Christmas in Angel Harbor - Jeannie Moon Page 0,12
on her lower lip. But the deep breath she drew in let him know the kid was screwing up her courage. “Okay. Thanks. I guess I should suck it up and submit it.” She took the money from the dark granite counter and smiled. “Let me get you your change.”
“No worries. You keep the change. What’s your name?”
“Tara. And, uh, thanks.”
“I’m Danny. It’s great to meet you.”
“Can I help you with anything else?” she asked.
“I was going to work at the back table.” He looked at the space and then back at Tara. “Is that all right?”
“Oh, sure. Not a problem. We have customers work there all the time. It’s a nice quiet spot.”
“I appreciate it.” Dan picked up his coffee and the small wax paper bag with the cookie. “Good luck with your story, and thanks for the cookie recommendation.”
He walked away from her with his coffee and his snack, wondering if he could follow his own advice. He had to trust his process—his passion—otherwise his own book would be a lie, and his readers deserved better than that.
*
Jane came out of the book club meeting with a headache for the ages. The new historical fiction the members had chosen to discuss had spawned more arguments than conversation over the past hour. Between the liberties taken with the timeline in Georgian England, and an intense dislike some of the ladies in the group harbored for one of the protagonists, there was little agreement on the merit of the work. For Jane, any book that elicited strong emotions was a winner, unless they were hostile emotions.
Still, the ladies chose another book for next month and left chattering about what a nice time they’d had. Jane had to wonder what the women considered a good time. Go figure. When she got home, she might have to break out a bottle of wine, or chocolate, or both.
The lights in the children’s room were low, and as she walked through she straightened up the area. She shelved a book, put a stuffed animal back on the rack, and pushed in the chairs at the small tables.
Her mom had really done an amazing job with the decorations. Pine garlands adorned the tops of bookshelves and hung artfully over the floor-to-ceiling windows that faced Main Street. Glittering Christmas decorations of varying styles and sizes sat on the round table by one of the front windows. They would be moved, later in the month, and a large Christmas tree would be there instead. In front of the other window, a lovely silver menorah surrounded by sparkling gelt and a few dreidels was waiting for the first night of Hanukkah. It was such a pretty space; it made her sad to think that she’d be doing much of the preparation without her daughter or her mother next year. Jane didn’t know where Tara would end up for college, but she knew it would be far enough away for Jane to miss her. Change was hard. God, was it hard.
Shaking off the mood that threatened to settle around her, Jane went to the front and found Tara at the counter reading what looked to be a very old copy of Austen’s Persuasion.
“How do you like it?”
“I LOVE it! Wentworth is positively swoon-worthy. He’s so much more a hero than Darcy.”
“You think so? There are people who would vehemently disagree. Pride and Prejudice is gospel.”
“What-evs. I read it twice. I like Lizzy, but Darcy is an idiot. He needs a wedgie, or something.”
“A wedgie? That’s different.” As much as her girl tried to be cool and sophisticated, every once in a while her inner twelve-year-old made an appearance.
“But very effective at making the point,” Tara defended.
Jane laughed. Her daughter had a wicked sense of humor, and a knack for finding the absurd in almost any situation. “How is your contest entry coming along? Did you get through the plot problem you were worried about?”
“I guess. I sent it.”
That stopped Jane in her tracks. “I’m sorry. What?”
“I sent it. It’s been revised enough. If I keep editing and revising, eventually it will be flat. My words have to have…passion.” She waved her arm up on the last word and Jane wondered what had triggered the response. It was fine—great, really—because getting her to submit anything before the last minute was nearly impossible. The contest she was entering had a deadline in two weeks. Normally, Tara would be stressing over her entry until the very end.