“You only mentioned the Pacific and the ‘dreamy beaches’ five times in the first five pages of your manuscript,” he says, turning to me before focusing back on the road.

And what an amazing road. It follows the ocean, and the views are breathtaking.

“You work every day at the café, so I assume you haven’t done much sightseeing.”

Now that he mentions it, I realize he’s right. I haven’t. How many times I dreamed of being back on the beach, my toes in the warm sand, feeling that incredible sense of freedom? Reliving that day from a year ago? Why didn’t I go back? Why did I only limit myself to the café and back to the cottage? I don’t know. I don’t have an answer to that question, just like I don’t have an answer to many questions lately. Mostly when it comes to my behavior and my feelings. Is it too late to discover yourself when you’re almost thirty? Is it normal to be this confused about what you want and who you are? I hope I’m not the only one.

The sun is on my face, the wind in my hair, making a mess of it, but I don’t care.

Ethan is singing along with the radio, ‘You make me a believer’. I turn the volume up and then we look at each other and we belt out at the same time, ‘believeeeeeer,’ and laugh.

I close my eyes and take it all in—every single second of it. And when I open them, the reality is even better. Who would’ve thought?

If it wasn’t for the occasional cars from the opposite direction, I’d swear we’re the only people on this coastline; it feels cut off from civilization but in a good way. The landscape is wild. The deep blue ocean is truly magnificent seen from up here, and the narrow winding road bordered by the mountains on one side and the ocean on the other is spectacular. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen something so awe-inspiring.

When we get to an uncovered bridge above the ocean, Ethan slows the car.

“What’s this called?” I ask. It’s amazing.

“Bixby Canyon.”

I stare with my mouth open. I think I must’ve seen it on a postcard, but a postcard can’t do it justice. I’ve taken a hundred photos at least by the time we got here, and now I’m snapping shots of the bridge from all angles as Ethan’s car picks up speed again.

“You know, you don’t have to use up all your battery. We can always—” He stops. “You can always come back. It’s not far.”

“There’s no day like today. Who knows where life will take me?”

“Wherever you want it to take you,” he says. “You’re not a feather in the wind.”

It’s funny he would say that. I’ve felt like a feather in the wind most of my life. Almost like a character in a story. Just not one I’d write because obviously, I would’ve only given myself great experiences. The only two times I broke out and changed the pre-written storyline was one day last year and two weeks ago when I packed my bags, quit my job, and returned here. I might not be doing an excellent job at writing this story of mine, but you know what? With all the ups and downs, and everything I’ve gone through since I arrived in Carmel, I feel more in charge of my destiny than I’ve ever felt. I’m taking the reins, albeit awkwardly, but I am. Truth be told, I’ve never wanted anything that strongly or passionately to fight for it. Coming back to Carmel is the first time. And now that I’m here, I feel this is where I belong. It’s strange.