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ChapterOne
The apartment in Seattle wasn’t a palace. With its single room, its view of the trash cans out the back window, and no working stove, Anna Crawford was more than slightly nervous about giving her mother a video tour when she called. As the oldest of the Crawford children, Anna put significant pressure on herself in her career and her personal life— and the crummy apartment, which was the only one she could afford, let alone find in such a difficult market, wasn’t exactly how she wanted to present herself.
“But don’t worry. I’ve already called the landlord about the stove,” Anna explained after the tour. “And I’m sure I’ll be able to find something better by next year.” Anna winced at how frightened she sounded.
On her phone screen, Julia was small and smiley, sitting in a sunbeam on Nantucket Island. “Oh, honey. It’s your first place by yourself. We all start somewhere.”
Anna perched at the edge of her bed as her heart ballooned in her chest.
“I mean it, honey,” her mother continued. “Things were different for me because I met your father so young. But you? You’re twenty-three and at the very beginning of your writing career. Be patient with yourself.”
Anna’s smile matched her mother’s, even this far west across the continent. If there was anything the Copperfield Family of Nantucket Island had taught her, it was that life was long and apt to change and alter its course at any moment. It was important to enjoy every season you were in.
“Just don’t have a surprise pregnancy like your father and I did,” Julia said with a small laugh. “We had to grow up very quickly. If we’d been in a little place like yours, it wouldn’t have been pretty.”
Anna laughed. “I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s not completely your fault,” Julia teased. “Besides, it all worked out in the end, didn’t it? And your story will, too.”
After Julia headed out to finish editing a manuscript for her publishing house, which was now vibrant and successful in the wake of Bernard Copperfield’s first book in over thirty years, Anna dropped to her knees in front of her suitcase and began to do something she’d always dreamed of doing: she packed for her very first trip away as a travel writer.
Anna piled a sweater, hiking boots, jeans, leggings, workout clothes, and toiletries into her suitcase, thinking about how, as a girl, she’d written stories of faraway lands, imagining what the landscape in Antarctica was like, or what really lurked at the top of Mount Everest. Now, it was her job to go to faraway places, experience them, and write them down for other people as a way for them to experience them, too, if only in story form. It was a dream come true.
There was a knock at the door. Anna hurried up to open it to find Dean wearing that devilishly handsome smile of his. “There she is. The famous travel writer, Anna Crawford.” He took a delicate step in, his blue eyes glistening. “I wonder if she’ll run off and forget about the people she left behind?”
Anna wrapped her arms loosely around Dean’s waist. “Unfortunately for my career, I’m a bit attached to this handsome teacher I know here in Seattle. I can’t stay away for long.”
“Who is this handsome teacher?” Dean feigned anger. “I’d like to tell him he’s not good enough for you.”
Anna kissed him, then tugged him deeper into the apartment, giddy with laughter and love. She and Dean had met last summer and found themselves wrapped up in a whirlwind romance. After their second date, they’d hardly spent a day apart, except for when Anna visited her family in Nantucket. Once, Dean had managed to come with her, spending a weekend feasting on Greta’s cooking, chatting to Bernard about his philosophies on teaching, walking the beaches, and falling deeper in love with Nantucket (and, Anna knew, with her).
“This is a huge assignment,” Anna groaned as she zipped her suitcase. “I don’t know if I can do it.”
“You’re up for it,” Dean told her. “I’ve never met a better writer than you, you know.”
Anna grimaced. “You have to say that.”
“I don’t have to say anything.” Dean placed his hand on her shoulder and rubbed it tenderly. “I fell in love with your brain during our very first conversation, and you’ve been a surprise to me ever since. Besides, didn’t your new boss at the travel magazine swoon over your first article?”
“I should have written something worse,” Anna suggested. “Now, anything I do will seem lackluster in comparison.”
“That’s impossible,” Dean said kindly.
Dean carried Anna’s suitcase to her beat-up car, which she planned to drive to the ferry that would ultimately take her to Orcas Island. With its rocky coastline, its thick emerald pines, and its adorable towns, Orcas Island was a perfect vacation destination for explorers, families, and foodies alike— and Anna had been assigned to write about a brand-new restaurant that was getting buzz in the town center. Her editor had told her to meet up with a friend of his, another travel writer named Everett, who’d lived on Orcas Island since last year and written about it extensively since. Anna planned to meet Everett that evening for dinner and hoped he would give her the ultimate “secret” about how to become a successful travel writer, one who could make traveling, eating, hiking, drinking good wine, and shopping a non-stop lifestyle. To Anna, travel writing seemed the most glamorous life of all.
Dean placed the suitcase in the trunk and kissed Anna with such tenderness that she felt weak in the knees.
“I’ll miss you, you know,” Dean whispered.
“I’ll miss you back,” Anna said.
“You’re staying at the Harbor Inn?”
“Yes,” Anna affirmed. “I’ll probably check in by five or so, then head over to meet Everett and his fiancé.”
Dean’s eyes glistened, and he cupped her hands in his and then kissed her fingers gently. Anna’s heart lifted, and she was again struck with the solid realization that one day, she would marry this man. There was no other way.
Anna drove from Seattle to Anacortes, where a ferry awaited to take her to Orcas Island. She parked her car in the belly of the ferry, then locked it and hurried out to the top desk to watch as land receded along the horizon behind her. A shiver raced up her spine.
