Spring broke wide over Salt Bay.
The air was warmer now. Softer. The boats had returned to the water, and so had the tourists. Life, in all its ordinary beauty, moved on.
Mason watched it all from the deck of the café, a coffee cup growing cold between his hands.
It had been six weeks since the bus pulled away.
Six weeks since Eli kissed him goodbye with a promise that had no time stamp, only a soft "I'll know soon."
Six weeks of unanswered questions.
Eli hadn't taken the residency.
But he hadn't come back either.
Mason worked.
He rebuilt the gallery's front steps himself. Started a weekly artist's circle with Talia. Took long walks with Jasper, who said little but always showed up.
He tried to breathe without hoping.
But each time the mail arrived, each time a bus rolled into the depot, his chest still pulled tight.
Then one morning, he opened the door and found an envelope taped to the gallery door.
No address. No stamp. Just his name.
Inside: a painting.
A single skyline—Salt Bay, but seen from the water. Crashing waves. Sunlight breaking through.
On the back: one sentence in Eli's scrawl.
Wherever you are is where I choose to stay.
He found Eli at the bluff.
Of course he did.
That's where they always ended up—on the edge of everything, hearts open, futures uncertain.
Eli stood barefoot in the grass, the wind tangling his hair, his arms crossed against the cool breeze.
Mason walked up beside him.
Neither spoke right away.
Then:
"You didn't take it," Mason said.
"No," Eli replied softly. "I mailed them the painting instead."
Mason turned. "Why?"
Eli's voice cracked. "Because I realized the only future I wanted to chase was the one where you were standing next to me."
Mason's breath hitched.
"I thought I needed to go to find myself," Eli said. "But the truth is—I already did. I just didn't want to admit that love could be enough."
Mason took his hand. "Love isn't just enough, Eli. Love is everything. And you're everything I never thought I deserved."
Eli looked up, tears in his eyes.
"You do," he whispered. "You deserve it all."
They kissed under the rising sun.
There was no music. No crowd. Just wind and waves and the sound of two men finally standing still.
Later, they walked back to town—hand in hand.
At the café, Talia dropped a tray when she saw them, screaming loud enough to wake the harbor. Jasper simply raised a brow and nodded, like he'd known all along.
They made it official a week later—Mason asked, barefoot in the studio, paint in his hair, ring in his pocket. Eli said yes before he even saw the band.
They didn't move away.
Instead, they built something right where they stood.
A new gallery. A summer workshop series. A guest artist program named after the bluff where they first said "I love you."
They stayed.
Together.
Because sometimes the sky doesn't split you apart.
Sometimes, it opens just wide enough to let the light back in.