Chapter Five – Cracks in the Surface
904 Words
The soft clang of hammers echoed down the west wing hallway as Isla stepped inside the old resort again. Dust motes floated like lazy fireflies in the shafts of morning sunlight cutting through the broken windows.
Aiden was already at work, shirt clinging to his back, music playing faintly from an old speaker on the floor. The song was slow, bluesy. Unexpected.
Isla paused in the doorway, watching him smooth his palm across the newly sanded wood beam like he was memorizing its texture. There was something intimate about it—something she couldn’t look away from.
“You’re late,” he said without turning around.
She blinked. “You didn’t give me a call time.”
He glanced over his shoulder, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You seem like the kind who likes control. I assumed you’d be early.”
She walked in, clipboard in hand. “Only when it matters.”
He set down his sander and wiped his hands on a towel. “So? What do you think?” He gestured at the nearly finished wall section. “Still want to bulldoze it?”
She walked over slowly, running her fingers over the smooth surface. It was warm from his touch. Solid.
Beautiful.
“I think…” she paused, “you were right. There’s more to save here than I thought.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Wow. That sounded almost like an apology.”
She rolled her eyes, smiling. “Don’t push your luck.”
He chuckled, and for a moment, the tension between them softened. A comfortable quiet settled in—until a voice broke it from behind.
“Didn’t know you had company, Aiden.”
A woman stood at the door. Early thirties, sun-kissed, confident. Her eyes flicked to Isla with polite curiosity.
“Hey, June,” Aiden said, brushing sawdust off his arms. “This is Isla Reyes. She’s… managing the resort project.”
The woman smiled at Isla. “Ah. The outsider.”
Isla extended her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
June shook it firmly. “I help run the town’s heritage committee. Aiden and I go way back.”
Isla felt a strange tightness in her chest.
Go way back?
June turned to Aiden. “You still on for dinner Friday?”
He hesitated just a second too long. “Yeah. Of course.”
“Great.” June nodded once at Isla. “See you around.”
When she left, Isla looked at him carefully. “Dinner date?”
Aiden shrugged. “She’s a friend. It’s a standing thing. She helped me after my dad passed.”
Isla blinked. “Your dad?”
Aiden sat on a bench and picked up a hammer, his voice quieter now. “He was the caretaker here. Lived and breathed this place. When he got sick… I came back. Stayed to help.”
She sat across from him, heart softening. “You gave up a lot to be here.”
He looked up, eyes shadowed. “I don’t regret it. But yeah… this place has cost me.”
There it was—the crack in his armor.
Not just stubborn, or proud.
Wounded.
“Thank you for staying,” she said softly.
He met her gaze. And there was something there… something unspoken and heavy and close.
But then his eyes dropped to her lips—and the air thickened.
He stood abruptly, clearing his throat. “I’ve got to finish up the archway.”
The moment was gone.
But Isla felt it still—like an aftershock.
Something was shifting between them.
Something neither of them wanted to admit… yet.
---
Later that evening, Isla wandered the town square. Lights glowed from inside the local art gallery, laughter spilling out as music played. She hovered outside the window, unsure.
“Looking for something?” a familiar voice asked from behind.
She turned.
Aiden.
His hair was damp, shirt freshly changed, eyes softer than usual.
“I was curious,” she said. “Didn’t expect so much life in such a small town.”
“There’s plenty. You just have to stay long enough to see it.”
He nodded toward the gallery. “Come in. I’ll show you.”
She hesitated.
Then followed.
Inside, the walls were lined with paintings—mostly ocean scenes and woodwork carvings. But in the corner was a sculpture that caught her breath.
It was a woman.
Carved from driftwood, arms wrapped around herself, face half-turned away. Strong. Sad. Beautiful.
“Who made that?” she whispered.
Aiden didn’t answer.
She turned to him.
“You did.”
He nodded, eyes on the sculpture. “After my dad died. I needed to put it somewhere.”
Isla stepped closer to him.
“You put your heart into everything you build,” she said. “That’s rare.”
He looked down at her, jaw tight. “And what about you? Where’s your heart, Isla?”
The way he said her name…
It made her stomach flip.
She opened her mouth—but the words didn’t come.
Instead, she whispered, “I think I left it here without realizing.”
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then—someone called Aiden’s name across the room.
He turned. The moment dissolved again.
But this time, Isla knew.
It wouldn’t be long before the fire burned too hot to ignore.
- Writer
