry off his jeans. “Either way, I meant what I said.”
Then, when she gives him that little slice of her own honesty, he glances over again, sharp enough to catch it, soft enough not to call her out on it—at least not directly. The corners of his mouth twitch like he’s trying not to smile too much, but he doesn’t look away. “Well,” he says quietly, “guess we’re both seeing something worth looking at then.” He doesn’t press the moment further. Doesn’t need to. It hums between them like something already understood, not yet spoken aloud.
But when she shifts the subject to the dishwasher, he lets out a groan that’s half exaggerated and half real, dragging a hand through his hair like she’s just assigned him a ten-hour shift. “You know, there was a time when I thought my Saturday might involve a cold beer and absolutely no kitchen appliances. But here you are,” he says, flicking a crumb off her sleeve with a casualness that almost covers the fondness underneath.
He sighs theatrically. “Alright. I’ll come take a look. But if that thing starts spewing foam again, I’m out. No heroic plumber moment. No white knight in an apron.” Afterwards he pauses, tilting his chin just slightly as he looks at her. “You don’t have to make it worth my while though, Ley. I’ll show up because you asked. And because, I wouldn't want you to get soaked.” Not in that way, at least. “By the suds, I mean. But I won’t turn down a drink after hours. That is, if the payment means you'll join me for one.”
To say that she was captivated by the very sight of him right now would barely scratch the surface. The afternoon sun seemed to linger on his ocean blue eyes, tracing the angles and curves of his face like it was painting a masterpiece, just for her. She almost forgot what they were even talking about, a warm pink colouring her cheeks as she realised she’d been staring, immediately looking away and clearing her throat. “Well, at least you’re a man who knows what he wants,” she murmured, lips twisting into a playful pout as her gaze drifted from the ocean back to him. “I might just hold you to that.”
Leyla’s chest gave a little flutter, and she couldn’t help the soft smile that tugged at her lips. “Guess we are,” she murmured, her eyes locking on his. Laughter soon fell from her lips, however, once he started speaking about the dishwasher, her eyes genuinely alight with humour and amusement. "You make it sound way too dramatic, you know that?”
She shifted a bit to face him now, resting her elbow on the back of the chair and her chin in her hand, eyes locked on his. "I'm sorry, okay? I swear there's a ghost in that cafe wreaking havoc just so you have an excuse to come and rescue me." She couldn’t help but feel a rush of appreciation, however, for how genuinely kind Beck was, how willing he was to help… just because. I'll show up just because you asked. The words rang in her ears, sending a warm flutter through her stomach. “Not that I mind,” she added with a small smile. In all seriousness, though, she needed to figure out a way to pay him for his time. "Thank you. I appreciate it, more than you know."
Her cheeks warmed slightly, however, at his final statement, suddenly feeling a burst of boldness as she dared to ask, and basically blurted out, "—Are you asking me on a date, Beckett Foster?" But no sooner had the words left her lips than doubt crept in, and she quickly added with a sheepish laugh, "Or am I just letting my imagination run wild again? 'Cause I tend to do that. Of course I will. But only if I'm buying."
Benny turned and felt the tension in his shoulders ease at the sound of Leyla's hurried footsteps. He noticed her trying not to break into a smile as she approached, clearly amused by the sight before her. He shook his head but managed to return her smile, adding a pleading look as she came to his rescue. The scent of her perfume briefly caught his attention while she helped him with the lid of the bin.
His eyes flickered toward their hands as they briefly touched—a habit Benny had struggled to hide ever since they started working together. He managed to try to cover it by overdoing it with the blinking and looking elsewhere, but he wasn't always so lucky. "Thanks," he breathed in relief, turning to face her after pushing the bin a bit further back.
He turns at the sound of her brushing flour off her arm. He clears his throat, trying to brush off his momentary embarrassment. "Yeah, well, I definitely regret putting it up there now," he rubs the back of his neck, flashing his teeth at her, knowing she was dying to say that she told him so.
Benny used to play pranks on Leyla by placing items she couldn't reach on shelves. One of the pranks he pulled was putting the flour bin so high that he nearly forgot about it. Leyla had warned him that he would regret it later, and now, considering he was the only one who could reach the bin, he was also the only one responsible for retrieving flour from it. It was truly a double-edged sword, as some might say. "It was funnier back then."
For a brief moment, Benny thinks he should try to do it now while Leyla is still there to help him. However, he freezes when he sees the freezer door closed behind her. He leans out to look past her, his brow furrowed and panic beginning to churn in his stomach. He flashes an alarmed look at Leyla before moving towards the door, shaking the good-for-nothing handle vigorously. He pauses, heaving a deep breath before he turns to face her. "We're locked in."
Leyla caught the flicker in his expression at the brief brush of their hands, a faint heat creeping up her neck before she quickly looked away, pretending to fuss with her sleeve. Her lips twitched in response to his admission, a laugh threatening to break free. "Oh, I was absolutely dying to say I told you so," she remarked, brushing flour from her arm and letting her eyes linger on the fine white layer clinging to his shirt before meeting his gaze again.. "But I'll let you off the hook. This time."
She was about to nudge him again when she noticed the way his focus shifted past her, and her expression shifted instantly. "What?" she asked, stepping aside as he moved around her as realisation struck — the door had closed behind her. She must have knocked whatever was holding it open on her way in. Turning to follow his line of sight, just in time to see him grip the freezer door handle and yank at it unsuccessfully, her stomach sank. "Oh no." The chill was already biting at her fingers.
Leyla rubbed her hands together, the chill creeping through her sweater doing little to help her focus. Her mind raced through every possible way out as she motioned around him to try and pull the handle herself. Not that she didn't trust him, of course she did. But surely... shit. She patted at her pockets. Empty. Great. Swallowing, Leyla tried not to let the rising panic show as she turned to face Benny, lifting her gaze up to meet his own. She forced a steady calm into her expression as hope flickered in her eyes. "Please tell me you have your phone on you.."
Beck lets out a low laugh—deep and warm, the kind that rumbles more in the chest than in the throat. He leans into the nudge from her knee, not enough to push back, but just enough to acknowledge it. His smile lingers as he tears off another piece of the pastry, chewing like he’s trying not to grin with his mouth full.
“Jealous?” he repeats, glancing sideways at her with that look—the one that toes the line between trouble and truth. “Nah. I just know a good thing when I see it. And I don’t really like sharing my good things with strangers in board shorts who can’t spell ‘cappuccino’ without crying.”
He lifts his brows as he says it, feigning innocence, then shrugs one shoulder like the thought barely registers. But it does. She can see it in the way his knee still leans against hers, in the way his fingers tap absently against the bench—restless, but grounded.
“I do like the view, though,” he adds, more quietly this time. Not teasing. Not performative. Just honest. His voice dips a little, softer, like he’s not trying to make it a moment, but can’t quite help it from being one. “Always have.”
Then, almost immediately—as if the weight of that line unsettles him—he clears his throat and shifts back into familiar territory, leaning an elbow on the backrest and tilting his head toward her like he’s bracing for chaos. “Alright, hit me. What disaster unfolded at the café this time? Was it the espresso machine again? Or did someone let your cousin near the register?”
He bites into the last of his pastry and mumbles through a smile, “Please tell me it involved fire. Or goats. I could really use a good goat story right about now.”
Leyla laughed softly, a warm pink tint colouring her cheeks as she tilted her head toward Beck. "Your things, huh?" She shook her head as another chuckle ensued. "Board shorts and cappuccino spelling? That's a low blow, even for you." She nudged him back with her knee, noticing with a small smile how his knee was still pressed against hers like it didn’t want to let go, eyes sparkling with mischief as she let them settle on the water before them. And what a magical thing it was. Always healing.
She was mid taking a bite of her pastry, and savouring the taste, when his unexpected honesty caught her completely off guard. Beck admitting he liked the view, honest and unfiltered, ignited a flutter inside of her she wasn't quite ready to name. Always have. And just like that, her insides did a little somersault. She found herself speechless as she peered over at him, slowly chewing the rest of her bite, wondering if it was all just in her imagination. Was he talking about her? And why did he seem so vulnerable in doing so? Her lips parted, words seemingly failing her, and so she settled on, “Funny—I thought I was the only one appreciating the scenery around here.” A little slice of her own honesty, if you will.
Leyla straightened up now, glancing away in the hopes the breeze might be cool enough to hide the flush creeping up her cheeks. "Um, no.. no goat this time, unfortunately. Though I'll keep it in mind for next time," she winked at him. "Actually, its the dishwasher that gave up on me. Total breakdown. So unless you want to see me drowning in suds, I could really use someone who knows their way around a busted machine." She gave him a teasing look, her warm browns glimmering with amusement as she glanced at him sideways, biting her lip playfully. "Think you could tinker with it? There’s no rush, of course, but…” Her gaze held his a beat longer before she added with a teasing smile, “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”
Benny chewed on the inside of his lip and let out a deep sigh as he squatted down, pen in hand, noting inventory in their walk-in freezer. The door was slightly ajar, a result of his stubbornness about fixing the door handle, which he had been neglecting in favor of other tasks. He knew that by the time he had to do inventory like this, it would be a hassle, so he accepted the inconvenience and focused on his work. There was no point in huffing and puffing. He would take the loss and get things done quickly.
Music from his phone played softly on the wooden work table just outside the door, the muffled sounds of Billy Joel accompanying Benny's late-night work. He assumed Leyla was somewhere in the store, either tending to the front or sorting through the books. Benny hummed contentedly, unconcerned by the cold, as he moved to his left to begin jotting down the frozen dough that had been set aside for a large order for a party in a few days.
Just as he attempted to climb higher for a better view of the middle rack, Benny's footing unexpectedly slipped. Catching himself on the frame, the sudden jolt shook the entire rack, causing a large bin filled to the brim with white flour to begin tipping from the top. “Oh shit—” In a desperate bid to prevent disaster, Benny raised his arms instinctively, abandoning his clipboard as it hit the ground with a loud clatter. The lid, precariously balanced, tilted dangerously, and flour threatened to cascade out like an avalanche. “Ley!” he shouted, urgency ringing in his voice. The last thing he wanted was to waste precious flour. “Leyla!”
Leyla startled at the sound of her name, the urgency in Benny's voice slicing clean through the soft hum of music and the quiet rustle of pages. She'd been sitting on the floor in the back corner of the store, halfway through re-categorising the romantasy shelf, blissfully unaware of what was about to happen. Benny never shouted — not unless something was genuinely on fire or about to be. She sprang up and jogged toward the sound of his voice within an insant, the cold air hitting her face before she even stepped inside. "What's u—" she started, before her eyes landed on him, arms raised like he was bracing for impact, white dust already blooming in the air like a warning. She didn't laugh—yet. Instead, she lunged forward, grabbing the edge of the bin just as it tilted, helping him steady it back onto the rack. Her fingers brushed his, cold from the freezer air.
Once the bin was safely back in place, Leyla let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. Her eyes flicked down to the thin layer of flour dusting Benny’s shirt and chest, her mouth tugging into something of a smile. She pulled her hand back, swiping some flour from her arm, then gave a quick glance around the freezer. The cold crept under her sleeves, prompting a small shiver. “Are you okay?" she asked, eyes scanning him in a once over—checking for bruises or injuries. Behind them, a soft click echoed, muffled by the thick insulation of the freezer walls. Leyla barely registered the sound, her focus still on Benny as she waited for his answer, unaware that anything had changed.
Beck grins. It's slow and a little lopsided. It's the kind of grin that starts more in his eyes than anywhere else. Which means, it's real. Like her smile flips a switch in him he didn’t realize was missing.
He steps forward, closing the last bit of space between them, before taking the offered bag with a small, exaggerated bow. “Payment accepted,” he says, tone mock-formal but the glance he gives her is far too fond to be anything but sincere. “Though I gotta admit, I was hoping for the smile and the pastry. Guess I got lucky. Or, you're now a mindreader.”
He sinks down onto the bench beside her without waiting for an invite, careful not to jostle her book in the process, one knee bouncing loosely as he opens the bag and peeks inside. “You always make too many,” he says, even as he pulls one out and takes a bite like it’s a small miracle. It kind of is.
They sit in easy silence for a moment, the kind that only exists between two people who’ve shared enough of it to make them comfortable. Beck leans back, glancing out toward the water, chewing slowly as the ocean laps against the pier below them.
“You look like you belong here by the way,” he says after a beat, not quite looking at her. “Right here. Book in one hand, future diabetes in the other, toes aimed at the horizon like you’re not afraid of where it’s going. I admire that. It's a nice sight.”
When he does glance at her—it's briefly, like if he looks at her too long he’ll say more than he means to. His voice softens again, barely above the hush of the waves. “Kind of makes it hard to stay away from you for too long, too. Now, I get it why you have so many handsome regulars.”
He tears another piece from the pastry, more distracted now, eyes on the gulls circling overhead. “Just sayin’. In case you were ever wondering why I always show up the minute you stop looking for me.”
She made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh at the "mindreader" comment, shaking her head as she turned a page in her book — not that she was reading a single word of it anymore. Not with him beside her, pastry in hand, grinning like that. That grin had always been trouble. Still, her tone somehow remained casual, breezy, as she flicked another page of the book with words that were merely decorative at this point. "God, you're such a menace," she muttered, unable to help the grin that was now tugging at her lips.
Beck had that way of saying things that made everything feel like it mattered a little more than it should. It was annoying, really — how he could go from teasing her to casually dropping a line that made her chest flutter without even looking at her properly. She could feel the warmth of his gaze even if he wasn't quite looking at her. It crept in slowly, like the sun on her skin. "Wow," she said finally, brows lifting some as the mulled over his words. "And here I was thinking you'd just come over for the pastries." Then she finally looked over at him, amusement colouring her features as she added, "Careful. Keep saying things like that and I might start thinking you're enjoying the view."
Leyla lifted the pastry halfway to her mouth but paused, her eyes flickering up to meet his with a playful spark. She held it there for a moment, as if weighing the moment before letting her grin widen. "Jealous, Beck?" Nudging him with his knee, she took a bite of her pastry, chewing thoughtfully before adding, "Didn't peg you for the jealous type. Or maybe you're just scared the handsome regulars are stealing your spotlight." She watched him a moment as he looked up at the gulls, totally distracted by those freakin' arms literally sculpted from the gods, then looked away quickly before she got caught staring. "I assumed you just have an uncanny ability to sense when something’s falling apart at the café. —Speaking of, you'll never guess what happened this morning.."
He nodded at her surprise. "Can I just say, how shocked I am that the rumor mill hasn't passed that juicy tidbit your way yet? I woulda thought it'd be headline news by now." With a roll of his eyes, he continued walking. At the same time, it was nice to be able to talk to someone about it who didn't have an opinion on the situation already thanks to what they'd heard from the rumors.
Obviously, Leyla knew the situation. But he didn't have to worry about the town's consensus creeping in on her opinion about it all. As she nudged him back, he felt himself begin to relax already. He wasn't always the most forthcoming about his feelings, but with Leyla, he felt like he could open up. "It's a fuckin' lot," he admitted after a beat. "I have to deal with the emotional aspect of it while also juggling the fact she's Eli's mom. You know, as well as I do that I can't just make a decision based on what I want, I have to deal with the whole thing in a way that's best for Elijah." He let out a huff of air. "I'm grateful she's okay, don't get me wrong. But it's a lot to fuckin' deal with."
Leyla drew a quiet breath, a small huff of a laugh soon slipping out as she shook her head. "It's a lot alright, I'm glad you acknowledge that," she echoed, her tone warm but carrying that tired kind of hoensty that only people in their position could understand. Perhaps it was the years of friendship, and mutual understanding given their situations were relatable. Her eyes flicked toward the truck where she heard Billie's laugh ring out, mixing with Elijah's. "Funny, huh? How we end up managing everyone else's feelings while ours just.. kind of sit there, waiting their turn," she said, glancing up at him with a small, knowing smirk. "Parenting's a real bitch sometimes."
A breeze rolled past, rustling her curly hair across her cheek before she tucked it back, lost in thought for a moment. "I can only imagine how you're feeling. If Billie's dad came back into the picture... I can only imagine how hard it would be to juggle everything." She glanced up at him now, concern etched across her features — though she did her best to hide it. Being a parent was the hardest freakin' job in the world, and she didn't envy the situation he was in right now. "But, I think you have a right to your feelings about it, and.. you have a right to protect Eli whilst also doing what's best for him. And that might take a little time to work out, and that's okay."
"I hope you know you're an amazing dad, Shane. Elijah's so lucky to have you." Truly, she'd never doubted it. In all the years she'd known Shane growing up, in the years they'd developed a friendship, raising kids of a similar age.. she knew it to be true. He was a good person, and he loved his son more than anything, and boy could she relate. "Have you.. heard her out at all yet?" If one thing was for certain, knowing all the people she'd come across in her lifetime, knowing the stories she'd enveloped herself in.. knowing the decisions she had had to make in regards to her own daughter. Everyone had a story. Everyone had a reason.
He spots her before she spots him—curled up on a sun-bleached bench near the pier. A pastry in one hand (likely one of hers) and a paperback in the other, her feet kicked up and ankles crossed like she owns the coastline. To Beck, she just might.
Eventually, he slows his walk without meaning to. Pulls the hoodie sleeves he's wearing back over his hands, thumb absently grazing the edge of a bracelet he always fidgets with whenever she’s around. A nervous habit.
“Let me guess,” he calls out, voice low and amused as he approaches her, “one of the oven knobs went rogue again and now you're hoping the sea breeze will teach it some manners.”
He stops a few feet away from her, hands tucked into his pockets, the scent of salt and sun-warmed wood hanging around them like an old song. His hair's still damp from the water. There's a grease smudge on his forearm from whatever he was fixing earlier on Loretta.
He nods toward the pastry. “That for me? Or are we still in the phase where you bribe me with coffee and pretend it's not because you just like having me around?”
His smile is crooked, and a little too easy—but his eyes linger a beat too long all the same. Like he’s memorizing something without meaning to. Which is her. Always her.
“You know I don’t mind fixing things for you, right, Ley?” he adds, tone softening just slightly. “But I've been grappling with the idea of charging a fee now. Someone informed me recently that I should know my worth.” He pauses, as if waiting for her reaction. “That just means, you gotta smile at me first before you ask me next time.”
There was something about sunshine, the ocean, and a good book that really calmed Leyla to the point of feeling like every single worry and concern just.. no longer existed. At least, while those three things existed in unison together. Oh, and the pastry. Who could forget the pastry? It was something that, although she loved New York for it's own vibes, the city could never offer her. The one thing she'd missed when living away from home for so long. Though completely immersed in one of the most pivotal points of the book in her hand, Leyla glanced up at the sound of his voice, a smile tugging at her lips before she could even pretend otherwise. The breeze ruffled her wavy hair, sun catching on the strands as she lifted her gaze to meet his, eyes squinting just a bit from the glare of the sun.
She rolled her eyes when he teased her about the oven knob, something of a laugh escaping her. "First of all, that oven knob was being dramatic, not rogue," she shot back, feigning indignation while her heart picked up its pace. She shifted slightly on the bench, tucking one bare foot underneath her thigh as she looked at him, the sun outlining him in that annoyingly pretty way it always did. "And second—maybe I just like having you around because you're the only person who doesn't complain about my coffee being too strong."
"Oh, so now you're charging in smiles?" Leyla teased, shifting the pastry in her hand before tearing off a piece and popping it into her mouth to buy herself a second as she pretended to think about it. "—Hmm. If a smile is the price, I guess I can afford that." She let a genuine smile tug at her lips, unable to help herself, before picking up the small bag of pastries and holding it out to him, her gaze meeting his once more. "Payment in advance. Take it before I change my mind."
Travis watches the second jab land, and this time, he lets the pride in him show. It’s subtle—just a slow nod, a lift of his brow—but it’s there all the same. The strike’s got purpose now, not just heat. And, that matters more than she probably knows. It counts.
After a beat, Trav lets out a quiet breath, something resembling a chuckle but without the sound. “There it is,” he says finally, eyes flicking from the bag back to her face. “That’s the difference between swinging wild and showing up.” The way she repeats his words back to herself doesn’t go unnoticed to him. It’s not performative. It’s lived-in. Travis knows what it means to fight for control when all you’ve ever known is the spiral. “New ain’t bad. Just means you’re learning. Hell, I’d take new over numb any day.” He shifts his weight this time, arms folding across his chest, the soft squeak of his boots grounding him in their shared space.
When she lands that grin—sharp and bright, and a little bit reckless, it catches him off guard. Not because of the tease, but because it feels earned. Like she’s starting to come back to herself. He huffs out a dry laugh at the thought, shaking his head. “Careful?” he echoes, a grin now tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’m the one standing in front of the bag, remember? I should be worried about your ego and my ribs.” He steps back slightly, giving her room, nodding toward the bag like he’s inviting her to hit it again if she wants to. In the meantime, he grabs the towel slung over a nearby hook and tosses it her way. “Here. Before you start bleeding all over the mat and I gotta explain it to the boss.” There’s a lightness to his tone now, but his eyes linger on her a beat longer than they should—measuring, maybe. Or perhaps, just seeing her.
He drops down onto a nearby bench just then, stretching out his legs with a wince before releasing a quiet sigh. “You ever notice how hittin' something can make the silence feel louder after? Like, your body’s fine but your brain’s still catching up.”
He scrubs a hand over the back of his neck before glancing up at her again. “Ah sorry, that sounded more profound in my head. Probably just the dehydration talkin’.” A small smirk creeps in again, yet it fades just enough for something else to surface too—curiosity, maybe? or the kind of recognition that only comes when pain meets pain.
Leyla caught the towel mid-air, the motion clean and well practised like she'd done it a hundred times before in another life. She let his words sink in, her eyes flicking over to him when he spoke about numb and new, about the silence after the noise, something sharp in her gaze softening for just a second. She let out a breath that almost felt similar to a laugh, but it came out quieter. "Yeah," she said finally, rolling the towel between her hands. "Like.. your body's waiting for the next hit, even when it's done. Brain doesn't trust the quiet just yet?" Felt similar to life, really.. the way she'd felt about it, anyway. Always quietly waiting for the next blow, and in a state of defence in the meantime. She moved to sit by him now, quietly catching her breath for a moment before continuing. "Makes you wonder, doesn't it?" She liked talking to Travis. He was one of, if not the most honest people she'd ever met. And that kind of honesty made her feel safe. LIke she wasn't having to brace herself for the worst. "Thanks, by the way. For the boxing tips," she grins, glancing over to him. "And the chat."
Travis watches the jab land with a quiet sort of approval—doesn’t say much at first, just gives a single nod like her instinct spoke louder than any form could’ve. There’s something in the way she moves that draws a flicker of memory in him: the grit before the game, the way someone steels themselves before the world sees the cracks. He recognizes it. Probably too well.
He scratches at the stubble along his jaw, smirking again—but it’s softer now, laced with something closer to respect. “I’d say it means you’re a whole lot more honest than most people,” he replies, voice low, like the truth deserves that kind of reverence. “Most folks spend half their life pretending there’s no face. You? You found yours before the sentence even finished.”
He steps a little closer—not close enough to crowd, but enough that his voice drops a register. “That’s not weakness. That’s knowing your pain’s got a name. It’s when you don’t that it creeps in from all sides.”
He gestures to the bag again. “Now do it again. But this time? Less force. More control. You’re not trying to kill the bastard—you’re trying to remind them you’re still standing.”
The corners of his mouth twitch, like the smirk wants to widen but he reins it in. “Besides,” he adds, glancing at her sidelong, “you throw like that, and you might just upgrade to silver.”
Leyla's mouth twitched, something caught between a smirk and a grimace as she rolled out her shoulders, eyes still on the bag. What Travis was doing right now, distracting her, teaching her.. that was exactly what she'd needed that afternoon, and didn't even realise it. "Honest, huh?" she echoed, almost like she was tasting the word, unsure if it felt like praise or exposure on her tongue. "That's one way to put it." She didn’t say anything for a moment, her jaw ticking as she settled back into her stance, letting his words land and linger. Knowing your pain’s got a name. Yeah, she knew it. Too well. And maybe it scared her how fast that pain came to mind. When he stepped closer, voice dropping, she didn't flinch — her head tilted just enough to show she was listening, even if her gaze stayed fixed forward, lashes dropping for a beat. “Control, not chaos,” she muttered under her breath, like she was repeating it to herself, before shooting him a quick glance, eyes bright with something restless. “That’s new for me.” She took a breath, grounding herself before letting another jab fly—cleaner this time, tighter, her wrist aligned, the impact sharp without the overkill. It felt better, and it showed in the way her shoulders loosened, in the small huff of air that slipped out, almost like relief. She turned to look at him, an easy, lopsided grin cracking through the focus as she dropped her hands. “Silver, huh?” she teased, holding his gaze for a moment longer than she needed to before shaking out her hands, looking back at the bag like she was ready for another go. “Careful, ranch boy, you’re gonna inflate my ego.”
