Elias sat at the edge of the dock, his feet dangling over the water as the evening settled around him. The sunset painted the horizon in vivid shades of amber and crimson, the kind of beauty he had grown to appreciate in his quiet life. But tonight, he couldn't shake the lingering thoughts of Lyra.
It wasn't just her striking appearance that stayed with him, though he'd be lying if he said her green eyes hadn't left an impression. It was the way she carried herself—confident but not boastful, calm but with an undercurrent of something restless. She was a contradiction, and Elias had always been drawn to those.
The sound of approaching footsteps broke his reverie. He turned to see Isaac making his way down the dock, a fishing rod slung over his shoulder. The old man grinned when he saw Elias.
"Evening," Isaac said, lowering himself onto a crate nearby. "Thought I'd find you here."
Elias nodded but didn't reply, his gaze drifting back to the sea. Isaac, as always, wasn't deterred by his silence.
"You're thinking about her, aren't you?" Isaac said, his voice teasing.
Elias frowned. "Who?"
"Lyra," Isaac replied, chuckling. "You're not as hard to read as you think, kid. I saw the way you looked at her."
Elias sighed, running a hand through his hair. "She's just… different."
"Different's one way to put it," Isaac said, leaning back against the dock post. "She's got fire in her, that one. Always has. Her old man was the same—stubborn, driven. But Lyra? She's got a head full of dreams and the guts to chase them. That's not something you see every day."
Elias considered this, his mind replaying their brief interaction at the workshop. "What's she doing here?" he asked, more to himself than to Isaac.
"She grew up here," Isaac said, his tone softening. "Left years ago. Guess she thought the world out there had more to offer. But like I said, Clearwater has a way of pulling people back."
Elias nodded, filing the information away. He hadn't seen her around town before, but then again, he wasn't exactly the social type.
As the conversation lulled, Isaac cast his line into the water, humming an old tune under his breath. Elias stayed where he was, his thoughts drifting like the tide.
The next morning, Elias found himself back at the workshop, sanding the hull of a half-finished boat. The familiar rhythm of the work helped clear his mind, each stroke of the sandpaper grounding him.
He was so focused on the task that he didn't hear the footsteps behind him until a voice broke the quiet.
"Busy as ever, I see."
Elias turned to find Lyra standing in the doorway, her arms crossed and a faint smile playing on her lips. She wore a light jacket over a plain dress, her hair pulled back into a braid.
"I could say the same about you," Elias replied, setting the sandpaper down.
Lyra stepped into the workshop, her gaze sweeping over the various tools and projects scattered around. "I've always liked this place," she said. "It's… honest. Nothing here pretends to be more than it is."
Elias wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he stayed silent, watching as she moved closer to the boat he was working on.
"Do you ever build anything for yourself?" she asked, running a hand along the smooth wood.
Elias hesitated. "No. I don't need much."
Lyra looked at him, her expression unreadable. "Maybe you should."
There was a challenge in her tone, but it wasn't harsh. If anything, it felt like an invitation—a small crack in the armor she wore so well.
Elias didn't know what to say, so he went back to sanding. Lyra lingered for a moment longer before stepping back.
"Well," she said, her voice lighter now, "I'll let you get back to it. Just came by to check on my dad's old boat. Isaac said it's still in decent shape, but it'll need a lot of work."
Elias nodded. "It's a good boat. Worth saving."
Lyra smiled, and for the first time, it felt genuine. "That's the plan."
She turned to leave, but just before stepping outside, she paused and glanced back at him. "See you around, Elias."
He watched her go, the sound of her footsteps fading into the distance. For the first time in a long while, Elias felt something stir in him—something he couldn't quite name.