When Hearts Collide.

Marlowe Bay awoke with a golden yawn, the sun casting shimmering ripples across the water’s surface. Gulls wheeled overhead, their cries sharp and distant. Ava watched the sunlight make patterns on the ceiling's wooden beams as she slept in Liam's bed. She had stayed the night, though they had simply talked and fallen asleep in one another’s arms. There was a calm between them now—a soft steadiness, like the tide pulling gently at the shore.

When she rolled over, Liam was already awake, propped on one elbow, watching her.

“Morning,” he said, voice husky.

“Morning.” She smiled.

"Are you ok?" She nodded. “Better than okay.”

He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Good.”

They shared a quiet breakfast on the back deck, overlooking the sea. Toast, eggs, coffee. No fanfare. No masks. Just the kind of comfortable silence that comes when two people begin to trust each other.

Later, Ava returned to her cottage to shower and change before heading to the research center. She passed a piece of driftwood on the path—shaped like a broken heart—and picked it up without thinking, tucking it into her bag.

At the lab, Dr. Norah Hemsley was reviewing data.

“Ava,” she called. “You’re just in time. Look at these readings.”

Ava joined her, eyes scanning the screen. The data indicated a local anomaly in ocean acidity levels—unexpected, sharp, and troubling.

“This could explain the sudden changes in the tidepool ecosystems,” Norah said.

“Or signal something larger,” Ava added, already thinking about sample locations.

They spent the day coordinating a rapid field study. Ava led the shoreline team, diving into the work with energy and clarity. Science was her anchor—it always had been.

She heard Liam calling her name in the afternoon as she was collecting sediment cores near the cliffs. She turned, and he jogged toward her, wind in his hair, carrying something behind his back.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“A gift,” he said, revealing a small wooden box. “I made it this morning. Thought maybe it could hold something special.”

She opened it slowly—and there, nestled inside, was a polished piece of driftwood. Her breath caught. It matched the heart-shaped one she’d found.

“I saw you pick that up earlier,” he said. “Figured it meant something.”

“It does now.”

She placed both pieces side by side—they didn’t fit perfectly, but somehow, they complemented each other. Like jagged edges worn smooth by time.

“Looks like us,” he said softly. “Not perfect. But right.”

That evening, they walked along the beach, watching children chase kites and couples build sandcastles. They talked about small things: favorite books, songs from their childhood, what they’d do if they weren’t doing what they were.

"Would you like to return to the city?" Liam asked, skipping a stone.

She shook her head. “Not anymore. This place… it’s become part of me.”

They reached the edge of the bay, where old shipwreck remains jutted from the sand like bones. Ava stared out at the water.

She said, "I was afraid." “Of what?”

“Letting someone in again. Trusting someone. But then I realized something.”

He waited.

“The heart doesn’t break once. It drifts. It gets caught on things. But if it keeps moving, it finds its shape again.”

He took her hand. “And sometimes, it finds another heart drifting the same way.”

They stood in silence, two driftwood hearts, shaped by tides, softened by storms.

Back at her cottage that night, Ava placed the two driftwood pieces in the wooden box Liam had made. She set it on her windowsill, where the morning sun would catch it.

And as she closed her eyes, she realized: something was building here—slowly, deeply, honestly.

(End of Chapter 5)

Chapter 6: Beneath the Surface coming next...