Jack laughed, and something in Lena's expression softened. She nodded, like he'd passed some invisible test.
"He did good work on the stage," Lena said to Clara. "Better than the original, honestly. You should've seen Dale trying to inspect it—couldn't find a single thing to criticize, and you know how Dale is."
"He does love finding problems," Clara agreed.
"Speaking of which—" Lena gestured to a group of kids waiting for face paint. "I'm on duty. But you two should grab food before the oysters are gone. Tim's running that station, and you know his portions are insane."
They said goodbye and moved on. Tim spotted them from behind the food station and waved a pair of tongs in greeting. "Callahan! You survived the fish tacos. That means you're ready for the oysters."
"Barely survived," Jack said, grinning. "But I'm willing to risk it."
Sarah appeared next, hair escaping its clip as usual, dragging a guy Jack hadn't met behind her. "Clara! Jack! This is my boyfriend, Nate—he drove up from Portland, isn't that sweet? Nate, this is Clara's—this is Jack. He's the carpenter." She stage-whispered to Jack, "Mrs. Conley has been telling everyone you two are engaged. I told her that was ridiculous. You've only known each other two weeks."
"That's... not more reassuring," Clara said flatly.
Then Ben and his husband Tyler, who owned the bookstore and immediately started recommending carpentry books Jack might like. "We just got in this gorgeous volume on Japanese joinery—no nails, no screws, everything interlocking. You'd love it."
Something had shifted since the stage-building day. The handshakes were warmer, the inside jokes came with quick explanations so he could follow along, and nobody asked how long he was staying — like they'd collectively decided to stop treating him as temporary. These were Clara's people. The ones who'd earned their place around her. And somewhere between Tim's oysters and Ben's book recommendation, they'd started making room for him too.
"You have good friends," Jack said as they loaded paper plates with food.
"I do." Clara bit into a fried clam, closing her eyes in appreciation. "I forget that sometimes. When I'm at the lighthouse, it's easy to think I'm alone. But I'm not. They're just... patient. They let me hide when I need to and show up when I'm ready."
"That's a gift."
"It is." She glanced at him. "What about you? Friends back in Lockport?"
The question required honesty, and honesty took bravery. For a long time, he hadn't been ready to admit how thoroughly he'd run from everyone who'd ever loved him.
It wasn't a good look.
"I had friends," Jack said carefully. "My dad's crew. Guys I'd known since I was a kid. But after he died, after Joel... I don't know. It was hard to be around them. They reminded me of everything I'd lost." He picked at his corn on the cob. "I didn't mean to ghost them. I just... kept meaning to call and never did. And then enough time passed that it felt too late to start again."
Clara's hand found his arm, warm and grounding. "If there's one thing I've learned about coming home, it's never too late."
"Maybe."
"Not maybe. Definitely." She squeezed once, then let go. "Come on. The bonfire's starting."
The bonfire was massive.
Someone—probably Dale, Jack guessed—had built a structure of driftwood and old pallets that reached at least ten feet high. As the sun sank below the horizon,painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, Thomas stepped forward with a torch.
The crowd quieted. Kids stopped running. Even the waves seemed to hush.
"Two hundred and twelve years ago," Thomas called out, his voice carrying across the beach, "a group of sailors shipwrecked on these shores. They were cold, exhausted, and convinced they wouldn't survive the night."
Jack felt Clara shift closer to him. Not touching, but close enough that he could feel her warmth.
"But they built a fire," Thomas continued. "And that fire brought them together. Kept them alive. Gave them hope. The next morning, they decided to stay. To build something here. To make this place home."
He touched the torch to the kindling. Flames caught immediately, racing up the structure with a whoosh that made several kids gasp with delight. Within minutes, the bonfire was roaring, heat pushing back the ocean chill, smoke rising into the darkening sky.
"To Beacon's End," Thomas shouted. "And to all the shipwrecked sailors who found their way home!"
"To Beacon's End!" the crowd echoed.
Jack felt the words settle in his chest, heavy and significant.
