Christmas in Angel Harbor - Jeannie Moon Page 0,13
took the leap and trusted yourself.”
“Yeah. I talked to a customer who came in and he said he was kind of a writer—he gave me some good advice. It made sense.”
Jane glanced over her daughter’s shoulder and surveyed the rear corner of the store. There, sitting at the big round table, was Danny, scribbling in a leather-bound notebook just like old times.
“Kind of a writer, huh?” That was definitely an understatement.
“He wasn’t specific. I’m guessing he’s a teacher or something.”
“Or something,” Jane mumbled. Danny could have been a teacher, or kept with his plan of being a lawyer—he was smart enough to do anything he put his mind to—but his dreams had always been as big as that crazy imagination of his.
“Why don’t you head home,” Jane said. “It’s going to be quiet for the rest of the night. Go watch TV or something.”
“I think I may just read and go to bed. I’m tired, but I’ll stay if you need me.”
Tara tilted her head toward the back of the shop where Danny was sitting. Her daughter was worried about her being alone with a man she didn’t know, and Jane’s heart warmed at the affectionate concern. For a while, Jane didn’t think they would ever find common ground. When Tara turned thirteen, the house became a war zone. But as she got older, their relationship settled. It seemed unfair that just when they were becoming close again, her daughter would be going away.
“Oh, don’t worry. He’s an old friend. Just back in town for a while.”
“Really? He’s the guy who gave me the advice. He’s been here about an hour. I guess he needed a quiet space to work.”
“He knows what he’s talking about. With the writing. Now, get out of here. Go keep Grandma company.”
Tara hopped off the high padded stool that sat behind the counter and grabbed her large purple tote from the floor. Jane could hardly believe the young woman she’d grown into when memories of her as a little girl were still clear as day. Tall and lean, Tara floated along when she walked, half ballerina, half fairy. She had a deep blue streak in her dark brown hair and a tiny stud in her nose. But there was no edginess to the look. It all worked for her. Her daughter was elegant and funky and independent. She had a tight circle of close friends, and Jane couldn’t believe how lucky she was to be her mom.
Tara leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Night, Mom.”
Jane watched as her girl went out the large front door and got into the small hybrid parked right in front of the shop. When she pulled away, Jane walked around, straightening up the shelves and tables in preparation for the next day. She doubted there would be many more customers at this point. It was almost nine o’clock, and once in a while she might have wished she could be home and in her bed, but there was something very peaceful about the store on a quiet night.
Danny certainly thought so. He hadn’t looked up from his notebook the whole time since she’d finished with the book club. That laser focus was something she’d always admired, and she hesitated in heading back in his direction out of fear she’d interrupt him.
His author persona was enigmatic, always cool and mysterious, but she knew he had to be devastated by the psychopath who had taken his work and used it as a blueprint for violence. He wasn’t a stranger to the media spotlight, but there’d been no way to control the spin. She’d seen more of him on TV in the past year than in all the years since he’d left Angel Harbor. He wasn’t comfortable with it. Even with all the fame, the fortune, and the accolades, the person hanging out at her back table was as humble and soft-spoken as he’d always been.
Kind of a writer, according to Tara. Sheesh.
Knowing she’d be there at least another hour and a half, Jane brewed a pot of decaf, and the smell of the roasted Columbian coffee wafting through the shop was heady. Just the aroma could wake her up. Apparently, it roused the very busy writer at the back table as well. He looked up and, noticing her, his mouth tilted into a grin.
The man had definitely grown into himself. The dark hair he used to wear in a shaggy-short style, reminiscent of Tom Cruise in Risky Business, wasn’t much different. It