Salt in our veins, Chapter 2. Not the same.
Sea mornings come early in Eden. The boats leave before.
The sun clears the hills, the wind moves like it remembers
everything, and when someone. Returns especially.
After 10 years, the town notices, even if it doesn't say
so out loud. Noah's mother made a Full
breakfast the morning after he returned, not just toast and
eggs. The whole spread.
Bacon. Crisp, just right.
Grilled tomatoes, glistening, even hash Browns, which she
never bothered with unless it was someone birthday or holiday.
The kettle whistled. Twice she pulled out the.
Good plates poured. Juice into the.
Glasses they use for guests. She never said she missed him.
She didn't need to. They ate.
Together with a kind of practice politeness.
Afterward, Noah offered to wash. The dishes.
But his mother waved him off. Noah nodded, stepped out the
front door and into the wind. The town of Eden didn't sleep in
by the time he reached the main Rd.
The boats were. Already gone, pushed out into
the Bay was the kind of purpose only people born to the sea
understood. Somewhere out near the headland,
a gal cried once and disappeared into the wind.
The cruise ship. Hadn't arrived yet, but the town
knew it would. You could feel the shift, the
face. Eden put on for the day, a
little more upright, a little more polished.
Still the same, but trying. Just a bit.
Noah walked past the bakery, the scent of sugar and heat
clinching to the open. Door 2 old.
Women stood near the window display, half watching him.
That Noah, one said, not quietly.
He's taller, the other replied. Didn't he go to Sydney?
No it. Was Adelaide.
Same thing. Noah didn't turn, just kept
walking, hands in his pocket, but something curled in his
chest. Not quite embarrassment, not
quite regret. Something quieter, like being
remembered and mistaken at the same time.
Down by the Wharf. A group of kids clustered.
Around an older man holding a knot of rope, he was showing
them how to tie something. One of the.
Boys shaded. His eyes looking farther down
the dock and called out towards someone out of view.
Kai, you coming? No, I stopped not because of the
name. But because of the.
Way it still ended deep, uninvited, unchanged.
He didn't turn around, didn't need to.
The breeze shifted. And somewhere behind him,
footsteps moved along the dock, slow, measured, certain.
Noah didn't move right away. He let the voice.
Behind him blur into the breeze, and only when the footsteps
slowed beside him did he finally glance over.
Kai stood there. 10 years later and still somehow unmistakable,
but older, not just in the way. His shoulders had filled out.
Or the stronger line of his jaw. Or the quiet steadiness in the
way he stood. It was something else, something
in the eyes, in the set of his mouth.
The boy, Noah remembered, had always carried silence.
Like a shield. This man carried it like it was
simply part of him. His.
Curls were shorter now. His skin was.
Darker like the. Sea had claimed him even more
deeply. His hands look the same.
Though Kai looked at him. And nodded.
It wasn't a smile, but it wasn't cold either.
Just honest. Noah swallowed.
He planned to say something else, but what came out instead?
Was the truth. Sorry I didn't text.
Back. Kai didn't answer, didn't need
to. His eyes did enough.
They stood in the morning light like that, saying nothing.
One of the kids from the group called out.
Kai, what's taking you? And just like that, the moment
crept open. Noah.
Stepped back his. Hand brushing the edge of.
The dock rail. I have to go, he said quietly.
He didn't wait for a reply, just turned and walked away.
The sea. Brushing at the piling beneath
him like he was trying to call him back.
In the summer, Kai taught sailing to local.
Kids. Not the polished city style
kind. Just the real.
Stuff how? To read the gust before they.
Turned how to move with the tide, not against it.
How to feel the wind through the ropes in your hand.
He liked teaching. There was a kind of piece in it.
When cruise ships docked, he helped unload their early supply
runs in the offseason when the tourist thinned out and the air
turned sharp. He worked.
With his family's fishing. Boat The.
Town knew him, trusted him, called him solid, and he liked
it that way. It kept people from asking
questions. But sometimes in the brief space
between supply drop off and the ship pulling out again.
There were looks. Quiet ones.
Sometimes a glance would catch. The kind that held a question
just long enough to be answered. And if Kai saw it?
If it felt right, he. Gave a small nod and point
casually toward the path behind the fishing cottage.
That. Place was always empty during
the day, no one there, no questions a few hours later.
A. Ship would be gone.
No names, no contact, just a fleeting answer to a need.
Not romance, not love, just loneliness.
Met quietly and let go. No one in Eden knew.
No one had to. There was no reason to come out
in a town where everything whispered and nothing stayed
private. He wasn't ashamed.
He was just careful. Most days the quiet was enough,
but today, after 10 years, Noah was back.
Kai didn't know what. He'd expected, maybe.
Anger, maybe indifference. What he got instead was one
line. Sorry I didn't text back.
And the look that said everything, he sometimes
wondered. What it would?
Be like to be one of them. Not with money the way it was.
Not after the 2019 Bush fires. The damage hadn't touched the
House directly. But it had.
Hit everything else, the fishing routes, the markets.
The flow of goods. They made it through.
Tourism had slowly come back. The town had painted over.
What it could? But for people like Kai, it had
left a dent. Kai was heading toward.
The Repair Shed toolbox. In hand, sweat drying on his
back of his neck, one of the. Oyster boats had.
A jammed winch and the crew couldn't afford.
To lose a daylight the air. Still smelled like salt and
steel. And that's when he saw him.
Noah walking up the gravel paths from the.
Lower Boardwalk. He looked out of place.
If he hadn't known, he would assume Noah was just another
tourist, the boy Kai remembered. Had walked like.
He carried the wind, this version.
His frame was sharper now, movements more deliberate.
He looked like someone who had lost something and never said it
out loud. Their eyes met.
Before either could. Pretend otherwise, Noah.
Slowed, Hey, he said. Kai didn't answer right away,
just stopped. Shifted his weight.
His breath left him quiet, not cold, just measured.
No one nodded, more grounded than before.
You still drink? Kai raised an eyebrow slightly.
If you're ever. Free, maybe we grab a beer
sometime, Noah added. Kai looked at him, really looked
at him, and for a second he thought about that summer, the
boy on the boat, the fire light, the almost, but.
All he said. Was, maybe, and they walked side
by side down the dock. Their steps didn't quite match,
but neither pulled away. Still fixing boats?
Noah asked eventually, nodding at Kai's toolbox.
Sometimes. Kai didn't return the question.
Noah didn't seem to mind. They were halfway to the shed
when one of the. Oyster boat crew.
Appeared at the bend, wiping his hand on a rack, half smiling.
You said 10 minutes. Kai looked up.
Gave a short nod. The Bull Light tonight at 8:00.
A pause. I'll wait for you.
Noah said, and with that he gave a faint, quiet smile.
Not expectation, not pressure. Just the line tossed out into
the tide and walked away. Kai stayed a second longer, the
sun brushing the back of his. Neck Toolbox.
Heavy in one hand, then he turned toward the.
Shed. Saying nothing, Kai stood
outside his house, tugging at his collar.
He hadn't meant to change. Clothes, but he.
Had twice. Nothing fancy, just jeans that
didn't have oil stains and a dark button up he hadn't worn
since his cousin's engagement dinner.
His mom had noticed. As he passed.
Through the kitchen, you're going out.
Like that? She asked, elbow raised.
Tea mug in hand. Kai shook.
Grabbing his coat, she. Smirked Alphora de.
Tia. He paused just enough for the
moment to hang and said yeah. Then he walked out before she
could ask anything else. Now outside the.
Bar he lit. A smoke.
He wasn't a regular smoker, not really, But tonight?
It. Felt like something to hold on
to. He didn't want to show up early,
and he sure as hell didn't want to be late, so he waited until
his watch. Hit 8 exactly.
Then he. Dropped a cigarette.
Grounded into the gravel. With his boot.
And stepped inside. Noah was already at the bull
line. He got in there.
Just before 8. Earlier than he meant.
To but. Too late to turn back, Noah.
Ordered a beer? Then let it sit.
He just waited the way he used. To wait for the wind to shift on
the water, not knowing if it would, just hoping it might.
The clock behind the bar. Tick to 8.
Noah saw him the second. He stepped through the door.
Kai didn't rush. He just stood there for a beat.
Everyone else in the bar looked like they belong there, but Kai
stood out. Not in a flashy way, just clean.
Selected, Noah said a little straighter.
He hadn't. Realized he'd been holding his
breath until Kai started walking toward him.
Kai slid into the seat across from him.
His shoulder relaxed, but. Not loose.
His hands resting easy on the table, Noah gave a small smile.
Good to see you, Kai. Kai didn't say anything.
But he stayed. They sat in.
Silence for a moment, the low hum of the bar curling around
them. Glasses.
Clinked at the far end of the counter, Noah leaned in
slightly, a small frown pulling at his brow.
You smoke. Now.
He asked. Can't you the?
Faint trace of it in Kai's breath.
Yeah. But.
Not. Much.
You. Noah gave a lopsided grin.
No, never got into it. I gave a small nod.
The silence stretched, but didn't.
Strain. It wasn't.
Everything but it. Was something they talked.
After that. About.
The weather. The beer, the.
Town. Nothing either of them really
wanted to ask. Nothing that mattered.
After a while, Noah shifted in his seat.
You. Want to get a smoke?
Kai raised an eyebrow. Didn't you say you don't?
Noah gave a half smile. Yeah, but you look like you need
one. Kai nodded.
Outside the air was. Cooler, quieter.
The sea breeze tugged at the overhang, carried bits of
laughter. From farther down the block.
Kai lit a. Cigarette.
Noah stood beside him in silence.
Neither said anything until the filter burned low, and just
before they turned back toward the door, Noah reached out,
quick, unthinking, and pulled Kai into a hug.
It was real. Arms tight, hands fisted into
fabric. A breast let out like.
He'd been holding it for 10 years.
I missed you, Noah said. Barely.
Above a whisper. Kai stood still.
He didn't say. It back.
But he didn't. Move away either.
Then a. Voice.
Well, look at that. The lovers reunited.
Noah. Froze.
Kai pulled back just slightly, enough to look toward the
street. A guy leaned.
Against the fence posts. He laughed.
Loud and harsh. Your mom told mine you were out
on a date mate. He looked between them.
So. What you 2 dating now?
The silence. Came fast, thick.
No one didn't move. Kai's jaw tightened just
slightly. But he said.
Nothing. The street light bust above
them. Inside the jukebox.
Switched songs. And the hug hung there,
unfinished. You've been.
Listening to Salt in Our Veins, Chapter 2.
Not the same sea. A quiet.
Town, a familiar dock, and two boys who aren't quite boys
anymore. One came home, one never left,
and somewhere between silence and small talk, something old
began to stir again. If you ever tried to pick.
Up a friendship where time left off this.
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Like this one? And if you've been here since
Chapter 1, thanks for staying until next time.
Keep your. Eyes on the tide.
Some stories come back when the waves do I remember.