Romantic story,The House by the Sea

The new plant was n’t perfect. That’s what made it perfect. It had cracked windows, a door that stuck in sticky rainfall, and a roof that creaked every time the wind pushed in from the ocean. But it smelled like swab and makeup and sun. And when the swells hit the jewels below, the whole place sounded to breathe. Arin stood in the doorway that first morning, mug of coffee in hand, gaping out at the horizon. The sky was barred with the same deep blue that had followed him across times and metropolises Lena’s blue. The color of her eyes, of every calm and storm that had shaped them. Behind him, she was discharging skirmishes and jars of color. The sound of glass clicking against wood felt like a twinkle — small, mortal, alive. “ Do you suppose it’ll hold through downtime? ” she asked without looking up. “ Not a chance, ” he said, smiling. “ But we’ll fix it. ” “ Together? ” “ Always. ”