The next morning, Elias found himself standing at the boatyard, staring at Lyra's father's boat. It was an old fishing vessel, the kind built for endurance rather than beauty. Its once-bright paint was peeling, revealing layers of weathered wood beneath.
Lyra arrived not long after, carrying a notebook and a thermos of coffee. She looked determined, her braid tucked neatly over her shoulder and her green eyes bright with purpose.
"So," she said, stepping beside him, "where do we start?"
Elias smirked faintly, pulling on his work gloves. "Start with what's broken."
"That's vague," Lyra replied, her tone teasing but light.
Elias walked along the side of the boat, gesturing to the hull. "The wood here needs to be replaced—rot's already set in. The rudder's stiff, probably rust in the mechanism. And the engine… well, we'll need to check if it's salvageable."
Lyra scribbled furiously in her notebook as he spoke. "You make it sound like it's one step away from sinking."
"It's not that bad," Elias said, his voice softening. "The structure's solid. It just needs care."
Lyra smiled at that, a genuine expression that lit up her face. "Good. I want to do it right."
Elias nodded, picking up a toolbox from the bench. "We'll start with the hull. I'll show you how to strip the damaged wood."
They worked side by side for hours, the sun climbing high in the sky as they stripped the hull and assessed the damage. Lyra was quick to learn, her movements growing more confident as Elias showed her how to handle the tools.
She wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty, something Elias respected. He watched as she wiped sweat from her brow, her cheeks flushed from the effort, and couldn't help but feel a twinge of admiration.
"You've done this before," she said during a break, her voice casual.
Elias glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"
"The way you work," Lyra replied, taking a sip from her thermos. "You're deliberate. Like you've done this a hundred times."
Elias shrugged. "I've spent enough time here."
Lyra tilted her head, studying him. "What brought you to Clearwater?"
The question hung in the air, heavier than it should have been. Elias hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ground.
"I needed a change," he said finally, his voice quiet.
Lyra didn't press, but the curiosity in her eyes remained. "Fair enough," she said, her tone light. "Sometimes a change is all we need."
As the afternoon wore on, they fell into a rhythm. Elias found himself surprised by how easy it was to talk to Lyra. She had a way of filling the silence without making it feel overwhelming, her stories flowing effortlessly.
She told him about her travels—cities she'd visited, people she'd met, and the moments that had shaped her. She spoke of her father, her voice softening as she described the man who had taught her to love the sea.
Elias listened, his hands busy with the tools but his mind focused on her words. He rarely opened up to others, but with Lyra, it felt natural to let her in, even if only a little.
"Do you miss it?" he asked at one point, his voice cutting through the hum of their work.
"Miss what?"
"The places you've been. The life you had out there."
Lyra paused, considering his question. "Sometimes," she admitted. "But it's not the same as it was. I thought I'd find freedom out there, but…" She trailed off, her gaze distant. "I guess freedom isn't about where you are. It's about what you make of it."
Elias nodded, her words resonating with him in a way he didn't expect.
By the time the sun began to set, they had made noticeable progress on the hull. Lyra stood back, wiping her hands on her jeans and surveying their work with a satisfied smile.
"Not bad for a day's work," she said.
Elias nodded, his own exhaustion tempered by a sense of accomplishment. "We'll get there."
Lyra turned to him, her expression thoughtful. "Thanks, Elias. For helping me with this."
"You don't have to thank me," he replied. "It's your boat. I'm just here to guide you."
Her smile widened. "Still, it means a lot."
They stood there for a moment, the quiet of the evening settling around them. The air was cool, the scent of salt and wood lingering. For the first time in a long while, Elias felt like he wasn't just passing time—he was building something, piece by piece.