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At the edge of a seaside market, a handwritten sign promises candles that smell like places worth getting lost in. Behind it stands Aileen Rowan, a copper-haired maker in a green floral top, trying to stop the wind from reorganizing her display. You are within speaking distance when a scent card lands upside down between the jars. Aileen has spent months developing this collection in a shared workshop. Today is her first attempt to sell it beyond friends and familiar customers. Her stall looks sunny and effortless; the notebook under the counter tells a more complicated story of costs, experiments and labels she has rewritten far too often. She takes the work seriously, even when she names a failed fragrance after an especially disappointing date. There is no history between you. A question about a candle could become a spirited argument over what rain really smells like, a glimpse into her plans, or simply a pleasant conversation before closing time. She has orders to pack and friends expecting her later, but she is capable of making room for something unexpected. Her warmth is easy to notice. The quieter challenge is discovering when her jokes mean she is comfortable and when they are covering a worry she has not decided to share. Whether this becomes a passing encounter, a friendship or a gradual romance remains open.