Seaside Novels & Stories

The boat would be their means of reaching Reid's secluded island paradise. The boat ride was a journey unto itself. As they cruised across the crystal-clear waters of the Mediterranean Sea, Bella was captivated by the mesmerizing shades of blue that extended in every direction. The sea breeze played with her hair, and the gentle rocking of the boat was soothing, a stark contrast to the hurried pace of their everyday lives. The island loomed closer with each passing minute; an emerald gem set in the vast expanse of the sea. It was a place of natural beauty, a haven of tranquillity that promised respite from the demands of the world.

** A Return to Joy** The warm, salty air of Seabreeze enveloped Claire as she stepped out onto the porch one early morning, the first rays of sunlight casting a soft glow over the garden. It was quiet, save for the distant calls of seagulls and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. Claire took a deep breath, savoring the peacefulness that had become a cherished part of her daily routine.

He chose to lean back casually in the chair by the pool while glancing at Thea, who was also lying there, gazing up at the vast blue sky. “There’s nothing special about it. Just a small area where everyone knows each other.” “Do you like the beach?” Sebastian asked with curiosity. “Wasn’t your home near the shore?” “Not really,” Thea answered flatly. “For me, who grew up seeing the sea, the beach feels all the same. Just sand, salty water, and the occasional waves that look a bit frightening.” That answer made Sebastian smile. At least this time, Thea was willing to open up a little and speak more at length.

She left the seaside villa in her pajamas and I doubt that she has much money, if any, on her person. I have made my way back inside the home and have placed myself onto the couch. I stare out of the window, overlooking the sea. The waves crash onto the shore, high tide coming to an end as the waves peel back into the depths of the sea, the shoreline growing as the sea retracts into itself. It is a sight to behold. Mother Nature works in mysterious ways and yet I can’t help but feel as if she is mocking me for not chasing after Celia. The scent of storm wind has not left my nostrils either, leaving me feeling helpless.

The landscape grew wider, the air saltier, and by mid-afternoon, they reached the coast. The sea was restless, grey-blue under the overcast sky. Waves crashed softly against the rocks, leaving trails of white foam that faded almost as quickly as they formed. Liam found a small inn perched near the cliffs, its sign swinging gently in the wind. It was charming, with simple wooden walls, the faint scent of salt and pine in the air. They checked in, and Amara stepped out onto the small balcony that overlooked the shore. The wind tugged gently at her hair, but she didn’t mind. It felt like the sea was whispering something only she could understand.

Grabbing my drink I moved into the bedroom, dripping water onto the carpet as I plopped onto the bed taking another sip. I picked up the phone, squinting at the card on the nightstand as I dialed the front desk. Placing the phone to my ear, I let out an exasperated sigh. I was cold and everything felt numb. I just wanted today to be over. “Seaside Hotel.” An overly chipper voice said, and I grit my teeth together. “Hi, I’m in room 502 and the shower won’t turn off. The knob, I don’t-”

[The Rising Tide] The sound was not a roar; it was a groan, a deep, tectonic weeping that vibrated through the soles of my feet and into my very marrow. Through the reinforced glass of the Core, the horizon of New Macau was changing. The sea, once a shimmering sapphire girdle around our high-tech paradise, was retreating with an unnatural, predatory speed. It left behind miles of grey, glistening silt and gasping reefs—a bared throat waiting for the knife.

Aurelia, Justin drove another half an hour, the road gradually thinning into a quiet stretch that opened up to the seaside. The distant sound of waves reached us even before the car came to a full stop. When we stepped out, the air carried that familiar scent of salt and something fresh, something clean enough to wash away the weight of the day. We settled on the wooden deck, letting our feet dip into the cold twilight ocean. The water curled around my ankles, sending a soft chill up my spine, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

Robert Blackwell promised to marry me, then postponed it thirty-eight times. The fifth time, a car crash broke eight of his ribs, and I signed seven critical-condition notices. The tenth time, on the way to get our marriage license, he and the car were thrown into the sea, and his suit was torn apart by sharks. By the thirty-eighth time, his heart disease had worsened and his life was hanging by a thread. Eight months pregnant, I changed flights three times and flew twenty-three hours across half the world to find him. When the door opened, a little boy who looked exactly like him lifted his face and said, "I thought Mom was back." Robert rushed out barefoot, panic written all over his

White limestone cliffs dropped three hundred feet into the churning turquoise waves of the Strait of Bonifacio, where the narrow sea channel separated the southern tip of Corsica from the granite shores of northern Sardinia. Fierce west winds swept through the rocky maritime passages, throwing heavy salt spray against the ancient stone ramparts of the upper fortress. Below the sheer cliffs, commercial container vessels bound for Genoa, Livorno, and Naples maneuvered through the treacherous submarine reefs. The scent of wild rosemary, sea fennel, and wet limestone hung in the damp coastal air. Gulls banked against the strong updrafts, their cries lost in the roar of the surf crashing against