The Cliffside Inn smelled like pine and fresh coffee every morning, no matter the season. Rain tapped softly on the metal roof, a constant background sound that Olivia had known since she was small. She liked it. It made everything feel contained, safe.

She was in the kitchen early, as usual, measuring grounds into the big silver coffee maker. The inn had twelve rooms, a wraparound porch with rocking chairs, and a view of the gray Pacific that never quite stopped moving. Her parents had run the place for twenty-five years before her dad passed three winters ago. Now it was mostly her and Mira keeping it going, with help from a couple of part-timers in summer.

Olivia wore her usual: soft jeans, a faded blue hoodie, hair pulled into a low ponytail. She moved quietly, wiping counters, stacking mugs, checking the reservation book even though she knew it by heart.

The front door opened with a familiar creak.

“Morning, Liv,” Mira called from the hallway, voice bright even at 7 a.m. She came in wearing leggings and an oversized knit sweater, cheeks pink from the damp air outside. “I just ran down to the beach path. The tide’s way out - we should take photos later for the Instagram.”

Olivia smiled a little. “Sure. If the rain lets up.”

Mira laughed and grabbed an apple from the bowl. “It never lets up here. That’s the charm.” She took a bite and leaned against the counter. “Hey, Dad called last night. Guess who’s coming today?"

Olivia paused, spoon halfway to the coffee filter. “Who?”

“Alex Rivera. Remember him? Mr. Rivera’s son. He’s back from Seattle, something about needing a change after his job fell through. Dad offered him the empty room upstairs and a spot helping with maintenance and bookings. Says he’s good with his hands and good with people.”

Olivia nodded slowly. She remembered Alex, vaguely. Tall kid who used to visit summers with his dad. He’d been quiet, always reading or fixing things around the inn, a loose railing here, a stuck window there. Mira had dragged him to bonfires and cliff walks; Olivia had mostly stayed inside with books.

“That’s nice,” she said. “We could use the help. The porch steps are getting wobbly again.”

Mira grinned. “He’s arriving this afternoon. I told Dad I’d pick him up from the bus stop. You should come; make it a family welcome.”

Olivia shrugged. “I’ve got check-ins at three. But say hi for me.”

Mira rolled her eyes playfully. “You’re such a homebody. Fine, I’ll bring him back and we can all have dinner together. Mom’s making her lasagna - the good one with extra cheese.”

Olivia felt a small, warm flicker at the thought. Family dinners had been rarer since Dad died. Mira always tried to keep things lively, filling the quiet spots with stories and laughter. Olivia appreciated it, even if she sometimes preferred the quiet.

The coffee maker gurgled to life. Olivia poured two mugs, handed one to Mira.

“Thanks,” Mira said, wrapping her hands around it. “You know, it’ll be good to have someone new around. Shake things up a bit.”

Olivia looked out the window at the mist rolling over the cliffs. “Yeah. Maybe.”

They stood there for a minute, sipping coffee, listening to the rain. It felt ordinary. Comfortable.

Later that afternoon, Olivia was folding towels in the laundry room when she heard the front door again, followed by Mira’s laugh; loud and easy.. and a deeper voice answering.

She didn’t go out to look. Not yet.

There would be time.

Outside, the rain kept falling, soft and steady, like it had all the patience in the world.