The first time she saw him, the sun was sinking into the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of burnt orange and violet. Mara stood at the edge of the dock, her boots sinking into the wet sand as the tide crept up her legs. The air smelled of brine and salt-crusted wood, and the gulls cried overhead, their cries sharp as glass. She hadn’t expected to see him again. Not here. Not after seven years.
He stood near the old fishing boat, his back to her, shoulders hunched against the wind. The same dark hair, the same way he tilted his head when he was thinking. She knew that posture better than her own. Her pulse thudded in her ears as she stepped forward, the boards of the dock creaking beneath her weight.
“You’re back,” she said, her voice flat, neutral. She hated how it wavered at the end.
He turned. His eyes were the same shade as the sea on a stormy day—dark, unreadable. “I had to come.” His voice was lower than she remembered, rougher, like he’d been chewing on gravel.
She crossed her arms. The wind tugged at her sleeves. “Why?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked past her, toward the lighthouse in the distance, its beam sweeping across the water like a warning. “I don’t know if I can explain it.”
“Try,” she said.
He exhaled, long and slow. “I kept thinking about you. About this place. About what we left behind.”
The words hung between them, heavy as the storm that had rolled in overnight. Mara turned away, staring at the waves. The water was restless, churning against the rocks below. She could still feel the weight of his hand on her wrist the last time they’d stood like this, years ago. The way he’d pulled her close, his breath warm against her ear. “Don’t go,” he’d whispered. But she had.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she said.
He stepped closer. She could smell him—soap and smoke, like he’d been burning something in a fire pit. “Because I’m not sure I want to leave again.”
The words made her stomach twist. She turned to face him, her jaw tight. “You left once. You can’t just come back and expect things to be the same.”
“I know,” he said. His voice was quiet, but there was something raw in it, like he’d been holding it in for a long time. “I don’t want things to be the same. I want them to be different.”
She wanted to believe him. She wanted to hate him. But all she felt was the ache of what they’d lost, and the flicker of something else—something dangerous, something that made her pulse quicken even now.
“What do you want, Jordan?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
He reached out, his fingers brushing the back of her hand. The touch was light, but it sent a jolt through her. “I want you,” he said.
The wind howled, tearing through the dock. Mara closed her eyes. She could still see the way he’d looked when he left—empty, like something inside him had died. She’d told herself it was for the best. That she’d move on. But now, standing here, she wondered if she’d ever really let go.
“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” she said.
He nodded, as if he’d expected that. “I understand.”
She opened her eyes. His expression was open, vulnerable in a way she’d never seen before. It made her heart hurt. “Then why are you here?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing hers—soft, hesitant, like he was afraid she’d pull away. And for a moment, she did nothing. Just let the sensation of him settle over her, the taste of salt on his mouth, the sound of the waves crashing below.
When he pulled back, his eyes were searching hers. “Because I couldn’t stay away,” he said.
Mara swallowed hard. The wind had died down, leaving an eerie silence between them. She wanted to say something—anything—but the words stuck in her throat.
Jordan stepped back, his hand slipping from hers. “I’ll wait,” he said. “Whatever you need.”
She watched him walk away, his silhouette against the fading light. The dock creaked beneath her feet as she stood there, caught between the past and the possibility of something new.
The next morning, Mara found a note tucked inside the lighthouse door. It was written in his handwriting, the script jagged and hurried. “I’m at the old cabin. Come if you can. I’ll be there until sunrise.”
She stared at the words, her heart pounding. She should have left it there. Should have walked away, like she always had. But something inside her refused to let go.
The cabin was tucked into the woods, its windows fogged with rain. Mara knocked, her hands trembling. A moment later, the door creaked open. Jordan stood there, his hair damp, his eyes shadowed.
“You came,” he said.
She stepped inside, the door closing behind her with a soft click. The air smelled of woodsmoke and old books. “I needed to know,” she said.
He nodded, his gaze steady. “What do you want to know?”
She took a deep breath. “Why did you leave?”
His expression tightened. “I thought I was protecting you.”
“From what?”
He looked away, his jaw clenching. “From me.”
The words hit her like a blow. She’d spent years wondering, trying to piece together the fragments of his absence. But this—this was different. “You thought leaving would keep me safe?”
He turned back to her, his eyes dark with something she couldn’t name. “I didn’t think I could stay. Not without losing you.”
Mara’s breath hitched. She wanted to push him, to demand more, but the weight of his words stopped her. “You don’t get to decide that for me,” she said, her voice shaking.
He stepped closer, his hand hovering near her face. “I know,” he said. “I was wrong.”
The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken things. Mara felt the distance between them—years of hurt, of loneliness, of things left unsaid. But there was something else now, too. A thread of hope, fragile but real.
“What now?” she asked.
He reached for her hand, his fingers wrapping around hers. “We start over,” he said.
She looked into his eyes, searching for lies, for the same old pain. But all she saw was the truth—raw, vulnerable, and waiting.
Mara squeezed his hand. “Okay,” she said.
And for the first time in years, she believed him.
