The salt-kissed air tasted of brine and memory as Clara stepped off the weathered dock, her boots sinking into the damp planks. The harbor smelled of oil and decay, but she inhaled it like a prayer, fingers curling around the frayed rope she’d tied to her suitcase. Three years had not dulled the ache of this place, but neither had they erased the way the sun struck the water here—gold on blue, liquid fire. She didn’t look up when the bell on the bait shop jangled. She knew that sound, knew the man behind it as she knew the salt in her veins.
“You’re late,” he said, voice low, roughened by years of shouting over waves. His name was Eli, though he’d once told her to call him “the tide” if she wanted to be poetic. She’d never taken him up on it.
Clara turned. The man who’d been a boy in her mind had grown into something sharper, his shoulders broader, his eyes the same storm-gray. He wore a flannel shirt unbuttoned over a faded band t-shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hands were calloused, scarred at the knuckles—a testament to the life he’d carved here, while she’d walked away.
“I wasn’t sure you’d still be here,” she said, her voice steady. It was a lie. She’d known he would be. The town had a way of holding people, even those who tried to flee.
Eli’s lips twitched, a ghost of a smile. “You’re the one who left. Not me.” He stepped closer, the scent of pine and engine grease surrounding her. She remembered the way he’d smelled after a long day at the docks, how his hands had felt when they’d tangled in hers beneath the boardwalk. She’d been seventeen, and he’d been twenty-two, and the world had seemed vast enough to hold them both.
“I had to go,” she said, but the words felt hollow. She’d told herself that for years, but the truth was simpler: she’d been afraid. Of what this place would do to her, of what it had already done. Of him.
Eli’s gaze dropped to her hands, which were still curled around the rope. “You still carry it,” he murmured. “Like a lifeline.”
Clara exhaled, the weight of the past pressing against her ribs. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
He reached out, fingers brushing the rope, and the touch sent a jolt through her. It was a small gesture, but it felt like a promise. “You could’ve called,” he said, but there was no accusation in his voice. Only a quiet ache, the kind that lingers when you’re too afraid to ask for what you want.
The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in strokes of amber and rose. Clara watched the light shift across Eli’s face, the way it caught in the stubble on his jaw. She wondered if he still remembered the night they’d sat on the rocks, staring at the stars until their eyes burned. He’d told her then that he’d stay, that this town was his home. She’d said she couldn’t live there, that she needed more than the sea and the salt in her hair.
“You’re not the only one who left,” she said finally, the words slipping out before she could stop them. “I stayed. I just… didn’t stay here.”
Eli’s eyes flickered, something raw and unspoken beneath the surface. He stepped back, the moment breaking like a wave. “I’m closing the shop,” he said, voice flat. “Next week. The new owner’s coming in from Seattle.”
Clara’s breath caught. The bait shop had been their secret place, the one spot where they’d felt untethered from the world. She’d thought it would always be there, just like she’d thought some things were permanent.
“You’re selling it?” she asked, but the question felt like a surrender.
Eli nodded. “It’s not enough anymore.”
The words hung between them, heavy and unspoken. Clara wanted to ask what he meant, but she already knew. The town was changing, the old ways fading. And so were they, drifting apart like sand through fingers.
She looked at the rope in her hands, then at Eli. “What if I stayed?”
For a moment, he didn’t respond. The only sound was the creak of the dock and the distant cry of gulls. Then he said, “You’d leave again.”
Clara’s throat tightened. “I don’t know if I can anymore.”
Eli’s gaze locked onto hers, and in that instant, the years between them dissolved. She saw the boy who’d kissed her beneath the stars, the man who’d waited for her to come back. She saw the ache in his eyes, the unspoken words that had never been said.
“Then don’t,” he said, voice low, almost a whisper. “Stay.”
The wind picked up, carrying the scent of salt and possibility. Clara looked at the horizon, where the sun was vanishing into the sea. She thought of the life she’d built, the cities and faces that had blurred into memory. And then she thought of Eli, of this place, of the way the light fell on his skin.
She let go of the rope.
It fell into the water with a soft splash, dissolving into the waves.
Eli stepped closer, his hand finding hers. “You’re home,” he said, and for the first time in years, Clara believed him.
