Aurora awoke to the rhythmic sound of the ocean waves crashing against the cliffs. The faint cries of seagulls echoed through the morning air, blending seamlessly with the soft creaks of the mansion settling into its day. She stretched beneath the heavy quilt she'd dragged from the attic the night before, reluctant to leave the warmth of her bed. The journals and letters she had read late into the night still lingered in her mind, vivid and consuming.
James. His words, his devotion to Evelyn—it all felt so real, as if the house itself was breathing life back into their story.
But there was no time for dwelling. Elliot was set to arrive in a couple of hours, and she wasn't eager to let him see her frazzled. She dressed quickly, choosing a comfortable sweater and jeans before heading downstairs. The mansion's kitchen was another testament to its age, with its cracked tiles and ancient appliances. Aurora made a mental note to discuss its renovation with Elliot—though the thought of another debate with him made her grimace.
By the time Elliot's truck rumbled into the driveway, Aurora was standing on the front porch with a cup of coffee in hand. He stepped out, carrying his ever-present clipboard and a tool belt slung over his shoulder.
"Morning," he called, his tone neutral but polite.
"Morning," Aurora replied, her voice clipped. She couldn't decide whether his professionalism annoyed her or if she found it oddly reassuring.
Elliot approached, glancing at her coffee. "Hope you've had enough caffeine. We've got a lot of work ahead of us."
Aurora rolled her eyes. "Don't I know it. What's first?"
"The attic," Elliot said, gesturing toward the house. "We need to clear it out so we can inspect the beams. If there's rot, it'll compromise the whole structure."
Aurora hesitated. The attic held Evelyn's treasures—things she wasn't ready to part with. "I already started clearing it," she said.
"Great," Elliot replied, brushing past her into the house.
Aurora followed him up to the attic, her stomach tightening with every step. When they reached the top, Elliot set his clipboard down and began surveying the space with a practiced eye.
"Looks like some water damage in the corner," he said, pointing to a dark stain on the ceiling. "We'll need to reinforce that section."
Aurora nodded, but her attention was on the trunk she'd left open the night before. The letters were still inside, tucked away but not forgotten.
"What's in there?" Elliot asked, noticing her lingering gaze.
"Personal items," Aurora said quickly. "Nothing to worry about."
Elliot's brow furrowed, but he didn't press her. Instead, he knelt near the stained section of the ceiling, tapping the wood with a hammer. "This will need replacing," he said, half to himself.
Aurora stood awkwardly, unsure what to do with herself. She watched as Elliot worked, his movements efficient and precise. There was something calming about his focus, as if nothing could shake him.
"Why are you doing this?" she blurted out.
Elliot paused, glancing up at her. "Doing what?"
"Restoring old houses," Aurora said. "It's not exactly the most glamorous line of work."
He smirked faintly, leaning back on his heels. "Not everything's about glamour. I like bringing things back to life, giving them a second chance. There's a story in every building, and I get to help preserve it."
Aurora bit her lip, taken aback by the sincerity in his voice. "That's… unexpected," she admitted.
Elliot shrugged, standing up. "What about you? Why come back to Windhaven after all this time?"
"I inherited the house," Aurora said, avoiding his gaze. "It felt like the right thing to do."
"Sure," Elliot said, his tone skeptical.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Aurora snapped.
"Just seems like there's more to it than that," he said, meeting her eyes. "But it's not my business."
Aurora clenched her jaw, unwilling to let him dig any deeper. "You're right. It's not."
They worked in silence after that, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. But as the hours passed, Aurora found herself softening, if only slightly. Elliot's presence was steady, almost comforting, even if he did have a knack for getting under her skin.
---
By late afternoon, the attic was cleared, and Elliot had finished his inspection. Aurora sat on the porch steps, sipping another cup of coffee as Elliot loaded his tools into his truck.
"Looks like we've got a solid plan," he said, turning to her. "I'll bring a crew tomorrow to start on the repairs."
Aurora nodded, her mind still preoccupied with the letters she'd read. "Thanks," she said, her voice quieter than usual.
Elliot hesitated, as if he wanted to say something more, but then he nodded and climbed into his truck. As the vehicle disappeared down the winding road, Aurora exhaled deeply, the weight of the day settling over her.
She returned to the attic that evening, drawn back to the trunk and the letters it held. As she unfolded another one, the words leapt off the page, vivid and alive.
"My dearest Evelyn,
I've thought long and hard about us. The world may not understand, but I don't care. You are my compass, my north star. With you, I feel as though I could weather any storm. Tell me you'll wait for me, and I promise, one day, we'll make a life together. No matter what it takes."
Aurora's fingers trembled. The love between Evelyn and James was undeniable, but it was also tinged with heartbreak. She couldn't help but wonder what had happened to them—why their story had ended the way it had.
The sound of the wind rattling the attic window brought her back to the present. Aurora stood, tucking the letters back into the trunk. Tomorrow would bring more questions, more challenges. But for tonight, she allowed herself to sit with the weight of the past, the echoes of a love story that refused to be forgotten.