Page 1 of A Christmas Harbor

ChapterOne

All around the harbor, candy-colored Christmas lights shimmered over the masts of sleeping sailboats, on the branches of leafless trees, and in the windows of dark and dormant shops.

The drawn-up hood of Paul’s coat blocked all these lights, revealing only their zigzag reflection in the road before him, a road rippling with a downpour so cold it verged on sleet, so harsh it couldn’t dream of being snow.

A sudden gust blew back his hood and loosened his scarf in one fell swoop. He stopped beneath a shop awning to rewrap himself out of the rain.

The store in front of him called itself “an olive oil and vinegar taproom,” which totally fit the upscale profile of this waterfront area. A display of agrodolce bottles sat beneath a sign that readFor the #Foodie in your life!

His heart gave a reflexive lurch, his mind bouncing fromOoh, perfect gift for himtoHe’s gone, you idiot.

Paul turned away, zipping and snapping his coat all the way up this time. Then he did one last scan of the harbor’s main square. Surely there’d be a single sign of life.

But despite the festive lights, not another soul was wandering these soggy streets. Every shop owner and restaurateur, being of sound mind, had gone home to snuggle their sweetheart, or tuck their tiny tots into bed so the final toys could be assembled.

Paul sighed. Annapolis was beautiful all decked out for the holidays, but he would’ve traded every inch of prettiness for one open bar.

He headed uphill, away from the waterfront. Just because the touristy places were closed didn’t mean there wouldn’t be a hole-in-the-wall joint catering to random strays and lost sheep.

A trilling flute noise came from his pocket, his sister’s signature ringtone.

He answered, maxing out the call volume to hear her over the downpour. “Hey, Care, what’s up?”

“Just the family falling apart on Christmas Eve,” she said with typical Carolyn overstatement. “No biggie.”

“What’s wrong?” Besides the obvious.

“Mom’s mad you left, and Dad’s mad that Mom’s mad, but he’s also mad at you for making Mom mad, and I’m trying to manage them.”

“You can’t manage—”

“Other people’s feelings, I know,” she said. “But I thought maybe, if you were not having a great time there, you’d consider coming home?”

“Care, it’s a fourteen-hour drive between here and Iowa, a fact with which I am painfully familiar, because I just did it yesterday.” The car version of jet lag still haunted his head, giving him that fuzzy, half-squeezed feeling around the eyes.

“I’ll pay for a flight,” she said, “a round-trip one so you can get back to Maryland next week to look for an apartment.”

He made a noncommittal grunt and kept walking uphill past cheerily painted turn-of-the-century row houses.

“How’s Annapolis?” Carolyn prompted.

“The weather sucks. Buthe’snot here, so overall a huge improvement over Cedar Rapids.”

“I get it,” she said. “I really do get why you left, but will you at least think about coming home? We’re all worried about you, Paul.”

“I promise to think about it.” He would probablyoverthink about it. “I’ll let you know by midnight.”

“Okay, buttface. Don’t get too drunk before then.”

“Hey, that’s a slanderous writer stereotype. I’m no Hemingway, as critics are constantly reminding me.”

She laughed. “I’m calling you at midnight if I haven’t heard from you.”

“I’m sure you will.” He stopped at the corner so he could focus on what to say. “Thanks for checking in, Care. It means a lot, even if it is annoying.”

“What are little sisters for? Bye!”

Paul stuffed his phone back in his pocket, smirking at their silly joke. At forty-four, she was seven years older; but at five-four, she was an entire foot shorter—which, she argued, made her the little sister forever.

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