1. Holden

Chapter one

Holden

T hrough my viewfinder, Lake Michigan was dreamy and mystical, a monochromatic blend of pale gray and silver. Wisps of early morning mist danced on the surface. I adjusted the focus of my Polaroid, framing a perfect shot of hazy emptiness—

The surface of the water broke.

A man rose from the lake, like Poseidon emerging from his sub-aquatic domain. The water cascaded off his broad shoulders. His entire body, including the muscular chest, was a classical sculpture come to life. My finger froze on the shutter while I watched. He moved like an ancient deity rising up to take the reins of the morning.

Black swim trunks clung to his hips. Dark hair dusted his chest and formed a trail that disappeared beneath the waistband. When he reached up, he pushed his thick black hair back and off his forehead, completely unaware of me. I fought to take a breath.

Click.

I couldn't resist, but I jumped when the shutter's sound broke the morning's silence. The stranger's head immediately turned toward me, and we locked eyes across the stretch of water and sand.

From a distance, there was wildness in his eyes. They were gray, the color of storm clouds. He adjusted his trunks and took a step forward.

Time stopped. He was coming toward me. My world narrowed down to the sound of splashing water around his feet.

I nearly dropped the fresh Polaroid image as the camera spit it out. Heat crept up into my cheeks, surely turning them a guilty shade of red.

Every step the man took was graceful. The gentle waves parted before him. I remained rooted to my spot on the beach, unable to move a muscle.

When he came close, within two steps, the scents of lake water and pine enveloped me. "Morning," he grunted as he abruptly turned to the right. His voice was rough and low in register.

I managed little more than a squeaky acknowledgment. "H… hi." Smooth first impression, Holden.

Without another word, he continued on and then took another turn toward the beach parking lot. As I watched him from behind, I wasn't sure I'd ever seen a more handsome man outside of a movie screen.

Glancing down, I saw the Polaroid slowly coming into focus. It was like my memory solidifying before my eyes. Relieved that the moment wasn't a figment of my overactive imagination, I stared at the striking physique.

The photo was a pale imitation of the real thing, but it strongly hinted at the powerful vision I'd witnessed.

I shook my head and spoke out loud to an empty beach. "Way to go. You should have had Parker at your side. He would have known what to say, or at least how to make a proper introduction."

My hands were still trembling as I slipped the photo into my messenger bag, next to the other two shots I'd taken—a great blue heron at the moment of taking off into the mist drifting above the sand, and a soft-focus silhouette of the old lighthouse rising against a pewter sky.

Three photos every morning, rain or shine. That was my ritual, my promise to myself and to Parker.

"Find the extraordinary in the ordinary," Parker had said when he'd first handed me the camera, his eyes twinkling with characteristic enthusiasm.

Well, there was nothing ordinary about what I'd just seen, and my racing pulse proved it. Usually, the dawn shoots centered me. They helped me settle into my groove before putting together the day's social media content to promote Tales of Blue Harbor , Parker's wildly successful blog.

Twenty minutes north of town, this stretch of Lake Michigan shoreline was a favorite spot. It was state park property and a place where I could bask in the quiet once the tourists were gone for the season.

Today's silence had been shattered by a beautiful vision.

I glanced down the beach toward the parking lot, but the mysterious swimmer was long gone. Only his footprints remained in the wet sand. The gentle waves were already erasing them. If it weren't for the Polaroid in my bag, I might have convinced myself I'd imagined the whole thing.

While I drove the lakefront road, memories of my arrival in Blue Harbor months earlier flooded back into my mind. It was mid-spring and the crabapples were in bloom.

I was still pinching myself over the good fortune of finding the job working with Parker on promotion of his blog. It gave me an opportunity to build my resume while caring for my ailing grandfather.

The weather was stunningly beautiful for my first day at work. The cloudless sky was a deep blue, and gentle waves rolled in from the lake, a far cry from my current misty gray morning.

When I stood outside the converted boathouse Parker used for his office, I didn't know what to expect. The peeling blue paint and weathered roof shingles echoed the timeworn charm of Blue Harbor itself.

I inhaled deeply and pulled the door open. The hinges creaked loudly. Anyone inside would know I'd arrived.

What I remember most was the scent of the place. It was a mixture of fresh paint and coffee. Seeing no one before me, I called out, "Hello?"

"Up here. Hey, Holden." Following the voice, I spotted a loft space in the rear of the building. It had a staircase leading up perhaps fifteen feet away. "Join me. I've got coffee."

The steps creaked, but when I reached the top, I laid my eyes on Parker's smiling face for the first time in real life. He had a tousled mop of sandy brown hair and hazel eyes with small flecks of gold.

Behind him was a scene of barely controlled chaos. A desk held stacks of papers, and a bulletin above was nearly covered in sticky notes. Three laptops were open, displaying various web browser screens.

"It's Holden Harlow in the flesh!" Parker reached out to shake my hand. His voice was enthusiastic, and his touch was warm and friendly. "Ready to make some digital magic?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." I did my best to hide my nervousness, squeezing my fists tight to hang onto a shred of calm.

I followed Parker to a second desk beneath a small window that overlooked the Blue Harbor Marina. He gestured in a sweeping motion. "This is your creative corner."

In contrast with Parker's space, my desk held only a brand new laptop and a steaming mug of coffee. It had no sugar and just a light kiss of cream—the way I liked it. "How'd you—"

"I may have called Grandpa Harlow to ask about you and coffee." Parker grinned. "It's important to me to get things rolling in a positive direction, and I've got deep connections with your grandfather."

I raised an eyebrow. "How so? I know he's lived most of his life in Blue Harbor, but—"

Parker interrupted my comment. "When you're the high school principal, everybody in town knows something about you. My dad was a student under him, and the memories are all good."

"Wow." I knew about my grandfather's career, but he retired when I was still a child. "I never expected a real connection."

"Oh, yeah. I can't count the number of times Dad has credited Mr. Harlow with being the primary reason he completed high school. He was great for seeing potential in even the most, um, 'creatively inclined' students."

I chuckled softly. It wasn't hard to think of Grandpa that way. He was an eternal optimist and gave everyone the benefit of the doubt when first meeting them.

"You'll find most Blue Harbor residents have long memories. They're a little like elephants that way." Parker's voice was suddenly more serious in tone. "People here remember acts of kindness and those who reached out at troubled times. Your grandfather impacted many many lives. Now, you can follow in his footsteps."

In a different context, the words would have felt weighty, laying a suffocating responsibility on my shoulders. Instead, I thought about it as seeing those first footsteps in the snow, the ones you can follow to get through a deep drift and carry on with your day.

Still, I had to joke about it. "No pressure, right?"

"No pressure at all. All I'm asking is for you to be the best you that you can be. I'm sure that will be perfect for Tales of Blue Harbor ."

We spent the rest of that first morning huddled together, going over the blog's current social media. It wasn't a lot, but fans were clearly eager to connect in new ways.

Parker was powerfully passionate about Blue Harbor. "It's not merely a little town, a dot on the state map of Wisconsin. It's something living, breathing, and growing more fascinating every day. Everything has a story—the creaky floorboards at the Grand Hotel, the waves rolling in off Lake Michigan, and the secrets shared over lunch at Joe's Diner—and we're here to tell them."

"So where do we start?"

He tossed a Polaroid Now camera to me. It was the same one I carried to the beach to see Poseidon rising from the lake.

"It's pretty simple. I want to start by seeing Blue Harbor through a fresh pair of eyes—yours. Get out there and snap some great shots, at least one new one every day. I know there's beauty out there that most of us ignore, but I think you can find it."

I held the camera up to my eye and looked through the viewfinder. "I don't think I've seen one of these since I was a little kid."

"Then it's perfect." Parker folded his arms over his chest. "It's true that sometimes we have to take a step back to move forward. I think you'll fit in perfectly. With your grandpa, you've got Blue Harbor in your blood."

It was as simple as that. I found myself with not only a job but also a daily mission. Parker gave me a sense of purpose that had been rare in my life. He'd instantly connected me to my new hometown through both personal legacy and a daily goal.

When I pulled my thoughts back to the present, I was approaching my favorite coffee shop in town, the Little Blue Bean. Parker had been right. I fit in with the locals, and Blue Harbor had already become more than just a place with a job. It was home.

As soon as I opened the door, the rich coffee aroma hit me square in the face. The morning mist was gone, replaced with a vision of delectable pastries lined up in a case, beckoning me forward.

"Well, well, look who stumbled in." Sarah, the owner and top-notch barista, smiled at me from behind the counter. "It's our resident Polaroid photo bug. You're running a little late. Did the sunrise keep you?"

I sighed. "You have no idea."

Sarah raised an eyebrow as she fashioned my usual latte with an extra shot. "Is there a lucky guy? Don't tell me you had a morning date with a seagull again. Those stories make me worry a little about you."

Buying time, I sipped the latte and considered my words. "Hard to know whether there was luck involved, but my morning photography was a little more interesting than usual."

As I expected, my mysterious comment sparked her curiosity. She leaned across the counter, wafting aromas of coffee and vanilla toward me. "Did you meet a handsome stranger? Or… was it a Lake Michigan merman? There are tales about those."

I chuckled. She didn't know how close she came to the truth. "I don't think he had a tail, but he was at ease in the water. I'm certain of that."

Sarah shook a finger at me. "Holden, you are not allowed to step away from the counter until you share every last detail. Who was it? How did he look? And the key question, is he single?"

I held up my hands. "Honestly, I haven't got much to share. I saw him. He stood there, shedding water like a Greek god. About all I remember is a lot of muscle and a brooding stare." I took a breath. "And then he disappeared."

Sarah swooned. "So romantic… like a movie. We could call it Tides of Passion , something ridiculous and fun."

I smiled between sips. "Parker's blog has gotten to you, hasn't it? Blue Harbor is still a real place, not a platform for fairytale romances."

Sarah reached out to grip my hand. "You have to learn. This town has a touch of magic you don't find in most places. Go drink your coffee and shuffle off to work, but I want a complete update if you ever run into Poseidon—or was it Neptune—again."

I found my way to my usual corner table. As I sat, I felt something in my gut. It was tingly. Something was happening.

Pulling out the Polaroid snapshot, I rested it on the table before me. It was time to study the man who emerged from the lake's water. The entire image had a soft focus due to the mist in the air. It did give the man an almost mythical appearance.

I followed the outline of his body with my index finger. Somehow, I'd captured the essence of the moment well. A shiver raced through my body. Was this an important moment? Would the stranger enter my life again?

For a moment, I reflected on the dozens of shots I'd taken since Parker handed me the camera. I had a slew of sunrises and sunsets, laughing faces, and the gnarled fingers with mottled skin of the old men who met every morning at Joe's Diner.

They were all fascinating to look at, but the subject matter was ordinary. None of those photos made my pulse quicken like the one I'd captured less than an hour ago.

Who was that man in the photo? Was he someone I'd seen around town fully dressed, but I'd passed him by? Or was he a visitor, a tourist, who loved swimming in the Great Lakes? The romantic side of me—the side I figured I'd left behind while cycling across the Steel Bridge back in Portland—hoped that I had seen him before and would again.

While I sipped my coffee, I started weaving stories about the stranger in my brain. In one, he was a reclusive writer tucked away in a cabin in the woods. In another, he was a friendly forest ranger, a bit shy around people but absolutely comfortable in nature.

Stop it. I shook my head. I had plenty of responsibilities to keep me busy in my real life. I had a challenging job, and I had Grandpa to look after. There was no need to add a romantic fantasy to the list.

But still…

I couldn't shake the feeling that the morning adventure would turn out to be a significant turning point. As if all the pieces of my new life—moving to Blue Harbor, working for Parker, caring for my grandfather, even my daily ritual with the Polaroid camera—had been leading to that moment when the lake delivered a stunning mystery.

Carefully, I tucked the Polaroid into my battered leather journal, between pages full of notes about Parker's Blue Harbor stories. Tomorrow, I'd return to that same stretch of beach. Maybe he'd be there, or maybe he wouldn't. For the first time since arriving in Blue Harbor, I felt something entirely new stirring in my chest—not just acceptance of my new home, but anticipation. Possibility.

The lake had been harboring a huge secret, and it had finally decided to share.