Chapter 1

Harper smiled as she walked out of her bedroom and into the living room of her granddad's home. The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the modest room that was the heart of Benjamin's house.

She'd traded the relentless pace of being a trauma nurse in one of New York City's busiest hospitals for the quiet, familiar streets of her childhood town, all to care for the man who had once cared for her. This small but cozy home had become her world, and she was so pleased she was here.

Benjamin sat in his favorite armchair, a thin blanket draped over his knees. His face, etched with the wisdom of his years, broke into a smile as she approached. The stroke he'd suffered six months ago had taken a toll on him, leaving his movements slow and his speech slightly slurred. But his eyes still sparkled with the same gentle kindness that had always been there.

"Have you got everything you need, Granddad?" she asked, adjusting the pillows behind him for more comfort. Her hands, skilled and steady from years of nursing, moved with practiced care.

"Everything but my favorite nurse," Benjamin replied with a hint of his old humor, his voice rough like gritty sandpaper.

Harper chuckled, her heart swelling with affection. "Unfortunately, you're stuck with me instead," she teased, handing him his morning medications and a glass of water.

As Benjamin took his pills, Harper's mind wandered to the tasks ahead. Over the last few months, her life had completely changed. The decision to leave New York hadn't been easy, but she knew it was the right one. Sapphire Bay, with its gorgeous lake and tight-knit community, offered a different kind of healing, both for her granddad and herself.

After making sure Benjamin had his walker within reach and reminding him of the emergency call button around his neck, she grabbed her bicycle helmet and backpack. "I'll be home for lunch. Mrs. Peterson from next door will be here soon," she said, leaning down to kiss her granddad's forehead.

Benjamin nodded, a small, grateful smile on his lips. "Go on, then. Don't keep the town waiting."

Harper stepped outside and the fresh lake air greeted her like a warm welcome to a new day. Hopping onto her bicycle, she pedalled down the quaint streets of Sapphire Bay, toward her job as a receptionist at the medical center.

The red-brick building with its bright yellow door was halfway down Main Street. Zac Hilary, the only doctor in town, had been more than happy to have Harper join his team, even if her role was far from the adrenaline-fueled chaos of trauma nursing.

Harper locked her bike and walked into the clinic. Down the corridor, Zac's door was already open and so was Ethan's, one of the two counselors working with Zac. On her way past her desk, she checked the light on the answering machine. It was only eight o'clock, but there were already messages waiting to be cleared.

The transition from trauma nurse to receptionist wasn't without its challenges, but it was a change she enjoyed. Sapphire Bay might not have the skyscrapers and endless sirens of New York City, but it offered something else—a sense of community and belonging that she'd missed.

Striding down the corridor, she knocked on Zac's door. "Morning, boss."

Zac looked up from behind his desk and smiled. "Good morning. How's Benjamin doing today?" he asked, his voice tinged with genuine concern.

"He's managing, thanks to everyone's help."

Ethan waved to her from his office doorway. "Morning, Harper. If you have a moment later, I'd love to discuss the community outreach program with you."

"Sure. I'll come and see you during my break." Harper was happy to help Ethan in whatever way she could. His programs focused on improving the mental health of the community and it was an important part of the clinic's services. "Is Bailey coming in today?"

"She's working from The Welcome Center," Ethan replied. "If anyone calls wanting to speak to her, put them through to me."

"Okay." Bailey worked part time as a family therapist. With the number of people living at The Welcome Center, she spent two mornings a week working with the families, trying to make their transition into small-town life a little easier.

The morning at the clinic unfolded with its usual rhythm. Harper efficiently managed the front desk, scheduling appointments, answering phone calls, and greeting patients with warmth and kindness.

During her break, she joined Ethan in his office. It was a wonderful space for clients to visit. Shelves filled with books about psychology and family therapy lined one wall, and a window overlooking a small garden was on another. "Is now a good time to talk about the outreach program?"

He looked up from his desk and nodded. "It's perfect. I was speaking to one of the community nurses last week. She mentioned how many people are caring for elderly parents or family members who need extra support. Our outreach program is working better than I expected, but we can do more. What do you think about adding a support group for caregivers?"

Harper sat opposite Ethan. Since she'd started looking after her granddad, she'd learned a lot about being someone's caregiver. The biggest lesson they'd both learned was to stay true to their relationship. It was too easy to treat Benjamin like her patient instead of her grandfather. If she'd found other people in a similar situation when she moved to Sapphire Bay, it would've been so much easier.

"I think a support group is a wonderful idea. It's hard juggling work commitments with all the appointments and care another person needs. Even if only a few people came, it'd be worthwhile."

"Would you like to help me set it up?"

Harper nodded. "I'd love to."

"That's great. Pastor John's happy for us to use one of the meeting rooms at The Welcome Center. As soon as we have some dates for our meetings, I'll book them in." Ethan handed her a folder. "These are some ideas I've had. If you could look at them and add anything you think will make a difference, I'd appreciate it."

Harper took the folder. "I'll look at it over the next few days. If you want to make another time to talk about the support group, we could discuss the ideas then."

"Sounds good."

Harper checked her watch. "I'd better get back to the front desk before more patients arrive."

After she left Ethan's office, she said hello to a woman who'd come into the clinic and answered a phone call. Despite what had brought her here, Harper knew she was right where she needed to be.

Owen stoodin the middle of his glass studio, surrounded by the bowls and vases he'd made. Since he'd left the police department in Detroit, his studio had become a sanctuary of heat, light, and color. Here, he could shape beauty from the molten glass and try to forget the tragic mall shooting that had brought him home to Sapphire Bay.

Steve, a friend he'd met at a PTSD support group, studied a bowl that was sitting on a shelf. "This one is incredible. How did you get the bubbles inside the glass?"

"The same way you blow up a balloon, but I use a metal pipe to fill the glass with air." Owen took another bowl out of the annealing oven. He'd placed six bowls in there last night to cool slowly. If he'd left them on the bench, he would've ended up with a pile of cracked glass and nothing to show for the hours it had taken to create them.

As he turned the bowl in his hands, a deep sense of pride filled his chest. This batch was even better than the ones he'd made earlier in the week.

Steve picked up a cobalt blue vase. "How many pieces are you selling at the summer festival?"

"About forty, if I can finish them in time. I want to try something different, too, but I'm still figuring out how I can do it."

Steve's expression grew thoughtful as he returned the vase to the shelf. "Does being back here and doing this help?"

"It's different," Owen admitted, his eyes scanning the studio. "I needed to leave Detroit and living close to Flathead Lake is great. Working in my studio gives me something to focus on."

Steve nodded, his eyes holding a knowing look. "Are your mom and dad happy to have you back in Sapphire Bay?"

Owen took the last bowl out of the annealing oven. A lump rose in his throat at the thought of the support his parents had given him. "After the shooting, they were worried about me. It's better for everyone that I'm here."

The studio fell silent. The word ‘shooting' hung in the air, bringing back memories of sirens and horror. It was a past that still clung to Owen, a shadow he worked tirelessly to escape. He gestured toward his work. "But this is grounding, especially when something turns out better than I thought. The only downside is my parents being a little too overprotective. Especially when I forget to tell them where I'm going."

Steve had searched Sapphire Bay, along with most of Owen's friends, when his parents couldn't find him. In normal circumstances, Owen's mom and dad wouldn't have panicked. But he'd been going through a rough patch, and they were concerned about his mental health.

"Don't be too hard on them," Steve said softly. "They worry because they care. I wish my parents felt the same way."

Steve's journey to Sapphire Bay wasn't as straightforward as Owen's. He'd arrived with a life that a war had torn apart, and a family who hadn't understood what he was going through.

Owen glanced through the window at the quiet street. In a few hours, the sun would set across the lake, filling the clear blue Montana sky with burned orange and purple streaks—the same colors he tried to replicate in his glass.

After spending most of his adult life as a police officer, he didn't know who he was anymore. His uniform had defined him, given him purpose, and a sense of pride. When he'd resigned, he'd lost a part of himself—and he didn't know if he'd ever find it again.

"This place is home," he said quietly. "It's where I remember who I was before I joined the police force. Before life got complicated."

Steve looked around the studio. "After what you've been through, I'm amazed you've created all of this."

Owen's gaze lingered on the furnace and the other second-hand equipment he'd found at auctions and online. "If I hadn't found glassblowing, I wouldn't be here." Taking a deep breath, he forced a smile. "Besides, the summer festival's a good distraction. It's... normal."

Steve nodded. "While we're talking about the festival, we need to decide what your booth will look like. I had some ideas about how we can protect everything from the elements and curious festivalgoers." He placed his sketchpad on the workbench. They examined the drawings, comparing the advantages of his latest design over the standard booth Owen would be given.

When Pastor John asked Owen if he wanted to sell his glass at the festival, he wasn't sure if it was a good idea. He already sold his vases and bowls at a local store, at the Christmas tree farm, and from his website. Making enough stock to supply his regular customers and the people who'd be at the festival would almost be impossible.

But John could be persuasive. With the opportunity of promoting his glass products to a larger audience and raising money for the church's programs, he'd signed up for a booth. It had meant working day and night, but he'd built up his stock and had more than enough to sell.

When they'd settled on a design for the booth, Steve stood up, stretching his back. "Now that we've got that organized, I'll meet you at the old steamboat museum at six o'clock tomorrow night. We'll build display shelving that'll be the envy of the festival."

Owen grinned as he walked Steve to the door. "As long as the organizers are happy for me to modify the booth, I'll hold you to that."

Steve laughed. "The design might be so successful that I can start a business making high-end shelving units."

Owen wouldn't discount anything Steve said. He had a way of turning something ordinary into a work of art. It was just a pity he wasn't ready to show anyone what he did in his workshop.

With a final wave, Steve headed outside, leaving Owen alone with his thoughts. He took a moment to appreciate the quiet; the way the fading light played off the glass, turning each piece into a small beacon of hope.

When he was ready, he locked the studio and stepped into the cool evening air. Taking a deep breath, he let go of the doubt that shadowed his life. The festival was coming and, for the first time in a long while, he felt ready to face the crowds that'd be there; to share his work, to be a part of something larger than himself.

With Steve's help, he'd create a purpose-built booth and take another step toward rebuilding his life in the town that had given him so much.