Chapter 1 — Return to Beacon’s Rest

Cassie

The town of Beacon’s Rest emerged from the mist like a half-forgotten photograph—edges blurred, colors faded, but the shape unmistakably familiar. Cassie eased her car over the crest of the hill, and there it was: the huddle of weathered rooftops, the narrow streets winding like ribbons toward the sea, and the lighthouse standing defiantly on its rocky promontory. The sight pulled at something deep within her, equal parts comfort and ache. She tightened her grip on the wheel, her palms damp against the worn leather, and exhaled slowly.

The narrow road below curved gently, flanked by salt-scarred fences and windblown grasses that nodded under the weight of the sea breeze. The ocean stretched wide to her left, an endless expanse of gray-blue rippling under a low-hanging sky. The tang of saltwater seeped through the cracked window, sharp and invigorating, mingling with the faint, briny scent of drying kelp. The rhythm of the waves, steady and unchanging, pounded against her chest, pulling her into the past whether she was ready or not.

Cassie’s camera sat in the passenger seat beside her, its strap frayed and carrying the faint imprint of her initials carved into the leather. She reached over and adjusted it, her fingers brushing the cool metal—a small act of grounding. The camera had been her father’s once, as much a part of him as the sea. She’d forgotten how heavy it felt until now, returning to the place where it all began. Her father had taught her to see the world through its lens, to freeze time in a world ruled by tides and change.

Her thoughts drifted to the letter that had brought her back here. Evelyn’s handwriting, neat but trembling with age, had been impossible to ignore. “It’s time,” Evelyn had written. Enclosed was an old photograph of the lighthouse, its beam cutting cleanly through a storm-darkened sky, the waves below churning yet strangely still in the frame. Cassie had stared at it for hours, tracing the outlines of the image, feeling an ache she couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t the first letter Evelyn had sent over the years, but it was the only one Cassie had felt compelled to answer. Why now? she wondered, the question coiling around her like the mist outside.

The gravel of Evelyn’s driveway crunched under the tires as she pulled in front of the whitewashed cottage. It looked exactly as it had in her childhood, though the riot of wildflowers spilling over the fence seemed even brighter against the muted gray of the sea. As she stepped out, the chill coastal breeze tugged at her flannel shirt, and the scent of lavender from the garden wrapped around her like a memory. She paused at the gate, eyes tracing the familiar green shutters and the weathered porch steps.

The screen door creaked open before she could knock, and Evelyn’s voice greeted her even before her face appeared. “There you are.”

Cassie turned, and there she was—Evelyn Hart, silver hair swept into its usual neat bun, her sharp gray eyes softening as they took Cassie in. Her smile was warm, but there was a shadow behind it that hadn’t been there before.

“I’m here,” Cassie murmured, stepping into Evelyn’s open arms. The hug was firm, grounding, and the faint scent of lavender clung to Evelyn’s cardigan.

“You came back,” Evelyn said softly, pulling back just enough to hold Cassie’s face in her hands. “That’s what matters.”

They lingered a moment before Evelyn broke the silence with her usual no-nonsense tone. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come inside. I’ve got tea on, and you look like you could use it.”

Inside, the cottage was a capsule of familiarity. The air was warm, carrying the faint aroma of baking bread and lavender. Lace curtains framed the windows, softening the late afternoon light, and every surface seemed to host a book, a trinket, or a memory. Cassie’s gaze lingered on the weathered armchair by the hearth, the same one where she used to curl up with her father’s fishing journal as Evelyn told stories about the town.

Cassie settled into a chair at the small wooden table, her hands wrapping around the mug Evelyn placed in front of her. The heat seeped into her palms, steadying her.

“This place hasn’t changed a bit,” Cassie said, her voice quieter than she had intended.

“Some things shouldn’t,” Evelyn replied, sitting across from her. Her hands cradled her own mug, though her gaze wandered to the window, where the mist clung stubbornly to the glass. “But not everything stays the same, Cassie. You know that.”

Cassie nodded, unsure how to respond. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy, filled with unspoken words. Finally, she broke it. “How’s the town?”

Evelyn sighed, her smile faltering slightly. “The same, yet not. Stubborn as ever, clinging to the past while the future marches on. You’ll see. Though I suppose you’ve heard about the lighthouse.”

Cassie glanced down at her tea, the steam curling upward in delicate wisps. “I have,” she said quietly. “That’s… part of why I’m here.”

Evelyn studied her for a long moment, her perceptive gaze searching for something beneath Cassie’s words. “The demolition’s been a thorn in the town’s side for months now. Some think it’s time to let it go, move forward. Others, like me, can’t bear the thought of losing it. That lighthouse is more than a structure, Cassie. It’s a part of this town’s soul.”

Cassie met Evelyn’s eyes, and for a moment, the weight of her words hung between them. She could picture the lighthouse so clearly: its red roof gleaming like a beacon, its white walls steadfast against time and tide. It had been there for every storm, every loss.

“Have you been up there?” Evelyn asked, her tone casual, but Cassie knew better.

She shook her head. “Not yet. I just got in.”

“You should go,” Evelyn said firmly, leaning forward. “You should see it while it’s still standing. And you should see Jack.”

The name hit Cassie like an unsteady wave. Jack Lawson. The boy who had been her anchor and her storm. She hadn’t spoken to him in years, not since the day she left for the city with her carefully packed bags and her even more carefully hidden regrets.

“I don’t know if he’d want to see me,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Evelyn’s smile turned wry. “Oh, he’ll see you. Whether he wants to or not is another matter. But you can’t come back here and avoid him forever. You both deserve better than that.”

“What’s he like now?” Cassie asked, surprising herself with the question.

Evelyn leaned back, her expression thoughtful. “Still Jack, in many ways. Quiet, dependable, and more stubborn than ever. But he’s weathered storms you haven’t seen, Cassie. He’s not the same boy you knew.”

Cassie nodded, her fingers tightening around her mug. She had left to find herself, to escape the small-town life she thought was holding her back. But what had she left behind? And what had she cost him?

“I’ll go,” she said finally. “Tomorrow.”

Evelyn reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Good. It’s time, Cassie. For both of you.”

Later, as Cassie lay in the small guest room, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts refused to settle. The lighthouse was out there, standing sentinel against the night, its beam slicing through the dark like a question she couldn’t answer. The faint sound of waves crashing against the cliffs filtered through the window, their rhythm steady and insistent.

She turned onto her side and closed her eyes, the image of the lighthouse lingering in her mind. She remembered the last time she’d seen Jack—his jaw tight, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his voice low and hoarse as he’d said goodbye. The memory cut sharply now, with edges of guilt and longing impossible to dull.

Tomorrow, she would go to the lighthouse. Tomorrow, she would face Jack.

But tonight, the sea carried her thoughts away, the pull of home as unrelenting as the tide reclaiming the shore.