Christmas in Angel Harbor - Jeannie Moon Page 0,18
as a litigator. After a couple of years in a big firm, he went to work for the Justice Department as an assistant U.S. attorney in Chicago. All the while he lived hard, working sixteen-hour days and attacking his life, balls out. His relationships were inconsequential, and life passed him by at light speed.
He was barely thirty, and full of piss and vinegar. On the outside, everything seemed great. On the inside, he was empty. He had no one special in his life, and while his career was exciting, something was missing. Dan hadn’t yet realized it, but he was heading for a crash.
Then one night, when he was between cases and actually home before ten o’clock, he found one of his old writing notebooks. He read it through, finding the pages weren’t half bad. The stories were rough, but the person he used to be came roaring out of the shadows.
Dan had been lost, stuck in the soul-sucking whirlwind of a life he’d made for himself.
He broke out his laptop, and thought, what the hell?
Fueled by a bottle of bourbon and a long weekend, Danny sat at his computer and started what would become his first book.
He didn’t necessarily leave the fast lane, but things changed in big ways. He traded the sports car for a limo; the adrenaline rush of a case, for hitting a deadline or celebrating another big contract or movie deal.
Not writing was not an option. In his mind finding a way to put his words into stories saved him from self-destructing when he was younger. Or did it? Even as an author, no one would have suspected how hard he drove himself. On the surface, he had a great life. But it wasn’t. Not really. Dan knew it was time to dial it back. He’d missed too much.
The last couple of months, while he was bumming around at his house in Hawaii, he’d had long talks with his sister at least twice a week. She’d moved back to Angel Harbor a few years before, taking over the old family house, and she’d encouraged him to come home. The kids were getting older, and she didn’t want him to miss it. The more they talked, the more an extended visit to clear his head felt like a good idea.
The familiarity of the town calmed his racing thoughts, and it provided him with just enough cover so he could continue to blend in if that’s what he wanted. Other than having an expensive car, which was not an uncommon sight on Long Island, he looked like a typical suburban dad. As Jane noted the other night, he didn’t look like his author photo, and that was fine with him.
Dan had done well enough that he never had to work another day in his life. But at fifty-one, he didn’t feel like that was a good idea. He might have lost his direction, but he was no slacker. What he could do was write something else. He’d been thinking about it for a while, so why not give it a shot?
He could focus on families and small towns; on friends and people who make differences in small ways. He was seeing it every day with Jane. Even though she was more cautious around him, he spent his time in the bookstore learning from her and all her customers.
He’d missed those things when he’d bought into the celebrity life. His sister had called it the “pit of self-absorption,” and she wasn’t wrong.
Jane came to work every day with a very large Collie that looked like Lassie. The dog was gorgeous, big and fluffy, with almond-shaped brown eyes that were sharp and intelligent, and caramel-colored fur with an impressive mane. Chloe greeted people who came in, followed children around the stacks, and spent a lot of time sticking close to Jane.
When she was working at the desk, Dan would see Jane’s hand drop without thought just to scratch the dog behind her ears. Chloe would look up blissfully, or lean into her with such love and trust, Dan could feel it.
It seemed everything Jane did was sprinkled generously with that sweet affection she offered without condition. Except for him. With him, she was polite, exceedingly so, but he wasn’t feeling any warmth. Maybe being here wasn’t a good idea. Sure, he was getting his work done, but he hadn’t considered it would be uncomfortable for Jane.
He’d switched from the leather notebook to his laptop now that the book was