Eli had kissed Mason before—once, in the summer twilight, both of them trembling with the weight of something they weren't ready to name.
But that kiss had been seventeen, breathless, stolen.
This one was slow. Intentional.
A decision.
Mason's lips were warm, steady. His hand rested at the back of Eli's neck, fingers brushing the edge of his jaw like he wasn't entirely sure Eli would stay.
Eli did.
Stayed until the kiss ended, and even then, he didn't pull away.
Mason's forehead rested against his.
"You always do that," Mason murmured.
"Do what?"
"Disappear right after you give me something I want."
Eli closed his eyes. "I'm not disappearing."
"Yet."
They stayed like that for another breath, two. The porch was quiet except for the sound of the ocean murmuring in the distance and a distant seagull screeching into the sky like it had something to prove.
"I kissed you because I meant it," Eli said finally. "Not because I wanted to leave you with something."
Mason looked at him then, eyes searching. "Then what do you want?"
"I don't know," Eli admitted. "But I want to stay long enough to find out."
In the morning, Salt Bay was fog-wrapped and soft around the edges, like the whole town was trying to decide if it wanted to wake up or go back to dreaming.
Jasper sat at the kitchen table, hunched over a mug of coffee, scrolling through something on his phone. He looked better in the morning light—less like a threat, more like a question mark Eli hadn't figured out how to answer.
"Morning," Eli said cautiously.
Jasper grunted.
They drank coffee in a silence that wasn't quite friendly, but not hostile either.
"I meant what I said last night," Eli offered. "I don't want to fight you over this."
Jasper looked up. "So what does that mean?"
"It means I'm still figuring out how to share a house with a stranger who shares my blood."
Jasper smirked. "Well. That makes two of us."
Before either could say more, a knock at the door interrupted them.
Eli opened it to find Talia standing there with a bakery bag and a narrowed gaze.
"I brought muffins," she said, brushing past him. "Because someone's going to need emotional carbohydrates for what I'm about to ask."
Eli followed her into the kitchen. "Which is?"
"I want to run a feature story on the estate dispute," she said, pulling out her laptop. "Local mystery, family secrets, small town scandal—this is good journalism."
Eli blinked. "You want to write about me?"
"Well, you and your newly-discovered musician brother, yeah."
Jasper raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure how I feel about that."
"Feel flattered," she said sweetly. "It's a rare day when Salt Bay has news that isn't about a stray goat or a bake sale gone rogue."
Eli sighed. "Can we think about it?"
"Sure. I'll take your tortured stares as a maybe."
She grinned and popped a muffin in her mouth like she hadn't just proposed airing his deepest family trauma to the entire town.
Later that day, Mason texted.
> Surf's up. Get your ass down here. Or are you too artsy for a wetsuit?
Eli stared at the message and then at himself in the mirror. He hadn't surfed since he was a teenager, and even then, Mason had done most of the paddling while Eli flopped around like a dying fish.
Still, his pulse quickened.
He found himself at the surf shop an hour later, staring at the row of boards like they might come to life and tell him what the hell he was doing.
Mason appeared, already barefoot, sun-kissed, board under one arm.
"You're late," he said.
"I had to mentally prepare myself for drowning."
Mason laughed. "You won't drown. I'll keep you afloat."
Eli rolled his eyes, but the words sat in his chest longer than he expected.
They paddled out under a silver sky. The ocean was cold enough to shock his breath away at first, but soon it was just them and the waves—no house, no brother, no weight.
Just salt and sky and the electric tension between two people who had never fully unraveled their knot.
When Eli missed his third wave in a row and crashed face-first into the surf, he came up sputtering and laughing.
Mason floated nearby, shaking his head. "You're graceful. Like a sack of wet laundry."
"I'm out of practice."
"You were never in practice."
Eli grinned, wading closer. "You dragged me out here just to watch me flail, didn't you?"
"Partly. Also because you're hot in neoprene."
Eli splashed him.
Mason retaliated by dunking him.
And when they surfaced, closer now, grinning like idiots, the air between them buzzed again.
"I don't know what this is," Eli said, heart pounding.
Mason looked at him, serious now. "It's whatever we want it to be. But I'm done pretending I don't want something real."
Eli swallowed. "Me too."
By the time they made it back to the beach, the sun had finally burned through the clouds. Eli's skin tingled with salt and sun, his body loose with exhaustion—but something inside him felt sharper, clearer.
Mason dropped his board in the sand and flopped beside it. "Okay, maybe you didn't totally suck."
"High praise," Eli muttered, collapsing next to him.
They lay side by side, the sound of the ocean in their ears, the heat of each other just enough to feel and not touch.
"You remember that summer?" Mason asked, voice quieter now. "The one before you left?"
"Which part?" Eli replied, knowing exactly what he meant.
Mason turned his head, propped himself on one elbow. "When we used to come out here and talk about leaving Salt Bay. You always said you were gonna disappear into cities so loud you'd forget who you were."
"I did," Eli said. "For a while."
"Did it help?"
"No," Eli admitted. "It just made me better at running."
Mason nodded. "And now?"
"I don't want to run anymore."
Their eyes met. There was heat in Mason's gaze, but also something else—patience. Restraint. Like he'd waited too long to screw this up by pushing too hard.
Eli leaned in, brushing Mason's hand with his own.
"I want this," he said, low and honest. "You. But I'm still figuring out how to be with someone when I barely know how to be with myself."
"You don't have to figure it out alone."
And this time, Mason kissed him—slow and grounding. No past, no future. Just this moment, and the two of them finding something real in it.
When Eli returned to the house that evening, the kitchen light was on, and Jasper was at the table again—this time with a guitar in his lap.
He stopped playing when Eli walked in. "Hey."
"Hey," Eli said, kicking off his shoes. "You play well."
Jasper shrugged. "Been doing it a while. Helps clear my head."
Eli sat down across from him. "I talked to Talia. About the article."
Jasper raised a brow.
"I said she could write it. But only if we both agree to it. No spin. Just… the truth."
Jasper considered him, then nodded. "Fine. But I want to tell my side too."
"Of course."
There was a long pause.
Then Jasper set the guitar aside. "You really love this place, huh?"
Eli followed his gaze around the room—the worn wooden beams, the smell of salt and dust in the walls, the ghost of their father in every corner.
"I didn't," he said. "Not always. But it's where I learned who I am."
Jasper leaned back, eyes distant. "I never had a place like that."
"You could," Eli offered. "If you want."
Jasper looked at him—really looked—and something in his expression softened.
"Maybe I do."
The next day, Talia came by with a recorder and a legal pad.
Eli and Jasper took turns telling their stories: Eli about his childhood, the silence of their father, the way he'd left and come back; Jasper about the letters, the money, the years spent wondering why he wasn't enough to be acknowledged.
By the end, all three sat in a quiet that wasn't heavy—just full.
"I think people are going to care about this," Talia said, gently closing her notebook. "Not because it's messy. But because it's honest."
Eli looked at Jasper. "You still okay with it?"
Jasper nodded. "Yeah. Feels… strange. But good."
Talia gave them both a tight smile. "Welcome to the Salt Bay rumor mill."
That evening, Eli met Mason at the docks.
The air was cooler, wind curling through the boats like whispered secrets. Mason leaned against a piling, the sunset behind him turning his skin gold.
"You good?" Mason asked as Eli approached.
"I think so," Eli said. "Things with Jasper are… better. Weird, but better."
"And us?"
Eli stopped in front of him. "I want us."
Mason raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like a disclaimer waiting to happen."
"No disclaimer," Eli said. "Just honesty. I've spent years pretending I could live halfway in. I don't want that anymore."
Mason looked at him, long and unreadable. Then he stepped forward and pressed his lips to Eli's.
The kiss was firmer now, not tentative.
A beginning.
When they pulled apart, Mason's voice was low. "Good. Because I wasn't going to let you run again."
Eli smiled. "Then don't let me."
Later, in the dark, lying beside Mason with the windows open and the waves rolling just beyond, Eli realized something: love wasn't always soft. It was sharp, sometimes. And messy.
But it made him feel here—rooted, seen.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to start again.