CHAPTER ONE

"Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run there's still time to change the road you're on. And it makes me wonder…" – Stairway to Heaven, Led Zeppelin

EZRA

Running his hand over the worn, wooden grains of the countertop in front of him, Ezra closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He inhaled the scent of sawdust, paint stain, and fresh bait. Overlaying all of it was the ever present salty aroma that could only be produced by the lapping waves only ten feet from the front of the shop he currently ran.

No matter what he was doing, how bad his day was, the combination of sea salt in the air and the smells resonating from the inside of his shop always calmed him. They grounded him and let him clear his head, even if only for a moment.

The slamming of the back door leading in from the work barn out back forced Ezra to open his eyes and turn back to the ledger he had been working on.

"Bro, we have got to buy a new table saw," Wesley griped as he rounded the counter. He stooped to feel for the first aid kit below the register and when he found it, he angrily pulled it from the shelf, throwing it onto the counter, and digging through it for a couple of Band-Aids. Ezra could see a small dab of blood smeared across his brother's hand, not enough to warrant a trip to the emergency room, but enough to cause his stomach to turn over a few times. He quickly diverted his eyes.

"If you used it as I showed you-" Ezra started, only to be cut off but Wesley's curt tone.

"Yeah, yeah," he mocked. "Ezra, the perfect handyman, knows how to use a piece of crap saw perfectly. Thanks for the reminder."

Ezra rolled his eyes and chose not to respond. He'd learned long ago that when his brother got into one of these moods of his, it was best to let him just blow off some steam. It seemed lately that he was having more and more days like this, though.

"I'll price out some new ones this weekend," Ezra said after a few moments. Wesley just shrugged, as if to say he no longer cared. He thought he'd just move on, forget about the small squabble, when Wes threw the kit back under the counter and stood up. The tautness in Wesley's frame, however, told him he was wrong.

"Why bother," Wesley shot over his shoulder, heading back out the way he'd come. "It's not like we can afford to buy anything for this failing excuse of a business."

The loud crash of the door against its frame made Ezra cringe as he turned back to the shop around him. Wesley could gripe. He could complain and sulk all he wanted. No matter what he did or said, though, this was… better. What they had was better. Better than anything they'd ever had before.

He let his gaze wonder over the store. From the messy organization of the bait fridges and tackle racks, to the sawdust swept floors, over to the windows, sprayed with sea foam, which overlooked the harbor. He instantly felt himself relax.

The jingling of the bell above the door to the store alerted him to company. He turned to welcome the visitor and let a small smile grace his features. He wiped his dirty hands against the rough fabric of his jeans and reached across the counter to place a kiss on the cheek of his long-time girlfriend, Maggie.

"Hey, you," he said, genuinely happy to see her.

Maggie smiled back in response before turning to dig through her purse.

Ezra had started dating Maggie when they were only in high school. Being the geeky, loner sort, he had been surprised when she'd sat next to him one day during lunch and asked him out. He should have been embarrassed, he knew that, to have a girl ask him out, but he was beyond thrilled that one of the popular girls had even noticed him. Ezra came to find out later that she'd asked him out on a dare. He still didn't care. They were going on eight years strong now and after everything they'd been through… that was saying a lot.

Maggie let out a squeal of pleasure upon finding whatever she'd been hunting for in her purse. Pulling a strand of paint chips from her bag, she flourished them with a sense of grandeur upon the counter in front of him. She was happily silent, her hands extended as if showing him something he should be catching onto but Ezra stood there, unable to form a response as he didn't seem to understand.

"You… want to paint something?" He questioned, glancing up to see her smile quickly turn into a look of agitation.

"Yes, Ezra. I want to paint something," Maggie responded curtly. "I've been telling you that the guest room upstairs needs a fresh coat of paint, along with a complete makeover, for a while now! Have you even been listening to me?"

Ezra sighed. He remembered now, though to be honest he still didn't care all that much about her interest in the room. They'd moved out east to the coast a few years back and bought this shop, along with the living quarters above it, after only a few days. He'd wanted a fresh start, for himself, Maggie and Wes. This place was everything to him and in his opinion, it was perfect the way it was.

Shoving a hand through his dark brown curls, he let out a small sigh. "I have been listening, Maggie. I just don't think that right now is a good time to be acting like Martha Stewart. I have too much going on with the business and school-"

"You're never going to finish that degree," She spat, angrily sweeping the paint chips back into her bag. "You only take one course a semester, Ezra. There are more important things in life than becoming a writer."

The bell once again jingled above the door and Ezra watched as little Peter Johnson came running into the store, his dad right behind him. The little boy headed straight for the bait fridges. Ezra turned back to Maggie.

"Listen, Maggie, right now isn't the time to discuss this. Please," he begged quietly.

Benton Harbor was a small town. There was very little that the population of a little over 1000 didn't hear about. He certainly didn't need a fight between the two of them fueling the local town gossip.

"Whatever," she spat, spinning on her heels. "I'm going out for a coffee with Elizabeth. I'll be home late."

With that, she was gone.

Ezra leaned back heavily against the wall behind him. He watched as Peter and his father picked up various fishing lures from the shelves, the dad happily pointing to products and explaining what they were used for to his son. That was what he wanted, a happy family. The stress brought on by his girlfriend and brother, however, hinted that that dream may be a while off. The two shoppers started for the front of the shop and he pushed off the counter, letting a large smile stretch across his face to ring out his customers. He'd keep smiling, though, and pray for things to turn around… soon.