The air smelled of salt and diesel as Mara stepped off the boat, her boots crunching on gravel. The dock creaked beneath her, a sound she hadn’t heard in ten years but still recognized—like the groan of an old man stretching his bones. She scanned the shore, her eyes catching on the familiar silhouette of the lighthouse, its white paint peeling at the edges. It had always been a beacon, even before it was operational. Before he was gone.
“You’re late,” said a voice behind her.
Mara turned. The man stood with his hands in his pockets, his flannel shirt rumpled, the collar stained with coffee. His hair was shorter than she remembered, but the same shade of brown, the same stubborn curl at the nape of his neck. He looked like he’d been waiting for hours.
“Traffic,” she said, her voice flat. She didn’t move closer. The distance between them felt like a wall.
He tilted his head. “You still hate the ferry?”
“I hate the way it smells.” She gestured to the water. “Like old fish and regret.”
A flicker of something—amusement, maybe—crossed his face. He stepped forward, and the scent of him hit her: cedar and gasoline, the same as always. She remembered the way he’d smelled after a long day on the boat, how she’d leaned into him and inhaled until her lungs burned.
“You’re staying,” he said, not a question.
Mara looked past him to the town behind him. The storefronts were the same—Bennett’s Bakery, where she’d bought cinnamon rolls every Saturday as a child; the hardware shop with its chipped sign. The only change was the empty lot where the marina used to be. “I need a place to think,” she said.
“You always did.” He glanced at the boat behind her. “That’s yours?”
“It’s my dad’s. He let me borrow it.” She hesitated. “He’s not coming back.”
The man didn’t react. Mara wondered if he already knew. Maybe everyone in town did. Her father had been a ghost for years, drifting between rehab and relapse, never staying long enough to make a difference. She’d stopped hoping he’d come back the day she found the empty pill bottle under his bed.
“You could’ve called,” he said.
“I didn’t think you’d answer.” She meant it as a joke, but it hung between them like a bruise. He looked away, staring at the water. The sun was low, casting the dock in golden light. It made his face look younger, softer. She wondered if he still felt the same way about her as he had when they were kids—when they’d sat on this very dock, watching the waves crash against the rocks.
“You’re staying,” he said again, more to himself this time.
Mara nodded. “Just for a while.”
He exhaled, slow and steady. “Okay.” He turned toward the town, then hesitated. “I’ll show you where the cabin is.”
She followed him through the narrow streets, her boots echoing against the cobblestones. The air was thick with the scent of blooming lilacs, a reminder that summer was almost over. She remembered the last time she’d been here, how the town had felt like a dream—too perfect, too fragile. Now it felt like a memory, something she’d left behind when she left for college.
The cabin was at the edge of town, nestled between two pines. It looked smaller than she remembered, the wood weathered and gray. She ran her hand along the railing, feeling the roughness of the paint. “It’s still standing,” she said.
“Yeah.” He opened the door, revealing a small living room with a worn couch and a fireplace that hadn’t been used in years. The air smelled of dust and old wood. “You can stay as long as you need.”
Mara stepped inside, her boots making a soft thud on the floorboards. She didn’t know why she’d come back. Maybe it was the silence, the way the town felt like a place where time stood still. Or maybe it was him—standing there, waiting, like he’d never stopped.
“You’re not going to ask why I left,” she said.
He turned to her, his expression unreadable. “I don’t need to.”
She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that some things never changed. But the air between them felt different now, heavier, like the weight of all the things they’d never said.
“I missed you,” she said, the words coming out before she could stop them.
He didn’t move. “I missed you too.” His voice was quiet, but it hit her like a blow. She had waited years to hear those words, and now they felt like a betrayal—because they were too late, because she’d already left.
The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. Mara looked out the window, watching the light fade. She wondered if this was what it felt like to be stuck between two worlds, neither of them fully belonging to her anymore.
“You’re not going to stay,” she said, more to herself than him.
He stepped closer, his eyes searching hers. “I don’t know.”
She laughed, bitter and sharp. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.” He reached out, his fingers brushing against her arm. It was a simple touch, but it sent a shock through her, like the first time they’d kissed—sudden, unspoken, full of possibility.
Mara pulled away, her heart pounding. “I can’t do this again,” she whispered.
“I know.” He stepped back, his expression pained. “But maybe we should try.”
She didn’t respond. The silence between them was thick, heavy with everything they’d lost and everything they might still have. The sun vanished, and the first stars appeared in the sky, twinkling like distant memories.
Mara turned to him, her voice barely above a breath. “What if we’re too late?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached for her again, his hand cupping her cheek. The touch was gentle, almost reverent. She closed her eyes, letting the moment sink in—the warmth of his hand, the scent of him, the way time seemed to stop.
When she opened her eyes, he was still there, watching her. “We’re not too late,” he said.
She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that some things were worth waiting for, that love could outlast even the longest of silences. And for the first time in years, she allowed herself to hope.
The cabin was quiet now, the only sound the creak of the floorboards beneath their feet. Mara stepped closer, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t know what came next—only that this moment, this touch, was enough.
For now.
