faustinaimonmon

Nora Calder swore she’d never return to Cutler Cove, the coastal town where she left her heart—and Elias Hart—ten years ago. But when the lighthouse that holds their teenage pact faces demolition, she’s back, armed with grit and a secret that drove her away: her father’s ruinous debts. At 34, she’s got one shot to save the tower—and maybe herself—before the council tears it down.
Elias, now a rugged contractor engaged to sweet, steady Leah, didn’t expect Nora’s return to crack his world open. Their pact—if single at 35, they’d marry atop the lighthouse—haunts him as she fights for the crumbling landmark he’s hired to destroy. Old initials carved in the railing and stolen glances reignite a fire he thought was ash, but loyalty and love pull him in two.
As storms batter the coast and the town splits over the lighthouse’s fate, Nora and Elias clash, then cling—unearthing her past, shattering his future, and rebuilding more than stone. From desperate kisses in the lantern room to a festival that could save it all, they face a deadline that’s more than a vote: six months to prove the tower’s worth, and theirs. In a tangle of sweat, salt, and second chances, The Lighthouse Pact is a raw, steamy romance about love that won’t stay buried—and a promise that might just hold.

The Lighthouse Pact

Nora stood in the cottage kitchen, the smell of coffee mixing with salt air through the open window. It was Elias's 35th birthday, a year since she'd come back, and the lighthouse stood proud outside—tours booked through summer, a plaque with Amos and Mary's story bolted to the base. They'd made it pay, made it theirs, and today, they'd close the circle.

Elias padded in, shirtless, his hair mussed from sleep. "Morning," he said, wrapping his arms around her from behind, kissing her neck.

"Morning," she said, leaning into him, his warmth sparking her skin. "Happy birthday."

He grinned, nipping her ear. "Got my present?"

"Maybe," she said, turning in his arms. She'd moved in last fall, her Boston life packed into boxes, and they'd built something here—steady, real, theirs.

They ate breakfast slow—pancakes, coffee, his hand on her thigh under the table. "Plans?" he asked, syrup on his lip.

"Lighthouse," she said, wiping it off with her thumb. "Tonight. Just us."

His eyes darkened, a smirk tugging his mouth. "Sounds good."

The day passed quiet—him fixing a boat with Jimmy, her at the café, finalizing a tour deal. By dusk, they met at the tower, a bottle of wine and a blanket in hand. The lantern room glowed, the portable lamp they'd kept from that night casting shadows, and they spread the blanket, the sea a low hum below.

"To 35," she said, pouring the wine, clinking his glass.

"To us," he said, drinking deep, his eyes on her. They talked—about the year, the fights, the wins—until the bottle was half-gone, the air thick with memory.

"Remember the pact?" he asked, setting his glass down, his hand sliding to her knee.

"Yeah," she said, pulse kicking. "Single at 35, we'd marry here."

He pulled her close, his breath warm on her face. "Not single anymore."

"No," she said, kissing him, soft at first, then hungry. He groaned, hauling her onto his lap, her legs straddling him, the blanket bunching under them. His hands slipped under her shirt, rough and sure, peeling it off, and she tugged at his, needing skin.

"Nora," he rasped, unhooking her bra, his mouth finding her throat, then lower, teeth grazing. She moaned, loud in the quiet, her hands fumbling with his jeans, the zipper catching. He kicked them off, flipping her onto her back, the blanket soft beneath her.

He stripped her slow—jeans, underwear—his eyes burning, and she pulled him down, bare against him, heat coiling tight. "Now," she said, legs wrapping him, and he thrust in, deep and full, a growl ripping from his throat. She arched, nails digging into his back, the rhythm hard, fast, the tower trembling with them.

It built—hot, wild—his hands gripping her hips, her cries echoing off the glass. She shattered first, clenching around him, and he followed, burying himself deep, his breath ragged against her neck. They collapsed, tangled, sweat slick between them, the lamp dimming as their breaths slowed.

"Jesus," he said, rolling off, pulling her close. "Best birthday yet."

She laughed, dazed, tracing his chest. "Glad I delivered."

He kissed her forehead, then dug in his jeans, pulling out a small box. Her heart stopped as he opened it—a ring, simple, gold, glinting in the glow. "Marry me," he said, voice rough. "Here. Like we said."

Tears pricked her eyes, and she nodded, kissing him hard. "Yes."

He slid the ring on, and they lay there, the pact renewed—not at 35 and single, but 35 and together, the lighthouse their witness. The sea sang below, the future theirs, and it was everything.

Chapter 25: The Pact Renewed