in the morning chill, barely sparing him a glance. He could use that little slice of life. The story that was swimming around in his head needed the people and locations Angel Harbor provided. No more murder and mayhem. No more blood. Even if it did sell, Dan was done with it.
The sun decided to break through the low clouds, and from its position, just above the horizon, it cast tendrils of light over the water. Everything shimmered and sparkled in response. He stopped, taking a deep breath as he took it all in.
This place was his next book. He wasn’t sure of the plot. He hadn’t fleshed out the characters, but Angel Harbor was the setting. Turning, he could see clear up Main Street. It was idyllic, almost too perfect, but that’s what he was in the mood for, and no one was going to tell him otherwise. Not this time.
From where he stood, he could see the candy shop, the toy store, and the local tavern—all three were decked out in holiday glitz way too early for his liking, but he had to give them a gold star for effort. In addition, he spied a few restaurants, an art gallery, and a tea shop getting in the Christmas spirit. But it was the bookstore, sitting quietly on the north side of Main Street, that captured his attention. It held so many of his memories. It lived in an old house, a two-story clapboard structure, painted a deep gray, that had converted nicely to retail space decades ago. It still exuded the same friendliness and warmth that had welcomed him when he was first figuring out how to tell a story. He could see the large-paned front windows displaying a variety of books for kids and adults, and the wraparound porch held a quartet of weathered rocking chairs that invited visitors to sit down and stay for a while.
“Keep your eyes open to possibilities.” Isn’t that what Mike Fallon had always told him? The former owner of the bookstore was a fountain of good advice. Whether it was about writing, or school, or girls, Dan had embraced Mike’s philosophy for a very long time. Until he didn’t, and that’s when his life seemed to get away from him. He was so caught up in the life, that Dan forgot to live.
He’d spent hours in the store as a teen, writing in his notebooks, and hiding out from his jock friends to avoid being labeled as a nerd. They wouldn’t understand why he wrote, and he didn’t want to explain it to them. They were good guys, but putting words on a page was a lot different than executing a strategy found in a playbook.
Some of his quirkier habits developed when he was working at the round table tucked in the corner of the history section. Dan still wrote the first three chapters of any book longhand to get in the flow with the characters. He liked to use a cheap, blue ballpoint pen for the task, so a few years ago he bought a gross of the things and never traveled without at least a dozen in his bag. He always remembered how Mike would let him stay after closing to keep working, while the older man was cleaning up from the day. He made Dan promise that when he was famous, he’d come back and have a signing in the store.
He’d never gotten there, and the guilt of it gnawed at him. He was a multinational bestseller, which meant he got his way. Always. He could have pressed his publicist to arrange a signing at Harbor Books, but like so much else in his life, he didn’t take the time to think about anything outside his own self-centered interests. Yeah, there were a lot of regrets rooted in that store. Dan would have to try and vanquish a few of them.
Done with his run, he made his way to the deli, and as soon as he walked in, the smell of bacon, eggs, and strong coffee filled his head. A group of men dressed in jeans, work shirts, and jackets were talking and laughing as they collected their coffees and sandwiches. The way they exchanged pleasantries with the woman behind the counter, Dan could see this was just a regular morning for them, and he found he was a little envious of the closeness and the routine. Each one nodded at him as he walked by, and he