Chapter 6 - The Discovery in Newport
Two months slipped by like a slow-moving fog.
In Newport, Oregon, the winter rains lashed against the tall glass windows of the apartment above Harbor Light Books, but inside, the air was warm, smelling of cinnamon tea and old paper.
At twenty-five weeks pregnant, my belly was undeniably round, swelling beneath soft flannel shirts and knitted sweaters. The locals in the small coastal town had adopted me with the fierce, protective warmth typical of tight-knit fishing communities. The baker down the street brought me fresh cinnamon rolls every Tuesday morning; the owner of the hardware store helped me install a rocking chair by the bedroom window; and Sarah treated me like royalty downstairs.
I was happy. Truly, deeply, soul-deep happy.
Every afternoon, I would sit by the window watching the fishing boats return from the Pacific, feeling the strong, rhythmic kicks of our baby against my palm. I didn't miss New York. I didn't miss the galas, the glittering chandeliers, or the suffocating expectations of high-society life.
Then came a rainy Thursday in late February.
I was downstairs helping Sarah sort through a new shipment of maritime history books when the front door of the bookstore chimed.
A tall man in a dark, rain-soaked wool coat stepped inside, shaking the water from his umbrella. He looked tired—his dark hair slightly disheveled, deep purple shadows bruised beneath his eyes, his expensive Italian leather shoes scuffed with salt and mud.
My breath caught in my throat.
It was Daniel.
He didn't see me at first. He was standing near the front counter, speaking quietly to Sarah, whose back was turned.
“Excuse me,” Daniel said, his voice sounding rough and exhausted. “I’m looking for a woman. Her name is Amy Harrison. Have you seen her? She’s about five-foot-six, brown hair—”
“She’s not here,” Sarah interrupted sharply, turning around with a scowl, immediately recognizing him from the photographs I had shown her. “And even if she was, she doesn't want to talk to a corporate vulture who couldn't be bothered to look up from his spreadsheets long enough to notice his wife was drowning.”
Daniel didn't flinch at the insult. He absorbed it like a man who believed he deserved far worse.
“Please,” Daniel pleaded, his voice cracking with a raw, agonizing vulnerability that made my heart ache despite myself. “I just need to talk to her for five minutes. Tell her I’ll leave right after. Just… let me see her.”
I stepped out from behind the biography stacks, my hand resting gently against the swell of my coat.
“You don't need to look for her, Daniel,” I said softly.
The bookstore fell into absolute silence.
May you like
Daniel whipped his head around. His dark eyes locked onto mine, widening in stunned disbelief as his gaze dropped slowly from my face down to my twenty-five-week pregnant belly.
For a long moment, he couldn't breathe.
