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I headed to the town library on that tranquil Sunday morning, grateful it was open even on weekends. The sun started peering over the horizon, casting a warm glow and promising a beautiful day. Walking the familiar route from my house, my thoughts drifted back to the magical time I’d spent with Alexander the day before at the Spring Festival.
Even now, just the memory of it made me smile. The way he’d teased me lightheartedly about my competitive streak at the ring toss. How he’d gallantly won me that cute plush tiger prize when I’d failed so miserably. And, of course, he’d written and recited the heartfelt poem just for me during the fireworks display. I could still picture how the colors had burst across the night sky as he spoke those beautiful words that resonated deeply in my heart.
At that moment, watching those fireworks with Alexander by my side, I felt a sense of belonging that I hadn’t experienced in far too long. Of course, I knew it was still early for Alexander and me. We were taking things slowly, still figuring out what this wasbetween us. But I had a good feeling about it. A sense of promise that left me hopeful for the future.
For now, though, I have a novel to work on. I’d been struck by a fresh wave of inspiration and motivation since returning to Pebble Point, and I was eager to get writing while the creativity flowed. As I approached the library, I inhaled a lungful of the invigorating morning air, ready to immerse myself in research for the day. Pushing open the wooden doors, I stepped into the comforting embrace of the familiar book-filled interior, keen to see what literary adventures awaited within.
***
I spotted Jan perusing a shelf of mystery novels. She waved excitedly when she saw me.
“Etta! I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, walking over. “Ever since we went to Marla’s bookshop, I’ve had so many ideas for my novel. Could we chat about it?”
I smiled, happy to mentor this eager young writer. “Of course! Let’s find a table, and you can tell me all about them.”
As we settled in, Jan opened her notebook, her eyes shining excitedly. I remembered what it was like to be starting out, and was honored to share my experiences and provide guidance. She reminded me so much of my younger self, and I hoped I could help nurture her talent and passion, just as George had done for me.
“Ah, I see we have another aspiring author among us!” George said warmly as he pulled up a chair.
Jan’s eyes widened. “Mr. Wilson, it’s so nice to see you again. I was telling Etta about my book idea.”
“Please, call me George,” he insisted. Turning to me, he added, “Etta, I’m so pleased to see you mentoring young Jan here.Romance is a delightful genre, though I must admit, frivolous for my tastes.”
I laughed. “Oh George, even you can’t resist the charm of a romance novel now and then. Remember when we used to read those gothic tales together?”
George chuckled, pushing his glasses up his nose. “You’ve caught me there. I suppose I’m not immune to a captivating love story.”
“Romance novels today are certainly different from the classics. Can you imagine Mr. Darcy as a billionaire CEO? Or Elizabeth Bennet as a sassy entrepreneur?”
We all laughed at the absurdity. Jan piped up, “Ooh, or Romeo as a bad boy rockstar and Juliet as a famous influencer!”
Even George had to snicker at that one. “You may be onto something there. Perhaps we should look at the library’s collection to analyze the evolution of romance stories and tropes.”
He led us to a section crammed with paperback romances, their covers decorated in flashy fonts and photos of chiseled men embracing women in elegant gowns.
“Now, here’s a fine selection of contemporary romance,” George remarked, gesturing grandly, as if unveiling museum pieces. “Quite the contrast from the subtlety of an Austen or Bronte novel, wouldn’t you say?”
Jan eagerly began pulling out books, reading hilarious snippets from the over-the-top dialogue and steamy scenes. We passed around a few of the novels, laughing until our sides ached at the absurd titles and plot lines.
It felt wonderful to share carefree moments with them, surrounded by stories old and new. For a while, I could forget my complicated tale and simply enjoy the comfort of friendship in our little sanctuary.
“Well, in all my years here, I’ve certainly seen my share of peculiar romance novels,” George remarked, adjusting his glasses. “Why, just last month, we had a book about a woman falling in love with a werewolf who worked as an accountant. And that space pirate romance featured some rather...creative uses of zero gravity.”
Jan and I erupted into giggles at George’s deadpan descriptions.
“Oh, and let’s not forget the novel about the vampire cowboy,” George added seriously before grinning. “I must say, authors today have rather vivid imaginations.”
As our laughter died down, Jan piped up eagerly. “Speaking of vivid imaginations, I wanted to show you both what I’ve written so far.”
She pulled out a stack of papers clipped together and passed them to me. “It’s just the first few chapters, but I’d love any feedback you have!”
I scanned the opening of Jan’s manuscript, impressed by her descriptive and heartfelt writing style. The story follows a young woman in the late 1800s who returns to Pebble Point after a failed engagement, only to find herself falling for the town’s mysterious lighthouse keeper.
“Jan, this is wonderful!” I exclaimed. “You’ve captured the essence of our little town so beautifully. I can’t wait to read more.”
“Thank you!” Jan replied, beaming. “I did a lot of research on Pebble Point’s history to get the setting and details right. But I’m sure there’s much more I could learn.”
She turned hopefully to George. “I don’t suppose you have any insights you could share? You’re like a walking encyclopedia of this place.”
