In Eagle’s Landing, no one escaped that.
Did I love the area? Of course. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. But like I told the newest resident, I didn’t need much. And while the town might be small and lacked amenities, it had a huge advantage over a large town or city living. Despite everyone knowing everything about you, those same people created a tight knit group and even considered each other family. That was a given, whether you wanted it or not.
Unlike in more populated areas, here no one needed an official invite to picnics, barbecues, parties, or whatever. The assumption was, if there was a gathering of any kind, everyone was invited and no one was excluded. No matter what.
Even if it was a baby shower. Or a high school graduation party.
All you had to do was show up, bring a covered dish and enjoy the company.
The local businesses, like Harry’s Hardware and The Roost, the only bar in town, would keep a running tab for the locals. If asked, I would do the same in my store or even let someone borrow books if they couldn’t afford to buy them.
Our town did not center around money or material things, it centered around being a community that supported each other as best as we could.
If someone was in trouble, we all stepped in.
If someone was sick and couldn’t shovel or plow their own driveway, then phone calls would go out and eventually someone would show up to get that work done.
But besides how closed off Chase acted, what also caught my attention was the wedding band on his left ring finger. Because it was a plain gold ring, it couldn’t be mistaken for anything else.
However, the newcomer had been alone at the diner.
When I had asked Marlene, the waitress at the Eagle’s Nest said that he’d been coming in for breakfast and dinner for days and every time he did, he’d been by himself. He also spoke to no one in the diner but the staff serving him and even then, it was only the bare minimum. He wasn’t rude to them, but he wasn’t warm, either.
Basically, the man seemed to be shutting everyone out, no matter what effort they made to be friendly. A reason had to exist behind that kind of behavior.
On the other hand, Chase could simply be one of those people who took a while to warm up to strangers.
When it came down to it, the real question was, why should I care?
If the man wanted to be left alone, then that was what he wanted. I really had no business trying to do a deep dive into someone doing whatever he could to keep others at surface level. Even though that went against every fiber of my being. I’d always been naturally curious and liked to dig into mysteries.
Especially a mystery like Chase Jones.
But then, it was also why I loved writing those types of novels, too.
Chase had asked how the store sustained itself. I hadn’t lied when I said it didn’t. I was lucky enough that my book royalties paid the bills. By living above the store, and also beneath my means, I made it all work.
I was happy, my readers were happy, and my bookstore customers were happy, too.
Unfortunately, I never got a chance to tell Chase that the two books he bought were my books. That I’d written them right there in The Next Page.
Not that I needed the recognition. I was simply excited to witness someone interested in reading them besides my local fanbase.
Dolly appeared from between the book shelves with Timber on her heels.
My dog loved the woman. However, Timber wasn’t very fickle and would love anyone who carried dog treats in their pockets. Clearly, the way to my Shepherd’s heart was through his stomach.
That would also work for me, too. Unfortunately, as a gay man in a tiny town full of straight folk, nobody was knocking down my door with a homemade casserole and a bottle of wine.
“I wish Anson would hurry up and publish his next book. It’s been over two years since he published this one!” Dolly complained, slapping a book onto the counter.
It was the last book available in the Detective Nick Foster series written by one of my favorite authors. “I agree. I wish he would, too.”
“Since you’re also an author and a bookstore owner, do you think you can reach out to his publisher and ask for some sort of timeline?”
Uh no, I couldn’t. I was not making that unforgivable faux pas.
“You can’t rush perfection, Dolly. Authors sometimes need a break. You know how mentally taxing it can be to come up with fresh plots good enough to suck in readers.”
Dolly reached over the counter and patted my arm. “Yes, I know. I need to learn some patience. But the series is so gosh picking good. What about your next one? You know I’m dying to read it early.”