Salt Bay had started to thaw.
Not just the weather—the people. After Mason's public reckoning, something shifted. The awkward smiles at the market turned genuine. Old men at the harbor gave him nods that weren't dipped in suspicion. Even the local paper ran a follow-up: Redemption, Not Reputation.
And through it all, Eli and Mason grew closer.
The quiet mornings became rituals—coffee, shared newsprint, feet tangled under the table. The evenings turned slower, more intimate. Laughter came easier. They were no longer watching their steps.
But something still hovered, unspoken.
It arrived one morning in the form of a manila envelope addressed to Eli. He found it tucked under the door of his studio, the logo of the Pacific Arts Institute stamped in blue on the top corner.
He hadn't applied. Not recently.
Inside: a letter. An offer.
A one-year artist residency in Vancouver. All expenses paid. A private studio. A solo gallery showing.
His chest went tight.
This was everything he'd once wanted.
Before Salt Bay. Before Mason.
He didn't tell anyone for a day.
Not Mason. Not Jasper. Not even Talia.
Instead, he sat at his desk, rereading the letter over and over, as if the ink might vanish if he blinked.
He should be ecstatic. Instead, he felt... split.
When Mason came over that evening, he brought wine and three bags of Thai takeout. Eli watched him move around the kitchen—barefoot, relaxed, humming off-key.
This was the life he'd built.
And now, a new door had cracked open. But to walk through it might mean leaving everything behind.
---
"You're doing the thing again," Mason said later as they curled on the couch.
Eli blinked. "What thing?"
"Disappearing inside your skull. You only do that when you're scared. Or horny. But you're not touching me, so…"
Eli laughed, but it was thin. "I got a letter."
Mason sat up slightly. "From who?"
"The Pacific Arts Institute. They offered me a residency. A big one. Year-long. Vancouver."
Mason's face didn't change.
Not right away.
Then he nodded. "Wow. That's... huge."
"Yeah."
A beat.
"Are you going?"
"I don't know."
Silence.
Mason picked at the label on the wine bottle. "You should."
"I didn't say I would."
"You're thinking about it."
Eli leaned back. "What if I don't want to leave?"
"Then don't," Mason said softly. "But don't stay for me."
Eli turned. "You think I'd resent you?"
"I think if you give this up, and things ever get hard between us, you'll wonder what could've been. I don't want to be that regret."
Eli sat with that.
"I'm not the same person I was before you," he said.
"And maybe this residency is part of who you're becoming next."
It was infuriating how calmly Mason said it. As if it didn't shake the ground under them both.
The next day, Eli told Jasper.
His reaction was less poetic.
"You're gonna ghost us for a year? Seriously?"
"It's not ghosting," Eli said. "It's an opportunity."
"It's exile," Jasper shot back. "Also, Vancouver? You hate rain."
"I'm considering it. That's all."
Jasper narrowed his eyes. "Let me guess—Mason told you to go."
"He didn't tell me—he said he'd support me if I wanted to."
"Right. Because the noble martyr routine is his thing."
Eli scowled. "It's not like that."
"Isn't it? He loves you. But he also thinks he doesn't deserve anything permanent."
The words hit harder than Eli expected.
Jasper softened. "I'm not trying to talk you out of it. But be real with yourself. Is this about growth—or fear of what it means to stay?"
Three days passed.
Salt Bay glimmered under a blush of spring. The farmers' market reopened. Talia hosted a town trivia night and roped everyone into embarrassing karaoke. Even Daniel Reese—the reporter—had backed off, a retraction buried in an online blog post.
Everything was settling.
And yet, Eli drifted.
Mason noticed. Of course he did.
"You're pulling away," he said one night as they sat outside watching the moon rise. "Even if you don't realize it."
"I don't want to."
"But you are."
Eli's throat tightened. "I'm scared."
"Of what?"
"Of getting this wrong. Of staying for the wrong reasons. Of going and losing you."
Mason turned to face him. "You won't lose me."
Eli blinked. "That easy?"
"No," Mason said. "But real love isn't about trapping someone. It's about making space—even if that means standing back while they chase something that scares them."
Eli swallowed. "Would you come with me?"
Mason hesitated.
"Could you?" Eli asked again.
"I could," Mason said. "But I don't think I'm ready to leave here yet. This place still needs rebuilding. And maybe I do, too."
Eli nodded.
Then looked up at the sky—wide and endless.
He wasn't ready to choose.
But he was closer than before
The chapter ends with Eli standing on the bluff above the water, the wind in his hair, Mason's jacket around his shoulders. Behind him was the life he built, fragile but full. Ahead, the unknown—possibility, art, freedom.
Whatever choice he made next, it wouldn't be easy.
But it would be his.