The salt air hit Laura the moment she stepped out of the car.

The beach house looked almost like a memory—a place half-forgotten, half-idealized. Whitewashed walls gleamed under the late afternoon sun. Wooden shutters rattled gently in the breeze. The waves crashed steadily in the distance, carrying with them a quiet promise of calm.

Cole was already on the porch, leaning against the railing, guitar propped beside him. His smile was tentative but real when he saw her. He waved. “You made it,” he said softly.

Laura’s stomach tightened. She hadn’t seen him properly in four years—only glimpses in letters, blurred video calls, snapshots of life that felt distant. And...