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This was much, much better on every level. The coffee was smooth with notes of chocolate and cherry, the kind of morning pick-me-up that she could get addicted to.
“Here you go!” The young woman dropped off Alissa’s sandwich, which was in a red basket and partially wrapped in white butcher’s paper.
“Thank you! It smells so good.” Alissa pulled a few napkins.
“Enjoy!”
Alissa dug into her sandwich, holding back pleased sighs when the flavor hit her tongue. The combination of the spicy red pepper jam with the creamy yolk of the fried egg would have been phenomenal, but the addition of the house-made sausage made it the best sandwich she’d ever had in her life.
She polished it off and was already thinking of ways to come back to this place again. Literary Stays was one town over in Whale Harbor, but they were so close by that it was easy to get back by bike.
“That was the best sandwich I’ve ever had,” Alissa said to the young woman as she put her basket in the stack next to the trash can. “Hands down.”
“Really?” The girl beamed. “I’m so glad to hear that. Dad, did you hear that?”
“Hm? Did I hear what?” A man peered his head into the doorway that led to the kitchen.
He was older and rough around the edges, like he did a lot of manual work, but Alissa couldn’t help but notice his strong jaw and handsome features under his rough stubble. If he got cleaned up, he’d be very distinguished.
“The Dock is the best sandwich that…” The young woman paused as if to ask for Alissa’s name.
“Alissa.”
“The Dock is the best sandwich that Alissa has ever had.” The girl’s smile made her look even more like a fairy from one of the books Alissa’s niece Pearl loved so much—petite, with skin as fair and hair as dark as Snow White’s.
“Glad to hear it,” the man said with a nod before disappearing into the kitchen again.
“I’m Hannah, and that’s my dad, Willis Jenkins.” Hannah extended her hand over the counter. “He owns the shop.”
“Nice to meet you.” Alissa shook her hand. “I’m so glad I stumbled on this place.”
“You’re visiting from out of town, I’m guessing?” Hannah asked.
“I am. From Denver.”
“Cool, welcome to Blueberry Bay! I’ve always wanted to visit Denver.” Hannah chuckled. “Although maybe not at this time of year.”
“Yeah, it can get cold during the winters. Although it’s a fun place to be if you like winter sports.” Alissa shrugged, sipping her coffee. “It’s been so nice and quiet here so far.”
“This is a great spot to get away from a lot of noise. Usually we get more tourists in the summer months. There are a few festivals and the beach is gorgeous around that time. The water’s actually not freezing.”
“Yeah. I just needed some time to figure out what I’m going to do next,” Alissa said. “The place where I’m staying over in Whale Harbor is literary themed and near the beach, so it felt like the perfect place for me.”
“That sounds super cute. And Whale Harbor is nice too,” Hannah said. “Are you a librarian?”
“No, I’m a writer. For a newspaper. Or rather, I used to write for a newspaper.” Alissa’s cheeks warmed and she checked her watch.
“I can’t wait to see Literary Stays. I’m not sure what check-in is like since it’s this early.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to drop by. The bed and breakfasts around here aren’t like big hotels.” Hannah shrugged. “They’re pretty relaxed with check-in times and things like that.”
“True.” Alissa pulled her coat back on. “I think I’ll head over there now. I’ll definitely be back soon.”
“Looking forward to it! See you soon!”
Alissa hailed another cab, which took her the short ride to Literary Stays. The bed and breakfast was even more quaint than it appeared online, its pale blue and white exterior a nice complement to the sea next to it. There was a wraparound porch with a swing in the front and on the side facing the ocean, with views of the grasses and wilderness around it.
Alissa paid and thanked the cab driver, then got out. The clean, salty air blew her hair around as she walked up the porch steps. Now that she was closer, she noticed a few nods to some of her favorite authors—a plaque on the porch swing with a Jane Austen quote, a portrait of Oscar Wilde visible through the window, and a set of leather-bound books with painted pages in the windowsill.
