So, the backstory is thus: my friend went to Newfoundland for her MA, and I and some friends teased her about meeting a fisherman out there and falling wildly in love. Then, I decided to turn that into a story. The result is below, and has since then become less of a joke. It started as a single book, and then in my head I ended up planing about four books for a series that seems to have no end in sight. So, enjoy the sneak peek of what will be published beginning September in weekly installments on WattPad.
This was it, the moment she had been waiting for.
She had begun counting the days almost before she had known her plans had been made official. Moving out to St Johns had been a dream come true and now, riding the Trans-Canada Highway Ferry across from Sydney Mines to Channel-Port aux Basques, it was finally sinking in. She could see the port ahead of her, appearing as Avalon through the mists. She was almost there.
The final call for passengers to return to their vehicles was ringing out over the fresh ocean air, and she reluctantly made her way over to the stairs. Taking one last look over her shoulder at the view ahead of her, she stopped mid-step in the doorway, and was bumped from behind by a very large someone.
“Sorry!” He spun around briefly, checking to ensure she was alright.
“Excuse me – ” she sputtered, rubbing her shoulder from where it had bumped into the doorframe.
“Are you ok, Miss…?” he asked, trailing off as he met her gaze.
“Yeah, I’m…. fine.”
By the time she responded, however, he was being shoved down the stairs by the crowd moving through the door.
After some searching, she found her stepfather’s car, and hopped in. With all the excitement of finally landing, the young man left her mind, and she barely noticed his pickup truck pass beside their car on its way out of the ferry.
It had only been a few weeks in the city of St Johns, and she knew already that she would love it there.
The small town feel of this not-quite-big-city (her Torontonian friends had laughed) fit her wonderfully, and despite her dislike of large bodies of water, even the slightly salty smell of the air made her skin tingle.
She had, every day, given herself time to explore different parts of the city. Today, she wandered down Water Street, lining the Harbour of the Narrows off of St John’s Bay. As she admired the small shops and old buildings tucked in amongst the modern ones, she rubbed her hands together, wondering why she had thought for a moment it would be warm enough to wander around for so long without a scarf or jacket. She could imagine her friends back in Ontario laughing at her, late September and already freezing. Hoping to warm up, she wandered into Water Street Market, and found something she hadn’t even thought to look for – a Starbucks.
Knowing full well that she wouldn’t hear the end of it when she reported her day’s activities, she stepped inside the familiar warmth and ordered her favorite tea latte. After collecting her drink, she moved over to the shakers to grab a stir stick, and bumped into a very tall, very broad leather jacket.
“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry,” she exclaimed, turning towards the victim of her clumsiness.
“No harm,” he responded, pulling his arms away from himself to inspect the damage.
She looked up at him – an impressive feat considering her 5’11” stature – and couldn’t help but notice a large amount of whipped cream caught in his tidily trimmed mustache.
“I think maybe this is a sign to stop ordering extra whipped cream.” He smiled down at her, and cocked his head. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
“I… don’t know. I only just moved here.” She handed him a napkin. “I’m really sorry.”
He laughed. “I think I’ll survive. Are you sure I don’t know you?”
She blushed, and looked away. He had stopped laughing, but the sparkle in his eyes made her feel strange. “I’m not so great with faces. Anyways, I’m sorry about your…. what is that, anyways?”
“MochaFrappachino.” Smiling sheepishly, he finished wiping his mustache. “Manliest drink on the menu, if you ask me. Did I get it all?”
“You actually missed…” she pointed to a spot just beside his lip where a mixture of chocolate and whipped cream was still caught in his beard.
“Where?” he asked, attempting to mirror her directions, and failing miserably.
She laughed again, and rather than mime all day, picked up a chorome napkin holder and held it in front of him. “See it?”
“Here, hold it still” – his hand rested on top of hers, and his napkin found the spot. “Ah.”
They stood like that for a moment, until another patron reached between them and plucked the metal case from their hands.
“I’m sorry again. I gotta run.”
With that, she turned to leave, almost forgetting her tea on the counter.
“Wait – ” He touched her arm, and handed her her cup. “Don’t want to forget this. It’s chilly out there.”
Their eyes met again, and both smiled.
“Thanks. And sorry about the whipped cream.”
“Next time, you can make it up to me.”
And with that, she ran out the door.