Chapter 7
Upstairs in the cozy harbor loft above the bookstore, Amy curled up on an overstuffed velvet sofa with a warm mug of chamomile tea resting in her hands. Outside, the rhythmic crashing of the waves against the wooden pilings provided a soothing, hypnotic soundtrack to her afternoon rest. She spent hours sketching nursery designs in a thick leather notebook, letting her imagination wander freely without the shadow of Manhattan hanging over her head.
Sarah walked up the stairs carrying a bag of fresh groceries and a stack of local coastal newspapers from the town post office. "How are you holding up today, mama? Baby kicking up a storm yet?" Sarah asked, setting the provisions down on the wooden kitchen island. Amy smiled softly, placing a hand on her slightly rounded belly as a gentle flutter answered from within.
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"The baby is calmer than I am, Sarah; every time I hear a car door slam downstairs, my heart skips a beat," Amy confessed honestly. "Nobody in this quiet little harbor town knows who you are, Amy; you're safe here behind my bookshelves and stormy weather," Sarah reassured her gently. Yet, as Amy glanced out the window toward the coastal highway winding along the cliffside, an inexplicable premonition made her breath hitch.
She knew Daniel wasn't the type of man to give up easily, especially when his pride and his possessive instincts were pushed to the absolute brink. But for now, surrounded by the smell of old books and the raw beauty of the Oregon coast, she felt ready to face whatever storm was coming. She opened her laptop—connected to a secure, untraceable satellite network—to check local real estate listings for a permanent cottage down the shore.
