This is part of the first chapter in a novel I am writing… (not sure on the main character’s name yet but as for now she is abigail…)
what do you think? and if you steal this i will hunt you down.. k? thanks!

The cool spring breeze carrying light flurries stung the soft skin of my face, but I didn’t step into the little store only a few feet up the sidewalk – not yet. The groceries I had come to purchase could wait. I looked out over the beach to the waves, and tried to imagine the shore somewhere on the other side.
Why was I doing this? It had been more than two weeks since my last bout of tears over his departure, and here I was, resurfacing to the pain. I knew there were other shops with milk, eggs … hundreds perhaps. But I had chosen this one. Subconsciously, I must have come to this place. I walked, no I don’t think I actually walked because walking would require some kind of motivation; no, I did not walk over to the ocean side; my feet involuntarily moved my aching body to the sea. This was where we had first met. I could still remember with it perfect clarity.
It was exceptionally warm for an April day in Boston. I had been window shopping with some girlfriends, Delilah and Susan; but they had gone into a little café for some lunch – leaving me alone. Of course they had offered for me to come along, but I had already eaten and I didn’t mind strolling along the beachside shops alone; it was peaceful, relaxing. I hadn’t walked a dozen yards when I was interrupted by his deep, soothing southern voice.
“Pardon me miss.” I turned to see a young man, who couldn’t be much older than twenty addressing me.
“I noticed you were walkin’ ‘lone, n’ wonder’d if I might be of assistance. Have you by chance lost your way?”
I smiled politely at the handsome stranger, and handsome he was! He had medium-long honey-blonde hair with streaks of dark in it that looked as though he had run his hand through it recently by the way it stood. His face was angular, with high cheekbones shaping downwards into a softly pointed chin. Despite his russet features, his eyes were soft and held genuine kindness within their piercing blue depths. My voice caught a little as I replied.
“On the contrary, I – I go to school here and was simply enjoying the sun. My friends and I walk here often.”
“By school you, you mean Harvard, do you not?” His brow had furrowed slightly as he asked the question.
“Naturally yes. I am a Sophomore there.” As I said this he smiled crookedly, his eyes crinkling.
“As do I!” he exclaimed in his rather attractive voice. “I graduate next semester.” I could not help myself but smile as well.
“I’m sorry to have been so rude as to not have introduced myself yet miss. I am Turner Garrison of Tennessee.” He bowed his head slightly and held out his right hand.
I felt a little heat climb into my cheeks. He was so polite, but as I thought of it, it did not surprise me. The south was known for its manners and traditions.
“Abigail Taylor,” I replied as I took his outstretched hand.
“A pleasure to meet you Miss Taylor.”
“And you, but please call me Abby.” I noticed that he had not released my hand, but instead had slipped it over his left arm as he shifted his body to stand at my side.
“Well then Abby,” He had slowly started to walk in the direction I had originally been headed, and not wanting to be rude I stayed by his side; there were plenty of others at the beach and I did not feel endangered by the slightest. “Seein’s we both know our way ‘round this beach and most likely know Boston as a whole quite well, then you will surely agree with me that it is your best interest for me to escort you wherever you may be headed.” He smiled his crooked smile down at me again as I chuckled.
“My best interest Turner? How do you mean?”
“Well Boston does have a rather high crime rate, n’ it would be in your best interest if..” He continued on explaining. I could hear the playful tone in his voice, but holding his arm in my hands I could feel his hard muscles and knew that I really would be safe with him.
We had met everyday the rest of that week. He was so easy to be around, with his light teasing, playful manner and his charismatic attitude. Not long after and we were not seen without the other in hand. He would wait for me outside my classes in front of his older blue Chevy truck, leaning against the passenger door with his hands in his pockets. I loved to watch his expression change, as he caught sight of me, to my favorite crooked smile.
The now harsh wind that had been steadily growing as I stood looking out over the ocean whipped my hair and woke me to reality – cold, heartless reality. I pulled my jacket tighter around my slight form as I hurried back across the street to the door of the shop I had only minutes ago ignored. I struggled against the wind to prop open the door long enough to slip into the warmth of the store. The wave of w
ummm somehow all my paragraphs are gone……… odd…
there was structure before. just an fyi
The wave of warm air soothed my muscles and frigid skin, reminding me why I had ventured into town in the first place.
I caught sight of myself in the reflection of the sliding glass door, behind which was the milk. My usually bright green eyes were slightly dulled and the skin around them was red and splotchy; I hadn’t realized I’d been crying. I used my hands to wipe away the traces of mascara underneath my lower lids and ran my fingers through my long, brown curls; trying to tame the windblown look.
I must not have done a very grand job of cleaning up and trying to look at least half-decent, because the elderly lady behind the counter asked in a brittle, but kind, voice if I was alright. I assured her I was fine. Well actually I didn’t assure her because she saw right through my lie (not too hard to do considering the circumstances), but I did tell her that I was fine.
The “Take care!” she exclaimed as I walked out the door was mixed with harsh whipping winds, but soun
The “Take care!” she exclaimed as I walked out the door was mixed with harsh whipping winds, but sounded genuine. I slid contently into the driver’s seat of my rather well-used corolla. Please start, please start, please start… luck was with me as I turned the key and the motor, quite literally, clunked to life.
Only one more stop, the post office. So far my plan for avoiding thinking about him wasn’t working. Well not really thinking about him… that was impossible. Let me rephrase: My plan for not breaking down more than three times a day was, honestly? Toast. Today’s little beach episode was actually the first time in two weeks I’d actually come to tears about his leaving… But I’m pretty sure the reason behind the two tearless weeks was because my tear ducts were on vacation from being overworked. Apparently two weeks is a long enough time for them to be up and running at full force again. Darn.
It’s not that I mind crying over him, because he is worth crying over. But crying isn’t going to bring him home safely, unfortunately. Most importantly though, he wouldn’t want me to be like this, he would want me to keep going strong and not miss a beat, he would want me to be happy. Though how I could be truly happy with him on the other side of the world in mortal peril was beyond me.
“How may I help you Miss?” Holy cow. I was at the post office. I was loosing my mind. Wow, I didn’t remember getting out of my car and walking inside… The person at the counter was probably wondering if I was handicapped or something and asked the question again.
“Um, sorry.” I held out an envelope addressed to Garrison, Turner.
He looked at me blankly.
“Miss, that goes in the drop-box, er, this counter is for packages.” Yes, he was definitely wondering if I was mentally competent.
“Oh, right, forgot. Thanks.” I really needed to get home before I could embarrass myself anymore.
I made it back to my apartment I shared with my roommate Susan without too much mishap. I barely even fumbled with the keys as I opened the door.
“Ab?” Susan’s Sweet voice reached me as I slipped inside. “Your father left a message on the machine, again.” If this was the third message he had left in twelve hours I had better call him back.
“Um, Susan? If he wants me to visit this weekend will you come along?” It’s not that I minded visiting my father, because I didn’t. I love my father… It’s just he’ll want to talk about what’s going on with Turner and well, that’s just something I don’t want to discus with my dad.
Susan seemed to understand the dilemma, well the potential dilemma anyways and reluctantly agreed.