Eli didn't move from the doorway for a long moment.
Mason stood across the street like a challenge—arms crossed, head tilted slightly, eyes hidden behind a pair of old sunglasses. He hadn't aged much, at least not in the way Eli expected. He looked broader, sun-warmed, and somehow more grounded. A little older, yes. But still Mason.
Still the boy who once dared him to climb the lighthouse at midnight.
Still the boy he kissed under the pier the summer they turned seventeen.
Still the boy who never said goodbye.
Eli forced himself to step onto the porch, heart thumping like it was racing toward some long-buried truth. Mason didn't move. He just watched, unreadable.
"Hey," Eli said, voice low, hesitant.
Mason nodded once. "Hey."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable so much as dense—thick with things unsaid, years collapsed into the space between them.
"You're… still here," Eli said, stupidly.
"I own a surf shop now," Mason replied. "Three blocks down. Same building that used to be Harrigan's Market."
Eli blinked. "You bought that place?"
Mason shrugged. "Didn't plan to. Just kind of… happened."
That seemed to be the theme of Salt Bay. Life just happened here, like the tide—slow, inevitable, and mostly out of anyone's control.
Eli shoved his hands into his pockets. "You didn't come by the funeral."
Mason flinched—barely, but Eli saw it. "Didn't think you'd want me there."
"That's not an answer."
Mason finally pulled off his sunglasses, revealing eyes that hadn't changed a bit—still that deep ocean blue, still sharp as hell.
"I figured you'd come in, do what you had to, and leave," Mason said. "Didn't think we'd be having a doorstep reunion."
"Neither did I," Eli muttered.
They both looked away, as if the past were physically visible between them and neither could bear to stare too long.
Mason cleared his throat. "Talia told me you were back."
"Of course she did," Eli muttered.
"She still looks out for you. Even when you don't deserve it."
That hit harder than Eli wanted it to. "I didn't ask her to."
"Didn't have to," Mason said. "She's always been like that. Loyal, even when people make it hard."
Eli bristled. "Is this the part where you tell me how much I messed up?"
"No," Mason said. "This is the part where I say welcome back. Whatever else comes after that… we'll figure it out."
And with that, Mason turned, walked to his truck, and drove away—leaving behind the ghost of who they used to be.
---
Eli didn't sleep much that night.
The house groaned with old bones—floorboards creaking, pipes shuddering, wind pressing against the windows like a restless spirit. He tossed and turned on the couch, the mattress upstairs still covered in a decade of dust.
He thought about Mason's face when he said welcome back.
He thought about Talia's smile—warm and cautious, like someone offering shelter in a storm.
And he thought about the younger version of himself—angry, afraid, confused—who packed a bag and left town without telling either of them why.
In the morning, he gave up on sleep and walked down to the pier, camera in hand.
The sky was the kind of pale pink that only existed in places like Salt Bay—soft, slow-burning, limitless. The early morning fishermen cast long shadows as they worked, nets pulled in with weary rhythm.
Eli raised his camera and clicked.
The shutter snapped like muscle memory.
He moved without thinking—adjusting exposure, shifting angles, crouching to catch the light hitting the water just right. This was the one place he still felt like himself. Behind the lens, he didn't have to speak. Didn't have to explain.
Just observe.
He was halfway through a shot of a gull perched on a piling when he heard a familiar voice behind him.
"Still stalking birds, huh?"
Eli turned.
Talia stood a few feet away, holding two coffees. She handed him one without asking.
"You're relentless," he said.
"I'm curious," she replied. "Also, I'm not letting you ghost me again."
Eli winced. "Fair."
They walked along the dock in silence for a while. Boats rocked gently in their slips, and the scent of salt, oil, and bait filled the air.
Talia glanced at him sideways. "So… did you talk to Mason?"
Eli sipped his coffee. "Yeah."
"And?"
"And it was weird. Tense."
She nodded. "Well, what did you expect? A hug and a 'welcome home' banner?"
"He did actually say 'welcome back.'"
Talia looked impressed. "That's more than I expected. He's changed."
"Yeah," Eli said quietly. "We all have."
She stopped walking and leaned on the railing, eyes scanning the horizon.
"I tried to keep in touch, you know," she said softly. "Letters. Messages. You never answered."
"I didn't know how to explain why I left," Eli admitted. "Or what I was feeling."
"You could've tried."
"I was scared," he said, more honestly than he intended. "Of what I was. Of what I wanted. Of how much I felt."
Talia turned to him. "You were scared of being bi?"
"Yes. No. I don't know. It was more than that. I felt like I was breaking into pieces, and if I stayed, I'd break in front of the people I cared about most."
"So you left instead."
Eli nodded.
She was quiet for a moment. "I would've stayed with you through all of it. We both would've."
"I know that now."
They stood there, the weight of the years heavy between them. Then Talia reached into her bag and pulled out a folded newspaper.
"Want to see what the local paper looks like now?" she asked, trying to shift the mood.
Eli took the paper, smirking. "Let me guess, you write half of it?"
"Three-fourths," she said proudly. "The rest is ads for crab boils and a guy who teaches 'zen fishing.'"
Eli laughed. "Salt Bay hasn't changed much."
"Nope. But maybe you're ready to."
He didn't have an answer for that.
---
Later that afternoon, Eli found himself walking into Mason's surf shop.
The place smelled like wax, saltwater, and something vaguely herbal. Surfboards lined the walls—some polished and gleaming, others well-loved and worn. A rack of faded T-shirts sat near the register, and a radio played soft indie rock from a corner speaker.
Mason stood behind the counter, scribbling in a ledger.
He looked up when the bell chimed.
"Didn't think I'd see you again so soon," he said.
"I'm full of surprises," Eli replied.
Mason set his pen down. "You here for a board? A lesson?"
"I'm here because I don't want this to be awkward forever."
Mason crossed his arms. "Might be too late for that."
"Maybe. But I'm trying."
Mason studied him. "Why now?"
"Because I ran out of excuses."
There was a long pause. Then Mason gestured toward the back. "Come on. I'm waxing a board. You can help."
Eli followed him into the back room, where the scent of resin and salt hung thick in the air. A longboard rested on a workbench, and Mason handed him a cloth.
They worked in quiet rhythm for a few minutes before Mason spoke again.
"Remember the night we climbed the lighthouse?"
Eli smiled faintly. "You dared me."
"You dared me back."
"And we both got caught."
They both laughed. The memory felt softer now, less like a wound.
"I think that was the night I realized I liked you," Mason said quietly.
Eli's hand paused. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. But then you left."
"I know," Eli said. "I'm sorry."
Mason looked at him. "Do you still like me?"
Eli's chest tightened. "I never stopped."
Mason didn't respond right away. Then he reached out and took the cloth from Eli's hand.
"Let's start with a drink," he said. "There's a bonfire tonight. Locals only. Come with me."
"Are you sure?"
Mason smiled, a slow curve of his mouth that made Eli's stomach twist.
"I'm sure."
---
That night, Eli stood on the beach, firelight dancing on the sand, music playing from someone's portable speaker. The sky above was a blanket of stars, and the ocean whispered secrets in the dark.
Mason stood beside him, close enough for their arms to brush. Talia waved from across the fire, holding a beer and talking to a group of friends.
Eli felt something he hadn't in a long time—peace.
Not resolution. Not certainty.
But the beginning of something true.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.