got a look at the low-slung vehicle sitting in her driveway.
It had tires, so it was obviously a car, but when he pushed a button on the key fob, the headlights went on and the engine roared to life. From the cabin of the car, a cool blue light glowed, making the vehicle appear otherworldly. He settled her into the passenger seat with manners that Jane feared were becoming passé, then went around the front of the car to his side.
She thought about her seventeen-year-old self, sitting next to Danny in his family’s old Jeep Wagoneer and driving out to a local beach because he’d heard seals were hauled out on some rocks in the harbor. It was early, maybe seven in the morning, and he’d shown up at her house, knowing her parents would be awake, but it was likely Jane wasn’t. It was late November and no kid their age was up that early on a Saturday morning, but there he was pulling her out of bed.
Sitting so close in the confines of the small car, his smell was familiar. There was a hint of sage and cedar, but instead of generic shampoo, fine leather and bergamot blended with his essence. It brought her right back to that day so many years ago, standing on the beach, with the wind blowing and the sun barely up, watching the silky silver-gray forms of the seals slip in and out of the water.
It was a good memory, one that made her remember the close bond they’d had. Or so she’d thought. Less than a year later, he was gone for college, and moments like that one on the beach were lost forever.
Chapter Five
Dan knew he probably didn’t need a reservation for dinner on a Wednesday night, but the restaurant in the next town over from Angel Harbor was an extremely popular foodie destination with a tasting menu he was dying to try. Not wanting to take a chance, he’d called that afternoon and secured a table for them.
Sitting with Jane in the close quarters of his car, he found himself thinking about the community she’d created in the bookstore. It had been an important part of the town when he was a kid, but now, it was so much more. He’d been working there for a little less than a week, enjoying the little rituals that came with a store like Jane’s. He liked the ebb and flow of the place, and in the time he’d been there, he was impressed that in the age of online shopping, the bookstore was thriving. Not only was there a steady stream of customers who came in for books, magazines, a gift, and what had to be the best coffee in the world, but there was also an after-school art club, a story hour on Saturday morning, as well as a writers’ group, several book clubs, and people who came in, like he’d been doing, to meet a friend, get some work done, or read. He even saw the mayor and the high school principal having an informal meeting over coffee. The store was a treasure, and he was gratified to see the good folks in town taking full advantage of it. Dan wondered if Jane knew what an impact she was making.
He observed people and situations for a living, tuning in to their emotions and motivations. His crime novels could be brutal; learning to watch people and their body language helped him make the books a lived experience. He wanted his readers to feel what his characters felt.
Janie may not have realized it, but her store was that kind of experience. Her shop, full of sights and sounds, was comfortable—like a second home—and Jane treated every visitor, no matter how many times they had been there, like an old friend.
Dan observed people visibly relax in her presence. Her genuine kindness, her openness, were what made the shop special. Being there, soaking up the atmosphere of the shop and the town, was exactly what he had needed to switch gears.
Her head tilted, she was watching the world go by from the window. “I love the new Christmas lights on Main Street. I can’t wait until we light up Angel Harbor. The streetlights go on next week, but the big reveal will be right after Thanksgiving.”
“I think it will really feel like Christmas to me this year. Between the excitement from my nieces and nephew, to being in a place that’s actually cold, I’m