MY FIRST LOVE

### Chapter 1: The Road Back

Claire Mason gripped the steering wheel with both hands, knuckles white, as the winding road unfurled before her like a ribbon through the trees. It had been nearly ten years since she last drove this road, nearly ten years since she had last set foot in Seabreeze. And now, here she was, drawn back by an inheritance she didn’t want, to a place she had tried to forget.

The ocean was visible in glimpses through the thick trees, a dark, restless blue under the overcast sky. The radio hummed softly in the background, some old tune she didn’t recognize. Her mind was too occupied to notice much of anything besides the rising knot of anxiety in her chest.

Seabreeze hadn’t changed much since she left for college and never looked back. As she passed the familiar landmarks—the old gas station where she used to buy candy, the faded sign for the town diner, the rusting skeleton of the pier—she felt a strange tug of nostalgia mixed with dread. Every curve in the road, every familiar tree and rock, was a reminder of the life she’d left behind, of the people she’d left behind.

Of him.

She exhaled sharply, willing herself not to think about Ethan. But it was impossible, wasn’t it? The town, the road, even the sea air that wafted through her open window—they all carried memories of him. They were woven together, inseparable in her mind. Coming back to Seabreeze meant confronting the past, and that meant confronting Ethan.

The last time she had seen him, they’d been standing on the beach, just past midnight, the waves crashing loudly against the shore as if to drown out their words. She could still remember the look on his face when she told him she was leaving, the hurt that flashed in his eyes before he turned away, his jaw set in that stubborn line she knew so well.

She had left without saying goodbye. No note, no explanation, just a phone call from an airport miles away. It was easier that way, or so she had told herself. It was easier to leave him without giving him the chance to change her mind, easier to sever the ties cleanly, without the mess of a long, drawn-out farewell.

But she had never really let go, had she? Not completely. She had tried, God knows she had tried, but Ethan had a way of lingering in her thoughts, slipping into her dreams when she least expected it. Every man she had dated since paled in comparison to the memory of him. They were all too safe, too predictable, too unlike the boy who had stolen her heart when she was just sixteen.

Her phone buzzed on the seat beside her, jolting her from her reverie. She glanced down at the screen—another message from Jason, her fiancé. He had called earlier, asking if she was okay, reminding her to call him when she got to the house, offering to fly out and help her sort through her grandmother’s things. He was sweet, attentive, everything she should want in a partner. And yet, she hadn’t been able to answer his calls, hadn’t been able to respond to his messages. Something about being back in Seabreeze made her feel disconnected from her life in the city, from the neat, orderly future she had planned with Jason.

The road curved again, and suddenly the trees parted, revealing the town nestled against the coastline like a forgotten relic. The houses, painted in shades of weathered gray and white, huddled together as if for warmth, their roofs sloping toward the sea. The main street was deserted, the shops closed, their windows dark. It was the off-season, and the town had that sleepy, abandoned feel that came every year when the tourists left.

She drove slowly through the town, past the shuttered ice cream parlor where she and Ethan had shared their first kiss, past the bookstore where she had spent countless afternoons browsing the shelves while he worked on his car in the garage next door. She had loved him then with the fierce, all-consuming passion of first love, the kind of love that leaves scars.

The house loomed ahead, perched on a small rise overlooking the water. It was a grand old Victorian, with a wraparound porch and gables that looked like they had seen better days. Her grandmother had lived there her entire life, and Claire had spent every summer of her childhood within its walls, listening to the creak of the floorboards, the sigh of the wind through the eaves. It had always been a place of comfort, a refuge from the chaos of her parents’ messy divorce. But now, it felt foreign, like a relic of a life she no longer recognized.

She pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. The silence that followed was heavy, oppressive. She sat there for a moment, staring up at the house, trying to muster the courage to go inside. The last time she had been here, she had been eighteen, her heart broken, her mind made up. Now, at twenty-eight, she felt no less uncertain, no less lost.

Finally, she opened the car door and stepped out. The wind was brisk, carrying the scent of salt and seaweed. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, though it wasn’t the cold that made her tremble. She grabbed her bags from the trunk and made her way up the steps to the front door, her heart pounding in her chest.

The key turned easily in the lock, and the door swung open with a low creak. The air inside was musty, tinged with the faint scent of lavender. The house was just as she remembered it—dim and cozy, with worn furniture and faded wallpaper. The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked softly, its hands frozen at 3:15, the time it had stopped years ago.

She set her bags down in the hallway and walked slowly through the house, her footsteps echoing in the silence. The living room was cluttered with her grandmother’s things—knick-knacks, old photographs, books piled haphazardly on every surface. It was as if time had stopped here, as if nothing had changed since she had left.

She wandered into the kitchen, where the light was softer, filtering through the lace curtains that hung in the window. The table was covered with a floral tablecloth, the same one her grandmother had used for as long as Claire could remember. She could almost see her, standing at the stove, stirring a pot of soup, humming an old tune under her breath.

A lump rose in her throat, and she blinked back tears. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to come back for the funeral. She had told herself it was because of work, because of her obligations in the city. But deep down, she knew it was because she couldn’t face this—couldn’t face the memories, the ghosts that haunted this house.

She sank into one of the chairs at the table and buried her face in her hands. What was she doing here? She had a life in the city, a career, a fiancé. She had everything she had ever wanted. And yet, sitting here in this kitchen, she felt more alone than she had in years.

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway made her look up. She stood, wiping her eyes, and made her way to the front door. Peering through the window, she saw a familiar truck parked behind her car, the engine still running.

Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t expected this, hadn’t prepared herself for the possibility of seeing him so soon. But there was no mistaking the truck, no mistaking the figure that emerged from the driver’s seat, tall and broad-shouldered, his hair tousled by the wind.

Ethan.

He hadn’t seen her yet, was busy rummaging through the back of the truck. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, trying to summon the courage to face him after all these years. But her feet were rooted to the spot, her mind racing with a thousand different thoughts. What would she say to him? What could she say after everything that had happened?

Before she could decide, he straightened and turned toward the house. Their eyes met through the window, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Claire’s breath caught in her throat as she took him in, the familiar lines of his face, the way his eyes—those eyes she had loved so much—narrowed slightly in surprise.

Then he smiled, that slow, easy smile she remembered so well, and something inside her cracked open. She reached for the door handle, her hand trembling, and pushed it open.

“Claire,” he said, his voice low and rough, like gravel underfoot. “I heard you were back in town.”

She swallowed, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “Yeah. Just for a little while.”

He nodded, his eyes searching her face as if looking for something he had lost. “It’s good to see you.”

She managed a smile, though it felt strained. “You too.”

There was an awkward pause, a silence that stretched out between them like a chasm. She could feel the weight of the past pressing down on her, the unspoken words hanging in the air.

Finally, he broke the silence. “I was just stopping by to drop off some things for your grandmother’s garden. She asked me to take care of it before she passed.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “That’s kind of you.