AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Alissa dug her hand into her short curls, her fingers getting caught on a knot. She hadn’t looked in the mirror for more than a brief moment in days, so her hair was undoubtedly a disaster.
“I know there are,” Alissa said. “But I’m not ready to give up yet.”
“Okay,” was all Caitlin said.
“It’s my decision, Caitlin.”
“I know. I know.”
“I should get back to it.” Alissa swirled her wine in her glass. “Talk to you later.”
“See you.”
Alissa hung up, slumping into the back of the couch. Maybe Caitlin was right. If she was having trouble even finding listings for jobs at newspapers or magazines, the odds of her actually getting one of those jobs was even slimmer. Her work was pretty good by most standards but it was a competitive space and she hadn’t measured up atEpic. Settling for any kind of job was becoming a bigger possibility by the minute, but everything inside her shoved that possibility into the back of her mind.
She sipped her wine and pulled her knees up to her chest, looking around her apartment.Epichadn’t paid all that much, so her apartment was tiny, the single bedroom barely big enough to be considered a bedroom. It didn’t get much light either, especially at this time of year, making it gloomy even with all the lamps she’d brought in. And having been stuck inside for days, she was sick of it.
That was it. She needed some time away to sort things out. Some place with a beautiful landscape and a calm energy, maybe by the beach. Her severance package had given her enough to live off of for a while. Surely there was a place that fit that description perfectly.
Feeling invigorated for the first time since Friday, Alissa grabbed her laptop and looked up beachside getaways. Hundreds of search results popped up, so she narrowed it down. She was chasing the atmosphere, not necessarily the amenities, and luckily there were tons of small bed and breakfasts peppering the coast of New England that seemed like a good fit.
Some were too bare bones and too far from the beach for her tastes, while other ones were way outside of her price range. But then, the perfect option appeared and she gasped—Literary Stays. It was a B&B with a literary theme, right on the beach. The inside was perfect too, with built-in bookcases and nooks to curl up with a book and look out onto the scenery. And its prices were great.
She hopped up and grabbed her wallet to book a stay there. It was the perfect place to recharge and find the creative energy that had made her want to be a writer in the first place.
* * *
“Good afternoon!” one of the many cheerful young people who worked at Tidal Wave Coffee said when Dane walked in. “Your regular latte?”
“Yes, please,” Dane replied.
“I’m on it!”
Dane noticed that the baristas usually made small talk with the guests as they made their coffee, but he never knew what to say. When was the last time anyone had made small talk with him in a situation like this? It had been so long that he wasn’t even sure if he was able to do it. What if he burst the barista’s bubble by not engaging in the right way? That was another issue with being a regular at places—every interaction had more weight to it since he'd have to see someone again the next day.
He held in a sigh. When was he going to adjust to living here? Some days he worried he never would.
He paid, tipping the barista a dollar since she always made a good effort, and waited in the tiny space at the end of the bar. A stack of copies ofThe Outletsat below the shop’s bulletin board. At least several people had grabbed copies. He took one for himself even though he’d personally read it from front to back at least three times before it went to press.
He had worked on it, writing a few articles and rewriting ones that weren’t as strong. Josie had made sure that it went to press on time and looked great. And the staff writer he’d hired...well, he tried. More accurately, Dane worked with him, trying to get good work in round after round of edits.
Writers he’d worked with at the newspaper back in New York had called him a control freak, a title he couldn’t deny, but he just wanted to put out the best possible product. The writer wasn’t giving it to him. But what else could he do? The best writers weren’t clamoring to move to tiny towns in Rhode Island, no matter how idyllic they looked.
“Here’s your latte, Dane!” The barista slid a sea green cup across the bar to him.
“Thanks.”
He took his latte outside. It was unseasonably warm for this time of year, though that meant it was just cold instead of bitterly cold. The shop had a small patio that was screened in and heated in the winter, the perfect place to have a warm drink. He had never minded the cold.
Dane found a seat across the patio from an older couple having tea and opened up the second weekly edition of the paper. He couldn’t stop himself from sighing. The paper was… fine. Just fine. It did the basics of reporting, at least. This issue had stories on the new bike path that connected Blueberry Bay to the neighboring town of Whale Harbor, as well as some local happenings that his staff writer had scraped up from somewhere.
It was the only outlet for news in the area, hence the name, so they didn’t have competition to compare themselves to. But he wasn’t ecstatic to have his name on it. It didn’t have that gripping nature to it, the kind of paper that you had to read and talk to people about.The Outletwasn’t going to be sparking many conversations.
“Hey there,” a man said, stepping up to Dane’s table.
Dane looked up. The man was tall with long, dark wavy hair that he had tied back in a knot. He had a surfboard under one arm and exuded the confidence of a successful business owner. Even though Dane didn’t know his face, he guessed this was Michael, the owner of the coffee shop. He had been a professional surfer and extended his love of the sport to the theme of his cafe.
“Hi,” Dane said in return. “Are you Michael O’Neil?”
