A Walk Along the Beach by Debbie Macomber Page 0,2

in an abrupt change of subject, cutting Harper off before she had a chance to drill him about his career. It was clear to me, if not my sister, that Sean preferred not to talk about his work.

“My mother had an aunt named Willa,” he continued. “You rarely hear that name these days.”

Again, it was Harper who answered. “Willa was named after Willa Cather, who was one of our mother’s favorite authors.”

“And Harper then for Harper Lee?” Sean asked, making brief eye contact with her.

Harper grinned. “Yup, and our older brother is Lucas. He isn’t named after anyone. From what we understand, Mom and Dad made an agreement before they married. Dad got to name the boys and Mom got to name us girls.”

“How long have you had Bean There?” he asked, looking to me.

“Almost six years now.” I had a small inheritance from our grandparents that had originally been set aside for college. I’d attended the community college in Aberdeen, daily driving the twenty-three miles each way. I’d taken every business class available and used the rest of the money to buy equipment and set up shop. It hadn’t been easy those first couple of years, but now Bean There had a faithful clientele. I did a brisk business, especially in the mornings. I took my coffee seriously and baked nearly everything myself. That meant a lot of early mornings, not that I minded. I loved what I did, and it provided enough income for Harper and me to share an apartment without worrying about how we would pay the rent.

Seth Keaton walked in and glanced my way before he stepped to the counter. Alice was in the back, collecting cookies from the dough I’d made earlier that morning. I welcomed the opportunity to escape this uncomfortable situation.

“If you’ll excuse me,” I said, grabbing hold of my coffee mug as I stood.

“Back to the grind,” Harper teased, “pun intended.”

Sean grinned. “I need to get back to work myself. Thanks for the conversation,” he said, looking at me.

“Ah…sure.”

Relieved, I headed to the counter and Keaton. His first name was Seth, but no one called him that. His size was something to behold. He must have been close to seven feet tall, and his shoulders were massive. He worked as a house painter, but he was far more talented than most folks gave him credit for. It was a surprise to learn Keaton was the one who’d painted the murals in town. He was married to the local doctor, Annie Keaton, who headed up the health clinic in Oceanside.

“What can I do for you?” I asked.

“Give me a vanilla latte. Sixteen ounces. Make it extra-hot.”

“For Dr. Annie?”

He nodded. “She didn’t have time for breakfast this morning and I’m guessing her blood sugar is low right about now.”

“You got it.” I recognized the order. Keaton wasn’t a latte kind of man. He liked a double shot of espresso and baked goods. Especially my Danish, but he was equally fond of my cinnamon rolls.

Business slowed until lunchtime. My sandwiches made with homemade bread were a popular item. With only a few tables available, most of my business was takeout. I’d recently expanded our luncheon menu, and sales were picking up.

When business slowed again in midafternoon, I took a break and went for a short walk along the beach. I tried to do that as often as time afforded. With a hectic work schedule, I needed to breathe in the fresh air and center myself. The seagulls squawked as they soared overhead, carried by the wind. Although it was only mid-June, the sunshine shone down on me, relaxing the tense muscles of my shoulders, easing my worries.

The ocean had always been my solace. The sound of the waves as they crashed against the shore reverberated in my head, offering me a peaceful contentment. I once heard it explained that being near the ocean, with the surf and the swirling waters, was like being tucked inside a mother’s womb. I wasn’t sure if that was scientific or not, but in some ways, it made sense. The rhythm of the tides, the predictability of it all, offers reassurance and a certain sense of security.

I’d badly needed that, especially when Harper had been deathly ill. The long months of fighting cancer had taken a toll on my sister. On all of us. I thanked God every day that she’d survived. Still, the threat that the leukemia might return hung over our heads like a dark,