The storm came without warning.
By evening, the sky had turned the color of bruised steel, and the air was thick enough to taste. The first drops of rain came slow and heavy, tapping against the roof of the old seaside house as if testing its strength. Elena stood by the window, watching the horizon dissolve into gray.
She'd grown used to the rhythm of Harbor's Edge the predictable calm of waves and wind but tonight, the ocean seemed wild, restless, as though it remembered something she had tried to forget.
Lightning flickered in the distance. The sound followed seconds later, low and deep, like the heartbeat of the sea itself.
She turned off the lamps, lit a candle instead. The soft light trembled across the room.
When the knock came, she startled.
She opened the door to find Caleb standing there, rain dripping from his jacket, hair plastered to his forehead. He carried a lantern in one hand and worry in his eyes.
"Power's out all over town," he said. "You all right?"
"I'm fine," she said, though her voice trembled slightly. "You didn't have to come all the way here."
He stepped inside anyway, setting the lantern on the table. "Couldn't just sit at home knowing this place sits right on the cliff."
"I'm not made of glass," she tried to joke, but it came out small.
He glanced at her, his expression softening. "I know. But even glass deserves care."
Something about the way he said it quiet, sincere silenced her protest.
The storm grew louder. Rain beat against the windows, wind howled through the cracks in the walls. They could barely hear each other over it. Caleb moved through the house checking doors and shutters, tightening latches, sealing gaps with pieces of cloth and rope from his bag.
When he reached the back porch, the wind nearly tore the door from his hands. He shoved it closed, laughing under his breath a rough, boyish sound that startled a small smile from her.
When he finally came back to the living room, soaked and windblown, she handed him a towel.
"Thanks," he said, drying his hair.
She gestured toward the fire. "Sit. I'll make tea."
They moved around each other in the dim candlelight like two people who had done this a thousand times. There was an ease to it the kind that comes not from years but from understanding.
When the kettle finally whistled, she poured the tea into chipped mugs and sat across from him by the fire.
Outside, the world was chaos. Inside, it felt like the eye of the storm a fragile, fleeting calm.
Caleb held his mug between his palms, staring into the flames. "You ever notice," he said quietly, "how storms make you remember everything you've been trying to forget?"
She looked at him, startled by how closely his thought mirrored her own.
"Yes," she said. "It's like the sound won't let you hide from anything."
He nodded slowly. "I used to hate them. Couldn't stand the noise. After my wife passed, I..."
He stopped, the words catching.
Elena's breath hitched. "Your wife?"
He gave a small nod, eyes still fixed on the fire. "Six years ago. Car accident on Highway 12. She was coming back from visiting her sister."
Silence filled the space between them, heavy but not uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry," Elena whispered.
He gave a faint, tired smile. "Yeah. Me too."
She wanted to say something anything but her throat closed around the words. The storm outside howled louder, thunder rolling across the cliffs.
Caleb set his mug down and leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment. "Funny thing is, I used to build things to last houses, porches, even that dock down by the harbor. But when she died, I realized nothing I ever built could keep the world from breaking."
Elena swallowed hard, blinking back tears. "You sound like someone who's tried to hold the world together anyway."
He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Yeah. Guess I have."
Another crack of thunder shook the house. The candle flame jumped, casting wild shadows across their faces.
Elena stood, walking to the window. Through the rain-streaked glass, she saw the sea thrashing against the rocks below, waves crashing higher than she'd ever seen. She thought of the night Daniel died the same kind of storm, the same helplessness, the same sound of things breaking.
She pressed her palm against the glass. "I used to love storms," she whispered. "He did, too. Daniel my fiancé. We used to sit by the window and count the seconds between lightning and thunder."
Caleb didn't speak, just waited.
"The night he died, it rained like this," she said. "He was driving back from work. I called him to say dinner was ready. He laughed. Said he was almost home." Her voice trembled. "He never made it."
The words came like a confession she'd been holding too long. She turned from the window, tears sliding silently down her cheeks.
Caleb stood, crossing the small space between them. He didn't try to stop her tears or offer false comfort just stood close enough that she could feel the warmth of him.
After a long moment, she whispered, "I keep thinking I should've called him earlier. Or later. Maybe it would've changed something."
His voice was steady. "You can't live in the maybes. They'll eat you alive."
She met his eyes deep, steady, kind. "How did you stop?"
"I didn't," he said softly. "I just learned how to live beside it."
The wind rattled the windows again, a deep, endless sound. Then, for the first time all night, it began to fade the rain slowing, the thunder rolling further away.
They stood there, both still and raw, as if the storm had taken something from them and left something else behind.
When she finally sat again, he stayed beside her. Neither spoke. The fire burned low, and the silence between them felt safe.
She didn't know when she started to drift toward sleep, but she remembered the last thing she felt the brush of his hand over hers, a touch so gentle it could have been imagined.
And somewhere in the distance, the sea calmed.