Chapter 6 Where the Morning Finds Us

Morning slips in softly, almost afraid to wake what the night left behind.

The Bellharbor sky wears pale gold; the waves move slow, lazy-a calm that feels almost staged.

I lie awake listening to gulls and the soft thud of the tide. Sleep came hard; every time I closed my eyes I saw fireworks in Noah's eyes, heard Eli tell me to let it change.

By the time I rise, the air smells of seaweed and coffee from the cafe down the street. I slip into a loose dress, knot my hair, and tell myself I'm fine.

Down by the pier, the town's still waking. A few fishermen haul nets, their laughter cutting through the quiet morning. I spot Noah's truck near the boats. He's there, sleeves rolled, trying to get an old motor going again.

For a moment I think about turning around.

Then he looks up.

"Hey," he says. His smile is tentative, the kind you give when you're not sure you're welcome.

"Hey," I reply, moving closer. The wood under my sandals is cool and damp.

He dries his hands on a rag. "Didn't think you'd be up this early''

"I couldn't sleep."

He nods, eyes on mine. "Me neither."

We stand there a moment, the engine coughing behind him.

"About last night-" he starts.

I shake my head gently. "Don't. Not yet. Let it breathe."

Something softens in his shoulders. He nods, looks toward the horizon where the sun breaks through the clouds.

"You've always liked mornings like this," he says.

"I still do."

The wind blows a strand of hair across my face.

He reaches out automatically to tuck it back, then stops, hand hovering. I step back a little, not unkindly.

He lowers his hand, a faint smile appearing. "I guess some things change."

"Maybe they're supposed to," | say.

On my walk back into town I stop at the cafe. It's busier now-tourists ordering pancakes, locals chatting about last night's fireworks. Eli's there,

barefoot as always, balancing a tray of coffee cups with his charm.

When he sees me, his grin lights up the room.

"Morning, sketchbook girl."

"Morning."

"Coffee's on me," he says, sliding a cup toward me. "You look like you could use it."

"Is that your polite way of saying I look tired?"

He laughs. "It's my polite way of saying you've been thinking too much."

I take a sip. The coffee's strong and sweet, just right. "Maybe I have."

He leans on the counter, eyes steady on mine.

"You don't have to explain anything. Last night... whatever that was-it's yours. I just hope you're okay."

"I am"" I say, though it sounds half-true.

He nods. "Then that's enough for today."

For a while we just stand there, the noise of the cafe blurring around us. It's easy with him-too easy sometimes. No ghosts, no history, just this warm present that asks for nothing more than honeststly

Outside, the streets gleam from the night tide. I wander past shop windows strung with shells and postcards, thinking about how small this town really is-how impossible it is to keep two worlds from colliding when they share the same ocean.

Noah and Eli. Past and present.

Maybe not opposites-just different kinds of truth.

The thought stays with me as I climb the hill back to the cottage. The sea stretches endlessly beyond the rooftops, the light shifting every second, never the same and never completely new.

For the first time, I wonder if love works that way too.

The cottage feels emptier than usual when I get back, the quiet pressing in. I set my bag by the door, run my fingers along the worn porch railing, and breathe in the sea air. Somewhere out there, gulls circle over the waves, their cries sharp against the morning light.

I can still feel last night in my chest-the fireworks, Eli's hand brushing mine, Noah's quiet gaze lingering at the end of the pier. I hoped I could sort out what I feel before the day began, but the morning makes everything heavier, sharper.

By late morning, a truck rumbles down the road.

My stomach twists. Noah's here again.

He climbs the porch steps without knocking. "I needed to see you," he says simply. No fanfare, no excuses. Just truth.

I hold my breath. "You've seen me enough this week."

"Not enough." His voice is soft, almost shy. "I - I wanted to talk."

I step aside to let him in. We settle at the small kitchen table. The sunlight pours through the window, tracing his face and showing the tension in his jaw.

"I've been thinking," he begins. "About us, about the summer, about... everything." He pauses. "! don't want to mess this up again. I want to try. If you'll let me."

I feel my chest tighten. "Noah..." | hesitate, wanting to believe him, wanting to jump into the safety of what we once had, but also fearing the ache of what might break if I do.

"I'm not asking for answers now," he says quickly. "Just... a chance to show you that I can be here. That I can be someone you can trust again."

Later, I wander toward the festival grounds. The music is back, with laughter mixing in the scent of popcorn and salt air. And there, at the edge of the crowd, Eli is waiting, leaning casually against a stall.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," he says with a smile that doesn't hide concern.

"I just... saw someone I care about," | admit.

He nods, understanding more than I expected.

"He's trying, isn't he?"

"Yes." My voice is barely a whisper.

"And you?" His eyes hold mine, steady, patient.

"Are you trying too?"

I look down, tracing the edge of my bracelet, remembering the warmth of his hand, the lightness he brings. "I... don't know."

Eli takes my hand, gently, without asking. "Then maybe you just need to see what the summer wants to show you. No pressure, no decisions yet."

The day passes in a blur of moments: walking along the pier, sitting by the water, catching the smell of rain on sand. Noah's presence is a quiet gravity pulling me toward him; Eli's energy is a bright, unpredictable current nudging me forward.

By dusk, the town glows in lantern light. I stand on the beach alone for a moment, watching the waves. The tide reaches my toes, steady and relentless. Two voices echo in my mind-Noah's calm, determined tone, Eli's warm, teasing laughter.

I close my eyes and let the sea speak, letting the waves carry away the certainty I thought I had.

And then I realize something simple, impossible to ignore: my heart isn't neutral. It has already begun to choose. Not fully, not yet-but it's

moving, shifting, and I can feel it.

Night falls, and I return to the cottage. The stars glitter over the water, the same as always, unchanged yet entirely new. I sit on the porch, bracelet clutched in one hand, the other brushing the old wooden railing, thinking about the tides pulling me in two directions at once.

Two tides, two loves, one summer.

And me, standing somewhere in between, learning for the first time that love isn't about being safe. It's about risking everything-even when you're afraid of what you might lose.

The wind lifts my hair, the ocean hums, and I know: nothing will ever be the same again.