Christmas in Angel Harbor

by Jeannie Moon

  Shaking off the mood that threatened to settle around her, Jane went to the front and found Tara at the counter reading what looked to be a very old copy of Austen’s Persuasion.

  “How do you like it?”

  “I LOVE it! Wentworth is positively swoon-worthy. He’s so much more a hero than Darcy.”

  “You think so? There are people who would vehemently disagree. Pride and Prejudice is gospel.”

  “What-evs. I read it twice. I like Lizzy, but Darcy is an idiot. He needs a wedgie, or something.”

  “A wedgie? That’s different.” As much as her girl tried to be cool and sophisticated, every once in a while her inner twelve-year-old made an appearance.

  “But very effective at making the point,” Tara defended.

  Jane laughed. Her daughter had a wicked sense of humor, and a knack for finding the absurd in almost any situation. “How is your contest entry coming along? Did you get through the plot problem you were worried about?”

  “I guess. I sent it.”

  That stopped Jane in her tracks. “I’m sorry. What?”

  “I sent it. It’s been revised enough. If I keep editing and revising, eventually it will be flat. My words have to have…passion.” She waved her arm up on the last word and Jane wondered what had triggered the response. It was fine—great, really—because getting her to submit anything before the last minute was nearly impossible. The contest she was entering had a deadline in two weeks. Normally, Tara would be stressing over her entry until the very end.

  “Well, good. Excellent. I’m glad you 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 was shorter, a bit grayer as she’d noticed earlier, but even styled, at this hour Danny looked delightfully rumpled in his thermal T-shirt and faded denim. His eyes were covered by a pair of dark-rimmed glasses that suited his face, and the seriousness of his expression.

  He tilted his head, probably wondering why she was staring. It was a legitimate question, but Jane didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, so she kept the truth of her ogling to herself.

  He was gorgeous, and she was completely enjoying the flutters in her belly. It had been a long time since that kind of awareness raced through her. Over twenty-five years and the man still made her nervous.

  Now that he’d looked up from his work, she wouldn’t feel like she was interrupting. With a hot cup of coffee in her hand, she walked back to the table and set it down next to him. Then, she sat down herself.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  He sipped the coffee and smiled. “I should be saying thanks for this. I’m going to need the caffeine.”

  “Nah. It’s decaf.”

  “Sacrilege,” he joked, his eyes narrowing and crinkling at the corners. “Why the thanks?”

  “Your advice got my daughter to submit her story. She tends to obsess over her work, and it’s hard to watch her doubt herself.”

  “Your daughter?”

  “Yes. My everything. She’s seventeen.”

  “She sounds like a lot of us creative types. I just told her to bite the bullet.”

  “Maybe, but you didn’t tell her who you are. I mean, she said you’re ‘kind of a writer.’ Kind of?”

  He laughed, deep and strong, and the sound vibrated through her. “There are critics who would agree with her.” He took another sip from the steaming brew and leveled his gaze at her. “She wouldn’t even know who I am.”

  “Her mother owns a bookstore! I have all your books with a local author label right on the front. I mean, granted, you look nothing like that creepy author picture, but if you said your name, she would know.”

  “Creepy?”

  Realizing she might have insulted him, Jane hesitated. “Well, yeah.”

  That elicited another laugh. Deep and genuine, it unexpectedly brought her tremendous joy.

  “You’re still the best at doing that,” he said. “I haven’t laughed much lately.�
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  Jane expected he’d had a rough time of it since the murder last year. She could tiptoe around the subject, but since he’d alluded to it, she figured she could offer some comfort. “I’m sorry about what you’ve been going through. Being linked to that young woman’s death must have been awful.”

  “It has been.” His eyes darted to the front of the store when the bell let them know someone had come in. He tipped his head down and played with the expensive executive pen that rested on his notebook.

  “Is that why you’re hiding out at your sister’s place?”

  Shifting in his seat, that observation appeared to poke at his pride a little. “Hiding out?”

  “Yes. Hiding out. You don’t want people to know you’re here. That’s why you didn’t tell Tara. Your reaction just now, when that customer walked in, was confirmation.”

  “You’re too observant.”

  “It’s a Fallon thing,” she reminded him.

  “I remember,” he grumbled. “Angel Harbor does not need a press swarm. Neither does my family.”

  “I won’t say a word, and you’re welcome to hide out in here as much as you like.”

  “I appreciate that.” His words were simple but sincere.

  “You’re a big chicken, though.”

  That teased another smile out of him. “Maybe.”

  The customer, who stopped in at least once a month, went up to the counter and Jane rose to attend to her business. Part of her wanted to lock the doors and sit and talk to her old friend. She had so many questions. Where had he gone? Why didn’t he keep in touch with her? What was so horrible that he had to run away, and never look back?

  She and Danny had been friends since fifth grade, but that summer before he went to law school had been incredible. Life-changing. Jane had found her nerve and told him how much he meant to her.

  She’d thought he felt the same. But she was obviously wrong, because he’d never looked back.

  They couldn’t be more different. While Danny’s life was profiled in magazines, Jane was an unknown outside of her little town. Not that it was a problem; Jane had never wanted to be famous, but she’d wanted to make a mark.

  When her father died, her mother had been crushed. Her grandmother inconsolable. Jane was numb. The flight from Glasgow was a blur. The memorial and funeral had passed in a haze of grief. Her vibrant, loving father, who could make anyone’s day brighter, was gone. In the blink of an eye, a heart problem he didn’t know he had took him away from the people and town he loved so much.

  Nothing else mattered after that. Jane knew she had to focus on her family and on the business her family had built. She’d been here ever since.

  Once the customer left, Jane turned, but Danny was back to his writing, his hand moving furiously over the paper. That was her cue to keep her distance and let him work. Pushing herself up onto the high stool, she sipped her coffee and opened the accounting program on her laptop. She might as well get some work done since that seemed to be the charge of the evening.

  Looking at her figures, she shook her head. The store wasn’t doing badly; in fact, she’d had a great year. But she still wasn’t sure it was enough. Not for what she was planning.

  The building next door to hers was for sale, and they were situated so close to one another, combining the spaces wouldn’t be that difficult with the right design. The extra square footage could be just the thing she needed to become one of the biggest indie bookstores in the state.

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t get an answer from her attorney about her own lease, let alone the sale of the other building, which was owned by the same landlord. It was a crazy idea, but with her mother heading south during the coldest part of the year, and Tara going to college, Jane was going to need a project. Expanding the bookstore certainly fit the bill.

  It hadn’t been her dream job, but owning the store brought her many rewards and even more happy moments. There might have been times she felt she missed out, but her choices had been hers to make and the results included a daughter she adored, a connection to a wonderful community, and a successful business. Frustrated as she might be, Jane didn’t consider her life a mistake or a loss. But she wondered how she’d failed to make the impact she always thought she would. Had her contribution mattered?

  Jane kept the questions to herself. No one knew about her musings, nor her grand plans to expand. Not her mom, or her daughter. They had other things ahead of them and Jane didn’t want them to wonder if she’d gone off the deep end contemplating such a big change. No, her job was to be supportive and steady, even as the milestones crept closer.

  No matter how much she hurt, she wasn’t going to let them see it.

  Glancing back at Danny, she felt a pang of resentment. He’d become an international success—a superstar. But he’d left everything behind, including her. Their relationship had meant more to her than it had to him, and she would do well to remember it.

  *

  It was almost eleven when Jane finally walked into the pretty Cape-style house she shared with her mother and her daughter. Built in the 1940s the house possessed great bones, coupled with a deceptive amount of space. Jane grew up in the house, which was only a few blocks outside of town. It had been lovingly maintained for all the years her family had owned it.

  In the mudroom that led to the driveway, Jane spied two small suitcases next to the door. Her mother was going away with her friends for an artists’ retreat in Santa Fe, leaving Jane and Tara without their third Musketeer. For so long it had been the three of them. Her mom’s trip was another reminder about how things were going to change.

  The mail was on the kitchen island and she flipped through it, dropping her tote on the stool nearby. When the scent of lavender filled the space around her, she didn’t even have to look up to know her mother had entered the room. “You’re up late,” she said.

  “And you’re home late.” Mom turned on the small overhead light by the counter and pressed the switch on the electric kettle. She was going to make Jane tea, which meant she wanted to talk.

  “I’m really tired, Mom. Can we do this tomorrow?”

  “Do what?” Reaching into the cupboard for Jane’s favorite Polish Pottery mug, her mother added a dollop of honey and put a spoonful of her favorite nighttime tea in the infuser while she waited for the water to boil. “I’m making my daughter some tea after a very long day.”

  It had been a long day. Made longer still by the ghost from her past. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. We start the day with tea, and we end it with tea. Full circle.” As the hot water filled the cup, Jane wondered about the bottle of Malbec in her wine fridge. Surely that would have been a nice end to her very odd day. Mom set the steeping tea in front of Jane and took a seat across from her. The cool metal chain attached to the infuser contrasted to the steam coming off the hot liquid in the mug. The sensations battled each other, conflicted, much like her mood. Maybe she did want to talk.

  The kitchen had just been remodeled, and it was absolutely Jane’s favorite room in the house. Illuminated by a few pendant lights, the rich toffee-colored cabinets glowed like burnt gold. Large efficient stainless steel appliances, big windows, and a center island, truly made the kitchen the heart of the home.

  Jane had planned for the renovation for years. Using French farmhouse style as her inspiration, the back of the house had been pushed out just a bit to create a dining area with a vaulted ceiling adorned with sprigs of herbs and dried flowers. It accommodated a huge, rough-hewn table that could easily seat eight people and more when it was extended.

  It was open and welcoming, a family home that had collected a lot of memories over the years. Her Collie, Chloe, ambled out of the living room, obviously just waking up from her evening nap, and gave Jane a bad look. The big and beautiful dog was Jane’s constant companion and usually accompanied her to the store, but today she’d been at the groomer. The dog’s sable coat was flowing and soft, but Chloe didn’t like the disru
ption to her routine no matter how much she needed the attention.

  “You look beautiful, Miss Chloe. Did you like your spa day?” The dog barked in that classic Collie way, and while she might have been annoyed, she laid her long, pointed nose on Jane’s lap for a scratch. Apparently, all was forgiven.

  “Soooo, how was your night?” her mother asked.

  “Fine. Book club went well. It was quiet otherwise.”

  “Hmmm.” She looked over the edge of her teacup her eyes full of speculation. “I heard you had some company.”

  “Company?”

  “Jane, come on. It was one thing to see Dan with his nieces and nephew this afternoon, but he came back? What’s up with that?”

  “I have no idea.” Other than the most basic details, she didn’t have a clue.

  “No? Tara came home and told me about the nice man who encouraged her to submit her story. Who gave her great advice about her writing.”

  “He did do that, but he didn’t tell her who he was. He’s keeping a very low profile while he’s in town.”

  Her mother leaned in, intrigued. “Oooh. How mysterious. Did he tell you what he’s working on?”

  “No. It’s top secret. He’s not telling anyone, even his publishing people. But he did like being back at the store. I think he feels comfortable there.”

  Mom’s mouth drew into a thin line, indicating she was thinking. Kathleen Fallon was always thinking. “Maybe we can find out—”