said. “You make sure you have enough crystals and bookmarks.”
“You forgot the journals and dreamcatchers,” Jane retorted as she walked to the back. The gift section was an ongoing tease with her mother. Jane had set aside a small corner of her shop to indulge her need for beautiful things. The section was called Modern Artifacts. Not that books weren’t beautiful, but the color and light brought in by the locally crafted candles, crystals, textiles, and paper goods made her feel more connected to the world outside her small corner of it. “Tracy should be in soon. She can give you a hand with the children’s room.”
Her best friend, Tracy Kelly, had been a fixture in Jane’s life since they’d landed in Mrs. Sherman’s kindergarten class at Woodbury Avenue School. Obsessed with the large playhouse and the endless possibilities the magical classroom provided, Jane and Tracy had a formed a bond that was more sisterhood than anything. Jane was an only child, and Tracy had brothers, so the two girls grew up together, weathering every storm along the way. In the toughest times, they were there for each other. When her last child had left the nest for college five years ago, Tracy transitioned from part-time employee to Jane’s right hand at the bookstore.
Once in her office, Jane picked up a heart-shaped piece of hematite. The stone, a gift from her friend Claire, was smooth as silk and cold to the touch, at least initially. After a minute, a tingly warmth would radiate up her arm. It grounded her, and spending a little time in the quiet, holding a piece of the earth, let her collect her thoughts. Her grandfather called it woolgathering, and Jane found comfort in it. The dreams of her youth may not have come to fruition, but she couldn’t help thinking that the course change was for a reason. Understanding that didn’t stop her from ruminating, and sometimes feeling sorry for herself, but she no longer wondered what could have been. Life had a funny way of putting you where you needed to be.
After she breathed out several times long and slow, Jane’s eyes were drawn to the crystal angel that sat on the shelf above her desk. Setting down the stone, she reached for it. It belonged to her father and before that to her grandfather. Each of them kept it in the bookstore, right in this spot.
Tradition was beautiful, and Jane respected the Fallon legacy, doing her best to keep it alive and well.
But changes were coming, and Jane knew there was no way to stop them.
Chapter Two
Never in his writing career had Dan felt like he didn’t know what he was doing. Even in the early stages of his career, after he’d drafted his first book, he had confidence in his ability to tell a story. Maybe it was hubris, arrogance even, but he didn’t doubt himself.
It was probably because he’d always stayed in his lane. He wrote crime thrillers, procedurals. His dad was a cop. Dan was a litigator. The genre fit him, and he was good at it. But it was time for him to leave his comfort zone and write something that challenged him to dig deeper, to bare more of himself.
Something from his heart.
This book needed to do more than entertain, it had to inspire his readers. Comfort them. He’d spent a lot of time gutting victims; now he wanted to help people heal.
He had no idea exactly how he was going to do it, but coming home was the first thing he’d done right in a long time.
His sister was ten years younger than he was, and in addition to her career, she wrangled a pack of small humans whom Dan rather enjoyed. Never having had any kids of his own, it was a novelty to have their voices as his background music. Looking out of the cottage window at the long, hilly driveway, he saw the three of them charging up from the school bus. Backpacks thumped against their legs, or on the ground. A lunch bag was dropped and retrieved. And on cue, just as they got to the side porch, a yellow Lab burst through the door and pounced. The dog’s tail wagged faster and faster with each squeal from the kids, and Dan took in every inch of the chaos as it raced toward him.
This was why he’d come home. He didn’t need late-night ride-alongs with the police and gloomy solitude. He needed a