Contemporary Romance, Romantic Drama, Women’s Fiction
Date Published: 11-21-2025
A pandemic is spreading across the globe. A national lockdown looms in the United States. A Southern journalist sees a chance to protect her health and jumpstart her career by escaping north to a Minnesota wilderness. Feisty and wary of entanglement, she piques the interest of a bored Native American rock star on his way home.
Robby Song’s career may be on hold, but Grace Wheeler is on a mission to build hers. To Robby, she’s an intriguing challenge. To Grace, he’s a distraction she’s not ready to handle. But the brutal Northwoods winter is coming. Grace flees back south . . . to soul-searching isolation and a puzzling middle-of-the-night call.
“Ummm. Ummm. I’d like me a piece a that.” Ray had the binoculars
pointing toward the harbor, having taken them from Seth, who was wandering
around the room looking for something to do. They’d
arrived a few hours ago, been busy setting up, ordering groceries, but now Seth
was bored.
“You guys have been doing that ever since we got here.” Robby came
into the room.
John turned
from the big window, looking over his shoulder at Robby. “There’re girls and
ships. It’s quite a scene. This is a cool place. Like 4th of July in mid-April.
And it’s not even the weekend.”
“Gimme those.” Robby took the binoculars from Ray. He put them up
to his eyes, adjusted them slightly, saw a girl in a yellow string bikini . . .
“Holy shit! Fucking hell!” He threw the binoculars into a chair and stormed
across the room, taking his phone from his back pocket and pushing a speed dial
number. “Joe! Are you fucking trying to drive me fucking nuts? . . . I think
you know damn well what I’m talking about!” The other band members had their
mouths open and were trying to stay out of Robby’s way as he strode around the
room with his eyes fixed on the floor. “You didn’t know when you booked this
place that Grace was here? You expect me to believe that?”
Seth and Ray exchanged looks. Ray picked up the binoculars. Keith
said, “Uh-oh,” under his breath.
John said, “Shit. We were just getting past this. Now we’re going
to be looking for a new manager.”
“Yes, it’s her. You think I wouldn’t know? . . . Don’t tell me to
settle down. . . I don’t know — we never talked about exactly where — she
didn’t like talking about it. What does it matter? I can’t stay here. Find some
other place. Far away from here . . . Oh . . . yeah. Forgot about that. . . No,
I don’t want to blow it off. He’s been good to me . . . practically saved my
life. When is that? . . . Sunday! Damn Joe . . . it’s only Wednesday,
right? . . . I can’t write here. I’m having trouble writing as it is . . . Shit . . . Okay . . . I’ll listen . . .
What’re you saying? . . . Oh. . . Oh. . . Yes, it’s weird, but . . . Okay . . .
I’ll think about that . . . but you start looking for another place. How long
are we here for? . . . Oh man. I can’t do that. Find another place . . . I will
. . . I said I will.” He took the phone away from his ear and left the room.
Jan lives on the coast of South Carolina with strong ties to northern Minnesota. Growing up was filled with rich but conflicting narratives. Her dad told stories about his pioneering Minnesota family, egalitarian values, and the importance of self-reliance. They made annual trips to family cabins on a lake north of Duluth. But in her friends’ homes back in Charleston, she was immersed in plantation lore, tales of the Confederacy, and exclusive traditions of a social set that she was not born into. She is married to a musician who is also a mental health therapist. They have three children.
https://mybook.to/STRINGSJanMerritt
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