Lost at Sea || Shawmila [Completed]

what's a lifetime of achievement if I pushed you to the edge

The view from her bedroom had always been breathtaking. As a young girl, Camila had spent hours sitting by the window, admiring the gray waves crashing on the distant shore. Fishing boats came and went at all hours of the day and night, guided by the flashing lighthouse positioned on the coast. The scene on that day, however, was slightly different. The lighthouse illuminated only those few points where it managed to pierce through the dense blanket of fog that seemed to have replaced the ocean water. She often wondered what it must be like to be on one of those boats, simple pieces of wood assembled together, battling against the tide and somehow always making their way back to the harbor from where they had departed.

Would she ever find the strength to be like those pieces of wood? Tenacious, indestructible, capable of staying afloat. Most of the time, she doubted it. Lately, she had felt more like an anchor sinking into the dark waters and settling on the lifeless ocean floor. After Everett had betrayed her, her life had plummeted, and Camila felt like she had lost control of everything that concerned her. She felt insignificant, useless, invisible. And above all, she felt like a fool.

What had she been thinking when she decided that showing up at Shawn's house would be a good idea? She hadn't seen the man in too long, too much had happened between them to pretend they were just two friends catching up. Yet she had knocked on his door, and for a while, being in the same room with him hadn't been difficult at all. She had genuinely believed she could pick up their friendship where she had left it, pretending that those years in New York had never happened.

But then that woman had knocked on his door. She had entered his home with the same ease Camila had used not many years before. And she had kissed him. God, that kiss had felt like a stab in the heart.

So Camila forced a smile despite the urge to collapse to the floor and cry until she ran out of tears, and she had left - or rather, fled - from that house. For days, she had dwelled on the scene she had witnessed, on the fact that Shawn had moved on with his life. She knew she was being unfair, she understood rationally that her behavior was unjustifiable, yet she couldn't help but be resentful towards the man she had forced herself to forget for years.

She had wondered what her own intentions were that evening. What did she want from Shawn? What did she think she could get from him? Friendship? A shoulder to cry on? A lover to mend the tears in her heart?

She finally realized that she had no right to make any demands on him. She was the one who had left Harbor Cove to pursue a dream that perhaps didn't even belong to her. She was the one who had cut off all contact with him, burned down the bridges that could have brought her into the arms of the man she had once loved with all her being. Shawn owed her nothing. On the other hand, she owed him an apology.

She looked at the clock. In less than a couple of hours, Shawn would be docking at the harbor, unloading the day's last catch, and heading home. Camila hurried down the stairs and reached the kitchen. After a quick glance at the contents of the fridge, she rolled up her sleeves and got to work.

Outside, the snow fell delicately, but inside the kitchen, the warmth of the oven heated the room with the same determination with which Camila was cooking. With skill, she cut the cooked chicken into cubes and cleaned the vegetables with a delicate touch. Dough came to life under her experienced hands; onions, carrots, and celery were added to the pan; flour, chicken broth, and cream completed the picture. Camila rolled out the dough and lined the pan, poured in the filling, and sealed the pie, which she then put in the oven.

Before the sun had set, she was already waiting for Shawn's fishing boat to appear on the horizon. The tip of her nose was freezing, and the basket in which she had placed the chicken pot pie was really too heavy for her standards. She had almost slipped on a few icy spots on the ground, and she was sure the snow accumulating on her hair would give her a nasty cold, yet she was determined to complete her personal mission: to apologize.

Finally, the fishing boat arrived, and Shawn unloaded crates full of haddock and halibut before heading towards her. He looked at her with amused perplexity, visibly surprised to see her around. He greeted her with a warm smile and asked the reason for her visit. Camila shrugged. "I thought you might enjoy having a meal that doesn't come from a can," she joked. He laughed and led her to his home, making sure not to brush her with his fishy-smelling raincoat. Once inside, he had her sit in the kitchen while he hurried to strip off his dirty clothes and wash off the salty smell of the ocean.

Camila looked around. Shawn's house was simple and sparsely decorated. The only photos he displayed on a living room shelf were those of him with his family. His apartment was small and unadorned, totally different from the houses Camila had lived in. At the same time, though, it couldn't be called a shabby place. Each room was meticulously clean, every item in its place, and the overall atmosphere was very cozy. Near the small stove, there was always a little stack of pine-scented firewood.

While waiting for him, she took the liberty of warming up the dinner. She set the table, placing pairs of cutlery, glasses, plates, and napkins, and filled a pitcher with water. When Shawn finally joined her, Camila was waiting for him with the steaming chicken casserole on the plates. They sat facing each other, and she watched him gorge on the food for a few minutes. "You've always been a great cook," he said between bites. "Don't tell my mother, but it's been a while since I had a homemade meal so delicious."

Camila chuckled, taking a forkful of pie to her mouth. "I'm glad you like it."

"So, what's the real reason for your presence here?" Shawn asked with a direct and genuinely curious tone.

Camila let out a brief sigh, put down her fork, and clasped her hands in her lap. As often happened, she averted her gaze from his, unable to hold it for more than a few seconds. "I suppose I owe you an apology," she began. "I've been away for years, and then I show up here out of nowhere, holding you hostage with my stories, and eventually run away like a fox during hunting season."

"I don't see why you should apologize. I hope you know that I always enjoy seeing you. It doesn't matter if it's been two days or ten years."

Camila bit her lower lip. There were words she wanted to say, but she lacked the courage to do so, so she changed the subject. "And the woman from the other night? Have you been together for a long time?"

Shawn took a few sips of water. "Diane and I aren't together."

"Oh."

"That's why you ran away when you saw her?"

"I didn't want to intrude," she admitted with a half-truth.

Shawn gave a hint of a smile. "Diane is a widow. Her husband died in an accident a few years after they got married. I met her at the harbor. She often comes to bring lunch to her brother, a barely legal eighteen-year-old boy who works with me." Camila didn't know why Shawn was telling her all this, but she didn't interrupt him. "She's only a few years older than us, but sometimes it feels like she's lived at least ten other lives. She's not even thirty yet, and she's already a widow and a mother to a son."

"You know her quite well," Camila observed.

"We talk often. We keep each other company."

Camila nodded. It was clear the way in which the two provided comfort to each other, and that insidious voice suggesting that she should pout and hold grudges returned. She looked Shawn in the eyes and found no trace of malice. She saw only a lonely man who had found comfort in the arms of another equally lonely woman. She had no reason to reproach him. After all, she was the one who had left him without giving him any hope. She was the one who had pursued success, setting aside the man she had loved. And now it was time to face the consequences.