This is Shoreline Secrets, a quiet gay love story set on the
cliffs of Cornwall, told in tides, in silence, in all the
things we carry and the ones we Finally Let go.
Over the summer, Jamie came to the coast to get away, but what
he found was something older than the clips.
A boy named Sam with salt on his skin.
A great uncle whose silence held stories and a house that kept
secrets. In the attic, in the waves, in
the space between words. Together they uncovered a love
that had been written down, A letter that was sent and somehow
found its way back. A mark carved into wood.
A kiss that wasn't supposed to happen, but did.
But summer doesn't stay. The tide always turns.
And before Jamie goes, there are still things to face.
A grave on the hill, a love that was lost, a breakfast before
goodbye, and the letter left open, unfinished, waiting for
the right words. This is Chapter 7, the beginning
of something more. The road narrowed the farther
they drove. Trees gave ways to fields, then
to salt bleached fences. When they stepped out of the
car, the sky stretched wide, Gray but not heavy.
Clouds moved without urgency, the kind of sky that knew how to
wait. No one spoke at first.
The cemetery wasn't marked by a grand gate or a name carved into
stone. It was just there.
Jamie had never been here before, but somehow it felt
familiar, like the air remembered something.
They walked in a slow line. Sam was the first to move,
leading without thinking. He'd been here before, he knew
the steps, the turns. He hesitated once, hand in his
pocket, about to gesture forward, about to say this way.
But Edward didn't wait. He didn't follow.
He turned on his own, quiet and steady, his feet finding the
slope without looking. Sam fell back besides Jamie.
They exchanged no words, only a glance, and together they let
him go ahead. Edward didn't stop.
He didn't pause at the rows of names or trace his fingers over
unfamiliar stones. His pass curved gently to the
right, and the grass parted beneath his steps like the land
had always known he'd return. When Edward finally stopped, he
stood in front of a small slate marker.
No cross, no decoration. Just a name, two dates, and a
quiet wait of time. He didn't kneel, didn't touch
the stone. He stood still, as though he
already spoken every word in his heart 1000 times before.
And maybe he had. The silence was not
uncomfortable, it pressed around them gently, not demanding to be
filled, only witnessed. Jamie and Sam stopped a few
paces behind, knowing this moment was not theirs to hold.
They lingered at a respectful distance.
Edward's voice came only when it was ready.
They said it was the water. He didn't sound bitter, didn't
sound angry, just tired, just honest.
A calm morning. He went out early, like always,
alone. They found his board, but not
him. I didn't see him again.
The words didn't echo, they simply landed soft.
Jamie looked down, but not away. Sam's hand brushed against his.
Not to hold, just to say I'm here.
We argued, Edward said. About something.
I can't even remember what, but I told him to leave, told him to
go. I slammed the door.
I didn't mean it, but that's the last thing I gave him.
His posture didn't change, no longer pulled back by pride but
bowed by memory. He died thinking I didn't want
him, Edward said. That's what I carry.
Not that he's gone, but that I let him go thinking he wasn't
loved. Jamie blinked against a sudden
weight behind his eyes. Sam turned slightly toward him,
eyes glassy but calm and still. They said nothing, they just
stayed. I just hope he forgave me.
Edward said softly. The wind paused.
Or maybe it only felt that way. Then Jamie and Sam step back,
not retreating, just allowing space.
Edward didn't move, he remained there, alone.
Was the stone? Jamie didn't know, but he was
starting to understand what it meant to keep someone's name
safe, even after time had tried to wear it down.
They stayed until Edward turned back to them, his eyes clearer
than before, and the wind, still moving, carried something else
now. Not an ending, a release.
They hadn't said it was the last, but everything in the air
knew it was. Jamie ran his fingers along the
edge of his board, gay skimming the waterline like he was
searching for something he couldn't name.
SEM nudged his shoulder. You ready?
Jamie nodded, and they went. The ocean was cooler than it had
been the last few days. Their arms carved familiar
passes through the swell, muscles moving from memory.
It wasn't about impressing, not today, just being here,
together. Then came the wave, not
monstrous, but bigger than most. Strong, sure of itself.
Jamie saw Sam glance toward him, one brow raised.
They both turned, paddled, caught the rise, and for a
moment they were in it, rising. Jamie felt the lift like it had
been built just for them. He locked in, crouched, low,
legs steady. Sam was just ahead, and then he
wasn't. A splash, a flail.
Jamie didn't falter. He rode it all the way in.
He turned, breathless and grinning.
I beat you. For the first time, I actually
beat you. Sam stood waist deep, hair
plastered to his face, salt streaking his grin.
Only because I let you. Jamie flopped onto the sand,
arms spread wide, bored beside him.
Sam followed up a second later and collapsed next to him,
dripping and bright eyed. They stayed like that, letting
the sun do its drying, listening to nothing but breath and the
waves. Not bad for a last surf.
Jamie murmured. Sam didn't argue, just notch
Jamie's arm was his. Jamie closed his eyes for a
moment, letting the sunlight bake into his cheeks.
His chest still rose and fell from the thrill, but his smile
hadn't left. Beside him, Sam huffled
dramatically. I think the universe glitched.
Jamie cracked one eye open. You riding the wave?
Me wiping out? Sam lifted a handful of damp
sand and let it trickle between his fingers.
There's no way that was meant to happen.
Jamie turned his head, amused. You're really not going to let
me have this, are you? Sam shifted onto 1 elbow, his
grin lopsided. No, the breeze played with Sam's
hair, drying it into soft, wild curls.
Jamie watched him for a second longer than he meant to, then
quickly looked away. Sam flopped onto his back again,
sighing. All right, maybe you did earn
it. Jamie smirked.
Then Sam shouted upright. One more.
Jamie blinked. What?
One more wave? Redemption arc.
He was already standing, brushing sand off his wetsuit.
You coming? Jamie laughed, still sprawled on
the beach. Nah, I like ending on a win.
Sam pointed dramatically coward and jogged toward the water.
Watch and learn, Learned and boy.
Jamie propped himself up on his elbow, watching a Sam dove back
into sea, all muscle in motion, and that never backed down fire
in him. The sky was open, the water
alive, and Jamie sat there thinking, God, I'm going to miss
this. They walked barefoot through the
dunes, boards tucked under their arm, sea salt drying on their
skin like memories already fading.
A low growl broke the silence. Jamie looked over.
Was that you? Sam was already laughing.
Jamie's stomach answered with a second rumble, louder this time.
They laughed together, easy and unfiltered, until the cottage
came into view. They pushed open the garden gate
and the door welcomed them with the smell of pancakes.
The kitchen was already warm with the smell of brown butter
and Maple syrup, a small stack of pancakes set in the center of
the table, steam still rising from the top.
Next to it, a bowl of sliced fruit, a little too neatly
arranged to be accidental. Sam reached for the syrup,
pausing as he glanced at the pancakes.
Did you make this for me? He asked, smiling at Edward.
Edward shrugged, setting down a second cup of tea.
Could it be for you? Could be for anyone who was
still here this morning. Jamie smirked into his mug.
No one seemed in a rush. The car wouldn't come until
closer to 10 and the hour still belonged to them.
Edward finally leaned back in his chair, watching the two boys
over his cup. If you ever find your way back
here. He said to Sam, tone easy.
I'll tell you more about Arthur. Sam looked up, surprised not
just by the offer, but by the way it was given.
Jamie glanced between them, letting the quiet stretch.
Then, as Edward stood to collect the mugs, Sam glanced at Jamie.
It was barely a glance, but it lingered.
Jamie caught it, that small crease between Sam's brows, like
something on set had been sitting there since they stepped
through the front door. Jamie pushed his chair back.
Come on. Sam stood wordless and followed,
the soft thought of their footstep fading as they
disappeared down the corridor. Edward didn't stop them.
The bedroom door clicked softly behind them.
The suitcase stood in the corner, a few folded clothes is
still waited on the chair. Jamie sat down first.
Sam stayed standing. 4 beat. Neither spoke, then Sam reached
into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of
paper. Edge is slightly worn, like it
had been handled more than once. He held it out without a word.
Jamie looked at it, then at Sam. What's this?
A letter? Sam said, voice low.
But don't read it now. Jamie blinked.
Why? Sam gave a small breath of
laugh. Because if you read it now, I
might not get out of here alive. Jamie took it gently, fingers
brushing Sam's. He didn't open it, instead he
said it carefully inside his journal and looked back down.
You really wrote me a letter? He asked, half teasing, half
stunned. Sam shrugged.
I guess I wanted to say something the way Edward did,
just in case. Jamie stood, moved closer.
They didn't rush. No declarations, no promises,
just a soft tension between two people who didn't need to say
everything all at once. Then a kiss.
Jamie's hand curled lightly into Sam's shirt.
Sam didn't pull away. And somewhere beyond the open
window, a car turned into the lane.
Sam pulled back first. That's her, isn't it?
Jamie nodded. Quiet.
Yeah. They didn't say anything else,
just gathered the morning in their lungs and walked out
together. A few days later, in London,
inside the talked away coffee shop, the air smelt of cinnamon
and early mornings. Jamie stirred his drink, eyes
half lidded. A yawn escaped before he could
stop it. Rosa raised an eyebrow.
You OK there, zombie boy? Didn't sleep.
Jamie mumbled. Rosa leaned in, elbows on the
table. Jet leg from Cornwall.
He gave her a look. It's still England mental.
Jet leg then? She teased, watching him
closely. Been texting the boy, haven't
you? Jamie didn't answer, but the
slight the curve of his lips betrayed him.
Rosa grinned. Thought so.
What's his name again? He finally said it out loud.
Sam, Hmm. She sipped her Chai.
Sam, who makes you smile in your sleep?
Jamie chuckled. Shut up, make me.
She said, grinning then with a teasing look.
So when are you going to introduce him to me?
Jamie gave a quiet laugh, rubbing at the corner of his
eye. He looked like someone running
on two hours of sleep and a memory he wasn't ready to let go
of. I already miss him.
He murmured, then caught himself.
That sounded dumb. Rosa waved it off.
It sounds honest. Jamie reached into his pocket,
not for show, but without thinking.
Inside, the edges of a folded letter was already softened from
being open too many times. He didn't hand it over, didn't
say much, but Rosa understood anyway.
The letter had moved him, that much was clear.
And whatever it said, it had been enough to keep him awake
until 3:00 AM, staring at the ceiling, reading it again in the
dark. You haven't written back yet,
have you? Rosa asked gently.
Jamie shook his head. Why not?
I don't know how to say everything.
Rosa leaned back, serious now. Just say something.
You won't get another Sam. Jamie lowered his eyes to his
coffee cup. For once, he didn't argue.
Outside, the city was beginning to wake.
Inside, he was already thinking about what to write.
Now. Back in his room, the silence
felt thicker. The walls were the same, but he
returned different. Everything felt a little out of
sync. Somewhere in a drawer, his train
ticket was folded next to the letter, the one that had
received three days ago. The one he read too fast, too
many times. Jamie sat upright with a pen in
hand, trying to begin. He crossed out so many
beginnings that the paper had creased under the weight of
them. None of it felt enough.
He paused, chewing lightly on the cap of the pen, when the
screen of his phone lit up beside him.
A new message, just a few words, casual but unmistakably
familiar. Sam checking in, Reaching out.
He let the pen fall and picked up the phone.
They texted for a while. Nothing heavy.
It felt like holding on to something soft and warm, like
slipping back into a rhythm. Eventually, Sam's reply slowed.
The screen went dark. Jamie placed the phone on his
chest and leaned back against the pillows.
The room was dim now, just a low glow of the bedside lamp pulling
around him. The letter still waited beside
him, blank in all the ways that mattered.
He meant to pick up the pen again.
He meant to try just one more line.
But his eyes closed 1st, and somewhere in the quiet between
their last message in the morning, he drifted off, the
letter still unfinished on the sheets.
The morning was already halfway over when Jamie stirred.
Light poured through the thin curtains of his London bedroom.
A soft knock came, followed by the creak of his door.
His mom peeked in. Did you forget what today is?
Jamie blinked, the word still foggy in his head.
She stepped inside, mug in hand. The results.
Shall we check? It took him a second to catch
up, to remember the application, the long nights, the essays, the
doubt. He reached for his laptop with a
sleepy groan and sat up, wiping at his eyes.
She stood beside him as the page loaded a heartbeat, then
accepted. His mom's hand flew over her
mouth with a joyful gasp, and Jamie let out a laugh, startled,
breathless, Real. She kissed his forehead,
congratulated him in a voice that cracked and left him alone
to take it in. Jamie sank back against the
pillows, eyes still on the screen.
A slow smile found its way to his face.
Not just for the acceptance before, the way it made things
possible again beside him. The letter still sat unfinished,
it's corners curled, it's ink smudged.
He looked at it for a long moment, then, instead of
reaching for the pen, he reached for his phone.
His fingers hovered briefly over the screen, then tapped.
Calling Sam. It rang once, then again, and
then he heard Sam's voice. This was Shoreline Secrets.
It wasn't an ending, it was the start of something quietly new.
Jamie and Sam stories didn't close at the shore, it just
turned its first page. What began with an attic and an
old letter became something more.
A promise carried forward, a love returned.
A future not yet written, but finally within reach.
Thank you for being part of this slow, soft unfolding, for
listening through the silences, the waves, the truths that took
their time. If this story stayed with you,
let us know in the comments. Like, follow, and subscribe to
Gay Audio Books. The full Shoreline secret is
coming soon, ready for relistening or gifting to
someone who needs a story like this.
And there's more on the way. New voices are waiting to be
heard. Until then, keep your heart
open, keep your words honest, and never underestimate the
stories that find you.