Chapter Five – After the Storm
The morning came quietly, like an apology.
Elena woke to the sound of the sea, softer now each wave folding itself gently against the shore as if exhausted from the night before. For a moment, she didn't move. The air smelled faintly of salt and smoke, and somewhere nearby, the fire was still breathing its last embers.
Then she realized she wasn't alone.
Caleb was sitting in the chair by the window, his jacket draped over her armrest, eyes half closed as though caught between sleep and thought. The lantern from the night before sat on the table, its glass fogged with soot.
For a heartbeat, she just watched him calm in his face, the rough stubble along his jaw, the way his hands rested loosely in his lap. He looked like someone who carried too many ghosts and still found a way to stay gentle.
When his eyes opened, she straightened quickly, heat rushing to her face.
"Morning," he said, his voice rough with sleep.
"Good morning," she managed. "You stayed?"
He nodded slowly. "Didn't think the wind would let up enough to drive back last night."
"Right," she said. "Of course."
A small silence settled between them, the kind that felt both comfortable and uncertain. She glanced toward the window. The world outside glistened wet rooftops, puddles catching light, gulls circling over the newly calm sea.
"Looks like the town survived," she said.
"Mostly," he replied, standing to stretch. "A few roofs are gone. The dock took some damage. But we've seen worse."
She smiled faintly. "You sound like someone who's done this a hundred times."
He shrugged. "I grew up with storms. You learn to respect them, not fear them."
Her gaze softened. "You were right about what you said last night."
He looked at her. "About what?"
"Living beside it," she whispered. "The grief. I think maybe that's all we can do."
For a moment, neither spoke. Then he nodded, quiet understanding passing between them like a tide that didn't need words.
He left soon after to check on the town, promising to return later to see if the house needed repairs. When the door closed behind him, the silence felt different, not empty, but full of something she couldn't yet name.
Elena wandered through the small house, touching the edges of things, the mug he'd used, the towel still hanging by the fire. It all felt strangely alive, as if his presence lingered in the walls themselves.
She made tea, carried it to the porch, and sat wrapped in a blanket. Below, the ocean was calm again, its waves folding over themselves like pages turning.
She thought of last night the rain, the thunder, his voice in the dark telling her to stop living in the maybes.
She closed her eyes and exhaled. For the first time since Daniel's death, she didn't feel like she was drowning.
Just floating.
By afternoon, the town had woken up completely. Men were hauling driftwood from the docks, children splashing through puddles, and Margaret's café buzzed with stories about the storm.
Elena slipped inside quietly, the bell above the door chiming.
"There she is," Margaret said, relief in her voice. "I was about to send Caleb to make sure you hadn't blown off the cliff."
Elena smiled. "I survived."
Margaret poured her coffee and leaned against the counter. "He was worried, you know."
Elena tried to sound casual. "Was he?"
"Oh, he wouldn't say it out loud," Margaret said with a knowing grin. "But I saw him pacing outside half the night before he finally went up to check on you."
Something warm flickered in Elena's chest, half surprise, half something she didn't want to name.
She stirred her coffee, keeping her tone light. "He's just… kind."
"Kind doesn't make a man drive through a storm."
Elena looked up sharply, but Margaret had already turned to greet another customer.
---
That evening, the sun broke through for the first time in days. Light spilled across the town like honey, and everything the wet roofs, the sea, even the windows of her little house seemed to glow.
Elena found herself standing by the window again, brush in hand, painting the reflection of the fading sky. But this time, her hand didn't shake. The colors came easily soft golds, deep blues, a thin line of crimson where the light met the water.
When a knock sounded at the door, she didn't need to guess who it was.
Caleb stood there, hair damp, sleeves rolled up, a piece of rope coiled in one hand.
"Margaret said you might still be short a few shingles," he said, smiling slightly. "Thought I'd check before it gets dark."
"You didn't have to."
"Yeah," he said quietly, "but I wanted to."
They worked together in the fading light, her holding the lantern, him securing the last pieces of the roof. The air smelled of salt and cedar, and somewhere below, the waves lapped gently against the shore.
When he climbed down the ladder, she handed him a towel. Their hands brushed just a small touch, but enough to send something quick and unsteady through her.
"Thank you," she said softly.
He nodded, eyes lingering on hers for a beat too long. "You don't owe me that."
She smiled faintly. "Maybe not. But I'll say it anyway."
He looked like he wanted to say something else, but didn't. Instead, he turned toward the sea, watching the horizon where the last of the sunlight bled into gray.
"It's strange," he murmured, "how quiet feels louder after a storm."
She stepped beside him. "Maybe it's because there's nothing left to hide behind."
Their shoulders brushed, the space between them charged and uncertain. For a moment, it felt like the world had gone still, the sea, the wind, even time itself.
Then he said softly, "I should go."
She nodded, though part of her wished he'd stay.
As he walked away, the last of the light slipped below the horizon, leaving only the sound of the waves and the ache of something beginning and breaking all at once.
Elena stayed on the porch long after he was gone, the wind cold against her skin, her heart unsteady in her chest.
She didn't know what scared her more losing him, or letting him in.
And in that quiet, the sea whispered again soft, relentless, and full of things she wasn't ready to hear.